It came unannounced, brutal and surreal. For 35 minutes, Islamabad was at the mercy of a sky gone mad. Shards of ice, dense, fast, merciless, rained down on a city unprepared for nature’s wrath. In moments, the capital’s trees were shredded, cars dented beyond recognition, solar panels splintered, and streets submerged. From Tarnol to the north-western sectors, the storm left behind not just destruction but a question, how did we get here?

It is tempting to frame it as a freak incident, an unfortunate twist of weather. But that is no longer an honest narrative. When the hailstones are the size of fists, when the storm surge overwhelms drainage in minutes, and when such events are no longer once in a decade but near-annual occurrences, the randomness disappears. What remains is a pattern, an unmistakable signature of a planet heating beyond its limits.

Former Federal Climate Change Minister, Sherry Rehman, didn’t mince words. She called it what it was: “extreme weather volatility driven by climate change.”

Former Federal Climate Change Minister, Sherry Rehman, didn’t mince words. She called it what it was: “extreme weather volatility driven by climate change.” Her statement isn’t political theatre. It is a truth corroborated by science. As global temperatures rise due to carbon emissions, largely from fossil fuels, the atmosphere holds more moisture, intensifying storms, hastening flash floods, and turning regular rainfall into destructive events. What happened in Islamabad is not a local anomaly; it is part of a planetary story unfolding in real time.

 Pakistan has become a frontline state in the climate crisis. Yet our policies remain reactive, underfunded, and fragmented

But perhaps the most alarming part isn’t the storm itself. It’s the absence of meaningful response. Year after year, the signs grow louder. From melting glaciers in Gilgit-Baltistan to record heatwaves in Sindh, from smog-choked winters in Lahore to flash floods in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Pakistan has become a frontline state in the climate crisis. Yet our policies remain reactive, underfunded, and fragmented. Climate adaptation is not a line item on budgets, it must be the lens through which all development is planned. Without it, infrastructure becomes liability, and growth turns fragile.

What of the emotional toll, the trauma of children watching roofs cave in, the fear of the next storm, the helplessness of seeing one’s home vanish under water?

The economic cost is not abstract. Damage to solar infrastructure during this storm alone undermines years of progress toward renewable energy. Vehicles destroyed mean insurance claims many cannot afford. Trees lost are decades of urban shade and carbon absorption gone in seconds. And these are just the measurable losses. What of the emotional toll, the trauma of children watching roofs cave in, the fear of the next storm, the helplessness of seeing one’s home vanish under water?

We treat the climate crisis as a peripheral issue, not the existential threat that it is. In doing so, we become complicit in our own unravelling

Some may argue that Pakistan contributes little to global emissions, and thus bears an unjust burden. That is true, and up till now incomplete. Our vulnerability is partly due to geography, yes, but also to governance. We build on floodplains. We cut forests. We ignore environmental assessments. We treat the climate crisis as a peripheral issue, not the existential threat that it is. In doing so, we become complicit in our own unravelling.

And this is not just about Islamabad. Urban centres across South Asia are staring down similar barrels, heat islands, flash flooding, crop failures. What binds them is not just geography, but a shared indifference in the face of evidence. The time for awakening is past. What we need now is reckoning.

The old patterns are gone. What replaces them will be shaped by our decisions now, what we invest in, what we regulate, what we abandon, and what we build anew

Islamabad’s storm should be remembered not as an aberration, but a signal. It tells us the age of stability is over. The monsoons no longer follow calendars. Summers no longer promise predictability. The old patterns are gone. What replaces them will be shaped by our decisions now, what we invest in, what we regulate, what we abandon, and what we build anew.

The storm will pass, the water will recede, and the debris will be cleared. But the reckoning must not. Because the climate crisis will come again, and next time, it may not knock

To live in this era is to understand that climate change is not a distant threat. It is here, and it speaks in the language of hail, fire, flood, and drought. And it demands not just policy changes, but a cultural shift, away from extraction, toward stewardship; away from denial, toward resilience. The storm will pass, the water will recede, and the debris will be cleared. But the reckoning must not. Because the climate crisis will come again, and next time, it may not knock.

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author. They do not represent the views, beliefs, or policies of the Stratheia.