Pickles, puddles & padosis in lanes of Amritsar

There was a time when Amritsar’s mohallas were stitched with warmth and simplicity. Neighbours were like family — Sharma uncle sending over curd, Dhillon auntie asking for a little jam or khatta, and Gupta aunty exchanging mirch-tamatar across the wall. My childhood glowed with such memories — running up to the chubara for quick gossip, or balancing buckets under a leaking roof in the rains while laughter softened the nuisance.

Rainy days turned streets into a mess perhaps for adults, but these became playgrounds for us children. We rolled up our trousers, splashed in puddles, and played stapu and gallery in the narrow lanes. One aunty fried pakoras, another brewed chai, and soon the entire gali smelled of celebration. Evenings echoed with “Aaoji, chalo baithiye (hey, let’s sit and chat),” as women shared recipes and stories, men discussed cricket and politics, and children hopped from one courtyard to another.

But today, when many doors both old and new in many Amritsar mohallas remain closed, I yearn for days when our lanes resounded with the laughter of children, the exchange of pickles, and the simple joys of togetherness.

Simi Gandhi, Amritsar