Chandigarh’s everlasting gentle embrace
I was barely 18 when I moved to Chandigarh, unsure of what I was diving into. However, the excitement of something new outweighed the fear of the unknown. Luckily, what awaited me wasn’t the loneliness of a modern metropolis — it was the rhythm of a lived-in city and the warmth of its people.
Anyone who has not lived in Chandigarh, wouldn’t understand the mad dash to catch a CTU bus, only for the ever-generous driver uncle to stop so that you can hop in. The shopkeeper who would save the last milk packet of Verka, knowing we’d be back by evening. The paranthe wale bhaiya who fed many of our lot and others on credit during demonetisation.
Morning chants from ISKCON drift through the same air that also carries late-night beats from its clubs. Shastri Market in Sector 22 buzzes with bargain hunters, while eateries at StuC, PU, plate out greasy rolls and cold coffee. Its temples hold peace within, as a gurdwara sewadar offers warm parsad with folded hands.
The city sleeps, yet stays wide awake, where one can never truly be lost, even when they seemingly feel lost. Trees arch over walking paths in dewy parks, while roads twist like concrete snakes below. Every corner holds its own rhythm — none louder, none quieter — just a city breathing in oxymorons, but in sync beautifully.
Now that I have shifted back home to Saharanpur, people often ask if I miss Chandigarh. I quietly smile wondering how can I miss something that lives within me. In the scent of its Zakir Rose Garden, in the petrichor of its July rains, and the hush of cricket song at night — the city still holds me in its gentle embrace.
Tanya Pundir, Saharanpur
