Finding poetry in Chandigarh’s textures
Chandigarh speaks to me in seasons. Autumn leaves etch gold on its pavements as I walk back to my hostel, the sunlight filtering through trees, casting stories in shadow. Chandigarh holds me gently — with clean pavements, and shadows cast by straight-lined buildings. Each season leaves its signature: winter mists soften the edges of everything, monsoon puddles reflect bougainvillea skies, and summer sunlight dapples my path with golden flickers.
In spring, the blossoms arrive like verses I haven't written yet. I study at the Department of English and Cultural Studies, Panjab University, but the city is my real classroom — its silence between buildings, the geometry of its skyline, the slow drama of clouds over Sector 17. Each morning, the sun paints poems on the straight, thoughtful roads. This city has taught me to listen — to birds, to breeze, to memory. I often write haiku inspired by Chandigarh’s quiet beauty:
sunlight on pavement—
the shadow of a cycle
keeps moving forward.
As a student of literature, I find inspiration not just in texts but in the city's textures — in red-brick corridors, the rustle of eucalyptus, and the pauses in traffic that feel like haiku.
eucalyptus sigh —
shadows stretch across the wall
like forgotten time.
This is the Chandigarh I know — not just a city, but a quiet poem unfolding. Chandigarh is not just where I live; it’s where I become.
Sukhdeep Kaur, Chandigarh
