Jalandhar: Memories of a vanishing city

The Jalandhar of the mid-1980s was a city of quiet charm, familiar faces, and deeply rooted traditions —the kind of place where one knew not just the names of neighbours, but their stories too.

Over the decades, however, this intimate fabric has been rewoven — sometimes roughly — by the forces of migration, development, and modernity. Today, draped in the gloss of progress, yet haunted by echoes of its past, Jalandhar feels both familiar and foreign.

Landmarks that once defined the city’s character have morphed beyond recognition. Verka Milk Bar Chowk, Masand Chowk, Mission Chowk, once touchstones of local identity, are now engulfed in sign boards, traffic, and reinvention. Link Road has been sacrificed to make way for private hospitals. Beloved neighbourhood institutions like Pahwa Ice Cream in Model Town, Pinki Store and Mahajan Store have quietly faded, replaced by impersonal retail giants — symbols of a new order offering convenience at the cost of community.

Rainbow Road, once shaded by a gentle canopy of trees, is now lined with bars and restaurants, and bears no trace of the street that once led us home. Even the humble bus and tonga route from Pratap Bakery, (formerly Prakash Bakery) in Model Town to Rainak Bazar, our childhood lifeline, has vanished.

Model Town, once a quiet enclave of bougainvillea-lined lanes, now hums with the chaos of one-way streets, spas, and honking cars. Spaces where gardens bloomed now host neon-lit storefronts. The old rhythm of evening strolls and friendly nods has been overwritten.

Yet, it is not only roads and buildings that have changed; the soul of the city also seems to have changed. The skyline is dotted with flyovers near APJ School and BSF Chowk—symbols of progress that have nonetheless erased vistas stitched into generational memory.

The mosaic has grown more diverse, but with it comes the challenge of retaining the city’s original cadence.

I remember walking home under a blazing summer sun, gazing at Amaltas flowers hanging like golden garlands, the streets nearly empty save for the occasional cyclist. Those vistas are lost.

Cinema Sundays, once spent in theatres — Friends, Lal Rattan, Cine Payal, and Sutlej, have shifted to sleek multiplexes that offer recliners and Dolby sound, but the delight of communal laughter has vanished in transition.

And then there is Dusshera Ground, once a cricketing nursery that nurtured the ambitions of many, including some who would go on to wear India colours, is a manicured walking path today.

This is not a rejection of progress, nor a lament for the past. Cities evolve. So must we. But in remembering what we were, we preserve the compass for what we might still become. As Jalandhar races ahead — faster, shinier, more vertical — I hope it finds room for the shade of Rainbow Road, the hum of Link Road, the warmth of community, and the quiet dignity of shuttered memories waiting to breathe again.

Dr Vishal Bhatia, Jalandhar