Kalka still lives in me

To others, Kalka may be just another stop on way to Kasauli or Shimla or further, but for me it has always been a universe in itself. I was born in Kalka. The town was small, yet it carried the vastness of my childhood within its lanes, bazaars, and temple courtyards.

I still remember racing through the market with my siblings, our laughter bouncing off the shop walls. Mornings with my grandmother led us to the Prachin Kali Mata temple. While the grown-ups prayed, we children turned its pathways into playgrounds, playing hide-and-seek beneath the watchful eyes of gods.

Afternoons used to be slow, with traffic crawling like a tired procession. But evenings were bursts of freedom. With Bauji, I would wander over to the railway ground where every stone felt like a treasure, every flower a discovery. Some days, our footsteps led us to Yadvindra Garden, where the taste of golgappas outside its gate was nothing short of celebration.

Relatives often arrived at our doorstep, their excitement overflowing as they prepared to board the famous toy train to Shimla. Those days, our home would sound like a railway junction — alive with chatter, luggage, laughter and mom's homemade food.

Even today, whenever I think of home, I don’t just see buildings or roads... I see the bazaar, the temple, the railway ground. Kalka isn’t just where I grew up — it’s where I still return, every time I close my eyes.

Vibha Khanna, Mohali