There was something about Sector 22 that didn’t feel planned… even though Chandigarh is the most planned city in India. Mornings didn’t begin with alarms — they began with cycles rushing past, school bags swinging, and milkmen doing their rounds like clockwork. By late morning, the markets were alive — fruit vendors calling out, aunties bargaining like professionals, and shopkeepers who somehow knew everyone by name.
Afternoons slowed everything down. The sun got stronger, streets quieter, and homes filled with the smell of lunch and the hum of ceiling fans. But evenings… evenings belonged to us.
Cricket matches in narrow lanes, heated arguments over “out hai ya not out,” and that one uncle who always complained but never actually stopped the game. There were no playdates, no planning — just a simple knock on the door: “Bahar aa raha hai?” And that was enough. Sector 22 wasn’t just a place you lived in — it was a place that quietly raised you, shaped you, and stayed with you long after you left.
