A few days ago, while catching up with my old classmate and friend Aranjit, our conversation drifted toward a city that holds a special corner in my heart — Chandigarh. He suggested that I write about my very first visit there, way back in May 1986. His nudge unlocked a flood of memories — adventurous, absurd, frightening, and unforgettable.

So here it is — the story of a weekend escapade that began with a simple plan and turned into a midnight adventure we still talk about nearly four decades later.

The Context: Life as a Management Trainee

In May 1986, I was in the midst of my Management Trainee training with the bank. This training period was structured as a year-long program, which included both institutional and on-the-job training (OJT). We were divided into various groups, with some batchmates undergoing institutional training while others were at their respective branches for OJT.

During my on-the-job training (OJT) in New Delhi, several of my batchmates were also posted across different branches in the city. Gautam was assigned to the same branch as me, focusing on loans during his OJT. Around the same time, a few others from our group were attending a training session at the Zonal Training Centre in Chandigarh, roughly 250 kilometers from Delhi. When we realized that Buddha Purnima fell on a Saturday (May 24) that year, creating a rare two-day weekend, the idea of visiting Chandigarh to catch up with them seemed too good to miss. Satyajit, who was posted at another branch, decided to join us for the trip.

Little did we know that this spontaneous plan would take us straight into the heart of a city on edge.

Rolling Out of Delhi: A Bus Ride to Chandigarh

As the Friday evening set in, Gautam, Satyajit, and I wrapped up our work and made our way to the Interstate Bus Terminus (ISBT) near Kashmiri Gate. That weekend, we had set our sights on visiting Chandigarh to catch up with our batchmates and explore the city. After a quick catch-up and a round of tea, we boarded the bus around 6:30 p.m., brimming with excitement.

The journey began on a cheerful note. As the bus cruised out of Delhi and into the highway stretch, we chatted away about the weekend that lay ahead. A hearty dinner stop at the iconic Amrik Sukhdev Dhaba in Murthal added to the joy — piping hot parathas, dollops of butter, and a glass of lassi each made for a fulfilling meal under the open sky.

As night fell and the conversations mellowed, the bus sped through the quiet highways of Haryana. Around 11:30 p.m., we finally rolled into Chandigarh. The air was noticeably cooler, and the stillness of the night lent the city an unusual calm. But little did we know that this silence was not of serenity, but of caution — and that the night was about to turn into an experience we would never forget.

A City on Edge: Understanding the Turmoil

To put things in perspective, the mid-1980s were a volatile period in India, particularly in Punjab. The Sikh separatist movement had escalated into widespread violence, plunging the region into turmoil. In 1984, Operation Blue Star had been carried out in Amritsar to remove militants from the Golden Temple. Just two years later, in April 1986, Operation Black Thunder was launched to dislodge around 200 armed Sikh extremists who had once again taken refuge in the temple. On April 30, 1986, approximately 300 National Security Guard commandos, supported by 700 Border Security Force personnel, stormed the Golden Temple and captured the militants.

As the shared capital of Punjab and Haryana, Chandigarh was on edge. The atmosphere was tense, shaped by ongoing terror threats and intense counter-insurgency operations. Life in the city had adapted to the uncertainty—people avoided venturing out after dark, and any nighttime movement was viewed with suspicion. Unaware of just how fragile the situation was, we had no idea that our midnight arrival would drop us right into the heart of this uneasy climate.

Sector 17 Bus Stand: The Ghostly Welcome

The moment our bus pulled into the Chandigarh bus station at Sector 17, something felt off. Within seconds, the bus was completely deserted—the driver, conductor, and all the passengers disappeared almost as if they’d vanished into thin air. The bus terminus itself was cloaked in an eerie silence, empty and still. We stood there, disoriented, with no clue where to head or how to reach the bank’s zonal training centre.

It wasn’t just our unfamiliarity with the city that unsettled us—it was the deeper unease of knowing we had arrived in a place gripped by tension. We’d heard that people avoided going out after dark, but we hadn’t expected the city to feel so abandoned. There was a strange sense of isolation as if we were intruders in a city that had shut itself off from the world.

An Encounter in the Dark: When Even the Rickshaw Fled

We decided to step out of the bus station to try our luck in finding a vehicle or rickshaw to take us to the training centre. But much to our dismay, a cycle rickshaw that appeared from the distance immediately sped away as soon as the driver saw us. We were three young men, each with a bag, and the sight of us frightened him into cycling away faster than we could call him.

At this point, we began to feel desperate. We were hoping for some sort of police patrol to pass by, thinking they might be able to help us find our way or at least direct us to safety. It was strange—though we were three young men on an adventure, we couldn’t help but feel the weight of the situation. Terrorism was a reality that we were now acutely aware of, and the prospect of spending the night aimlessly walking around the streets of Chandigarh felt more and more like a grim possibility.

Chandigarh’s Lonely Streets: Following the Dogs

As we wandered down the wide, tree-lined roads of Chandigarh, we couldn’t help but notice the beauty of the city, despite the fear that gripped us. Chandigarh, designed by the Swiss-French architect Le Corbusier, is a planned city, with streets intersecting at right angles and divided into sectors. The wide roads and rows of houses—though striking—were ominous in the dim moonlight.

As we walked, we heard the sound of dogs barking in the distance. In a moment of nervous humor, I jokingly suggested, “Let’s follow the barking dogs. Maybe they’ll lead us to safety, or at least to the training centre.”

As we walked toward the sound of barking, street after street, the noise grew louder… and then stopped exactly as we reached a gated compound. There it was — the hostel of the Zonal Training Centre!

We were so relieved to have found it, but the gate was locked, and it was already around 1:30 a.m. We couldn’t just knock on the door without alarming anyone. After a few attempts, we managed to climb over the gate and entered the premises.

Sneaking In: Shadows, Silence, and a Lot of Anxiety

Inside, it was pitch dark, and the building was eerily quiet. We didn’t want to make any noise and risk waking up the wrong people. We cautiously tried to check rooms, but in the process, some false walls fell, and we quickly ran out, fearing we might disturb the female batchmates in the hostel. We couldn’t risk that!

Finally, we found a window with a dim light and saw some of our Sikh batchmates sleeping inside. We made a feeble attempt to wake them, but they remained dead to the world. Eventually, one of our friends heard us and let us in, where we were able to settle down and get some much-needed rest after our thrilling adventure.

Morning Reactions: Fear, Surprise & Laughter

The next morning, over breakfast, we asked our batchmates why they hadn’t responded to our calls or opened the door when we knocked. They confessed that, in the darkness of the night, they had been terrified, thinking we were attackers. We understood their fears—it was a volatile time, and it was easy to mistake anyone out at that hour for a threat.

Our fellow trainees were amazed that we had managed to find our way to the city at midnight when even the locals didn’t venture out after dark. Some considered our actions foolhardy, while others wondered why the police hadn’t stopped us, assuming we were terrorists. But in reality, the streets were so empty that we didn’t see a single patrol car the entire night. We had experienced fear firsthand, and it was something that stayed with us for the rest of our trip.

Chandigarh by Day: Calm, Beauty & Friendship

After the nerve-wracking start to our journey, the next day more than made up for it. As the sun rose over Chandigarh, the city revealed its softer, more welcoming side — calm, orderly, and filled with the quiet charm that comes from thoughtful planning and green spaces. Despite the lingering tension in the air due to the political climate of the time, the city felt safe by daylight, and we were determined to make the most of our visit.

We began our day with a stroll along the peaceful shores of Sukhna Lake, where the gentle ripples and cool breeze seemed to wash away the memories of the previous night. Surrounded by the Shivalik Hills, the lake offered a picturesque start to the day — locals were out for their morning walks, and there was a quiet rhythm to the scene that was both soothing and energizing.

Next, we made our way to one of Chandigarh’s most iconic landmarks — the Rock Garden. Tucked away like a surreal secret, the garden left us awestruck. Spread across 40 acres, this extraordinary sculpture park was the brainchild of Nek Chand Saini, a self-taught artist who had started building it in 1957 in secrecy, using discarded materials. What began as a hidden project in a gorge transformed into a stunning maze of interconnected courtyards, waterfalls, and passageways — all adorned with thousands of sculptures made from broken ceramics, bangles, tiles, industrial waste, and everyday objects people had thrown away.

It felt like walking through a dream — each corner of the Rock Garden revealed whimsical figures, dancers frozen in motion, animals crafted from electrical fittings, and entire villages built from rubble. Knowing that all of this had been created from what the world had deemed useless added to the wonder.

We spent the rest of the day meandering through Chandigarh’s broad, tree-lined avenues, stopping for cups of tea, sharing laughter with friends, and soaking in the spirit of a city unlike any other in India — bold in vision, clean in layout, and yet full of heart.

The Journey That Became a Story

What began as a spur-of-the-moment weekend plan became one of the most unforgettable adventures of my youth. That trip gave us:

• moments of fear
• bursts of laughter
• irrational decisions
• unexpected discoveries
• stronger friendships
• and stories we still recount fondly

Chandigarh welcomed us with silence, startled us with tension, dazzled us with beauty, and gifted us memories that have lived on for decades.

Sometimes, the most ordinary plans turn into the most extraordinary stories. And this trip — born of youthful recklessness and a thirst for adventure — was exactly that.