Born and brought up in a village in Himachal Pradesh, Chandigarh was to me what London is to a city girl. My first visit to City Beautiful happened years ago during our school vacation when my sister and I earned a laborious go-ahead to meet our aunt with the hidden intent to hang around town.

In sheer paradox, we were cooped up by our prudish host in her house for a week, courtesy our teenage status. We were sent back to square one with our unfulfilled dream of discovering the city our way. Back then, I didn’t realise the Almighty had better plans.

It took many more years of waiting until my nuptials allowed me to spell out my long-cherished dream before my hubby. My ‘big’ wish ironically seemed too ‘small’ for him. It drew a suppressed smile that escalated into a hearty guffaw when I shared that I’d never been to a shopping mall or watched a movie in a multiplex.

On our visit to Chandigarh, we indulged in landmark sightseeing; visiting the meticulously manicured Rose Garden and ingeniously chiselled Rock Garden besides strolling down blissfully along Sukhna Lake, snacking on lip-smacking street food, yet all I waited for excitedly was to get to the matinee to evade Murphy’s Law. The much-awaited moment materialised as sensor-powered entrance doors of the mall slid open, welcoming me regally to step into the glittering world of highbrow shoppers and swanky outlets.

Watching people using escalators on TV made it look an easy exercise until my feet found it nearly impossible to land onto the endlessly circulating belt of steps in perpetual fear of losing my footing and falling to my face. Despite holding on to my husband’s hand tightly, I let out a scream to the bewilderment of scores of visitors. Thankfully, I regained my balance.

To get to the uppermost floor, I was then made to get into an elevator on purpose for my adorable partner reeled out fundamental dos and don’ts to be learnt by a novice that sounded pleasant music to my ears. Everything around was uncannily alien, even the plain chore of an usher splitting our tickets in half before escorting us to our seats. Soon, the lights went off to light up the silver screen. My face was lit up too with a wide moony smile to go unnoticed in the pitch-dark hall.

Later, exorbitant tags on glamorous goods dampened my amazing cinematic experience; eventually guilt-tripping my conscience. My partner suggested window shopping, a term primarily coined for bourgeois with shallow pockets, before playfully egging me on to browse through expensive merchandise.

In the end, we munched our way through yummy burgers and I expressed my hearty gratitude for helping me realise my childhood dream of exploring City Beautiful. “I’d rather be ever so grateful to you for nurturing a pocket-friendly dream,” came the repartee that not only brought out the frugal temperament of my husband but also gave us an opportunity to laugh out loud without a care in the world.

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(The writer is a government teacher at Gagret in Himachal Pradesh )