India, Feb. 15 -- There are cities that grow on you quietly, and then there is Chandigarh - a city that teaches you how to breathe. Among its many gentle lessons, none is more understated and enduring than the bridge market of Sector 17, a modest stretch of life unfolding beneath a flyover designed not for speed, but for beauty. Le Corbusier imagined Chandigarh as a living organism, where architecture would influence how people lived, paused, and connected. Nowhere is this idea more tangible than in this bridge - the only flyover he designed primarily for aesthetic purposes, cutting through office spaces rather than soaring above congestion. Over the years, it has become less a piece of infrastructure and more a shared civic room. For office-goers, Sector 17 afternoons follow an unwritten rhythm. As the clock nudges past one, files close, pens are capped, and feet instinctively drift toward the bridge market. Descending the steps feels like entering a softer version of the city. The harsh sun turns forgiving under the concrete shade, traffic noise fades into a distant hum, and the aroma of freshly prepared food takes over. This is not a market that shouts. It murmurs. Vendors who have occupied these corners for decades greet customers with an easy familiarity - "Aaj usual?" - without waiting for an answer. Plates of rajma-chawal, chole-bhature, rolls wrapped in paper, cold coffee in steel tumblers, and perpetually boiling kettles of tea circulate between plastic stools and concrete ledges. The food is unpretentious, affordable, and deeply reassuring. What truly defines the bridge market, however, is conversation. Hierarchies dissolve here. Junior clerks share tables with senior officers. Architects debate politics with journalists, bankers argue cricket statistics with lawyers, and someone invariably brings up inflation, traffic, or the weather. Post-lunch discussions stretch longer than intended - philosophical at times, frivolous at others - until a reluctant glance at the watch signals the return to work. In an increasingly hurried world, the bridge market functions as a pause button. Long before food courts, delivery apps, and desk lunches became the norm, this space taught Chandigarh how to slow down. It offered shade not only from the sun, but from deadlines and demands. Friendships were forged here, careers quietly contemplated, and life decisions mulled over between unhurried sips of tea. Today, as glass facades rise and lunch becomes something ordered rather than experienced, the bridge market remains stubbornly unchanged. And perhaps that is its quiet triumph. It reminds us that good cities are not sustained only by grand plans, but by everyday rituals - shared meals, shared thoughts, and shared silences. Under Le Corbusier's bridge in Sector 17, Chandigarh still pauses for lunch. And in that pause, it remembers who it is....