In This City of Grids, Seva is the Softest Line that goes Beyond Chandigarh Gurudwaras

At Chandigarh’s Gurudwaras, seva isn’t limited to older people or the deeply religious. Children wipe benches with care, teenagers carry crates of vegetables, and college students manage accounts and supplies. It’s common to see entire families, who might not find time to eat together otherwise, coming together to serve langar (community kitchen), pour water in chabeels, or clean the floors. No one is assigned a role, yet everyone finds one. Faith here isn’t about rituals or rules; it’s expressed through small, consistent acts of service. It’s in the helping hands, the shared labour, and the quiet belief that doing something for others is reason enough to keep coming back.

When Seva Found a Home in Chandigarh

The tradition of seva, selfless service without expectation, originates from the core teachings of Guru Nanak Dev Ji and has been practised for centuries in Sikh communities. It took deeper roots during the 16th century when the institution of langar was formalised, offering free meals to all, regardless of caste or background. After Partition in 1947, when Chandigarh was being built as a new capital for Punjab, thousands of displaced Sikh families resettled here. With them came not just survival stories, but the living philosophy of seva. Much like the Delhi Gurudwara, Chandigarh Gurudwaras were established across the city’s sectors in the 1950s and 1960s; they became more than places of worship; they became spaces for healing, feeding, and organising community efforts. “I’ve been doing seva since I was a child,” says Rakul Kaur, 30. “It started with small things like serving water, but now we use proper equipment and digital tools too. What hasn’t changed is the intent.”

Chandigarh’s growth into a hub for education, governance, and migration only deepened this culture of service. Gurudwaras in sectors like 34, 22, and Manimajra became known for their quick, large-scale mobilisation, whether through langars during religious events or chabeel stalls offering sweetened water in the summer heat. During the COVID-19 lockdowns, many of these Gurudwaras also organised oxygen langars and food deliveries across the Tricity. “In 23 years, the first time my whole family came together was during langar seva,” says Ramandeep Kaur, recalling the 550th birth anniversary of Guru Nanak Dev Ji in 2019 and visiting Nada Sahib Gurudwara Chandigarh. “Not even weddings managed that.” In a city shaped by straight lines and sector maps, these acts of seva remain the most fluid and heartfelt form of connection.

Seva Goes Beyond the Duty and What it Quietly Builds

Seva may appear to be routine work at first glance, involving tasks such as handing out water, cooking meals, or sweeping floors, but its impact extends far beyond the obvious. One of its most meaningful outcomes is the way it brings people together. In families scattered by distance and busy lives, seva becomes the reason to return. "We’re six brothers and three sisters," says Jasprit Longewal, 56. "We barely manage to meet otherwise, but every week we’re here side by side. Seva keeps that bond alive."

It also removes barriers. There’s no hierarchy in the langar hall. Teenagers plan logistics, elders do the heavy lifting, and everyone plays a role, regardless of background. For many, it’s where real learning happens. "Schools feel too focused on marks and rules," says Ramandeep. "But in the Gurudwara, you understand what sharing means. You learn it by doing it." Seva quietly shapes skills that no classroom teaches: teamwork, patience, and community leadership. For some, it even shifts long-held beliefs. "I used to think religion was strict and controlling," says Mandip Saini, 38. "But through seva, I saw how it could be something open and human." The rewards are not always visible, but they leave lasting impressions on those who take part.

The Effort Behind Every Drop

Behind every refreshing glass of rosewater served at a chabeel is a network of people quietly working long hours, often without pause or recognition. The beauty of seva lies in its simplicity, but making it happen, especially in a city like Chandigarh, is far from effortless. From purchasing and storing supplies to coordinating volunteers and managing waste, it requires careful planning and a relentless commitment. "I’ve managed the accounts for years," says Rakul Kaur. "Just tracking materials and avoiding wastage can feel like running a small business."

For older volunteers, the physical strain is real. "It’s not easy anymore," admits Longewal. "Resources are tighter, and it takes real effort to keep things going. Luckily, my kids are pitching in now." Seva also pushes people to rethink outdated beliefs about gender roles, about who gets to lead, or even what it means to be religious. "I thought women were only expected to cook," says Rakul. "But I’ve seen women take charge, plan entire events, and lead from the front." Mr Saini, too, shares how seva reshaped his understanding of faith. "I used to think religion was rigid. But through Chabeel, I saw how open and inclusive it could be." Behind the grace of these everyday rituals lies grit, and it’s this mix that keeps the spirit of seva alive.

Where Faith Meets Action

In Chandigarh, seva goes beyond ritual; it's woven into the city's daily life, shaping how people connect, care, and carry tradition forward. It creates a sense of purpose that doesn’t rely on sermons or formal prayers but on small, consistent acts of giving. From children learning teamwork by helping at langar to families reuniting over chabeel prep, the spirit of service touches all generations. In a city built with structure and symmetry, it’s these quiet, collective efforts that bring warmth and meaning. Seva here isn’t spoken, it’s lived, one shared task at a time.