Serampore, India – It is a warm morning in March, and 65-year-old Ashish Bandopadhyay has cycled the 10 minutes from his home to a tea shop in the Chatra neighbourhood of Serampore, about 30km (19 miles) from Kolkata.
Dressed in a pastel pink polo shirt, Ashish takes charge of the shop, declaring it’s his “turn” to run it today. “I don’t work here,” he explains with a smile while tearing open a packet of milk as he prepares to brew a fresh pot of cha (the Bengali word for tea). “I’m just an old-timer and a customer who loves volunteering.”
Located in the old part of the town, this hole-in-the-wall shop is locally known as Naresh Shomer cha er dokaan (Naresh Shome’s tea shop). In India, the process of preparing and sharing tea forms an important part of social bonds.
And that is what this tea shop is all about. For a century, it has been a space for relaxation, conversation and shared moments. But it takes the social bond one step further: customers not only drink tea but also brew and serve it.
Ashish, who has now retired from his office job with a construction company, has been visiting this tea shop since he was 10 years old. It is where he meets friends to catch up over a cup of tea.
Each weekday morning, 60-year-old owner Ashok Chakroborty opens the shop and then leaves for his office job.
“One of us takes control of running the shop till the time he returns in the evening. Today was my turn,” Ashish says. In all, there are 10 volunteers who take turns in the shop seven days a week. None are paid – most are volunteer-customers who, like Ashish, have retired and receive a pension from their former employers.
Today, Ashish arrived at the shop at 9am and closed for lunch at noon. He reopened at 3pm. “If not every day, I prefer to stay here for the majority of the week. After my departure, another person steps into my role,” he says.
There’s no fixed rota – “whoever is free does it,” Ashish explains. “We keep the cash in a wooden box on the shelf after using it to buy milk or sugar. And there hasn’t been a single day without a caretaker.”
The legacy of Naresh Chandra Shome
Little has changed in the 100 years the five-by-seven-foot tea shop has been going – “except for a few whitewashes and a ceiling repair”, Ashish notes. Despite the layers of paint, the walls are stained dark with soot and smoke from the coal-fired traditional clay stove.
Tea is still served in clay cups as well as paper ones, with a refill costing just five rupees (approximately $0.06).
The shop offers a modest tea menu with simple, straightforward options. Customers can choose from milk tea – with or without sugar – and black tea served plain or with lemon, or Kobiraji cha (black tea with spices). Jars of biscuits complete the shop’s offerings.
Situated across from Chatra Kali Babu’s Crematorium, family members often come for tea after bidding farewell to loved ones.
The shop was founded by Naresh Chandra Shome, who worked for Brooke Bond, a tea company that traces its roots to the colonial era in India. All Ashok, the current owner, knows about Shome from that period is that he left his job to become a freedom fighter.
Following India’s independence from British rule in 1947, Shome joined the Communist Party of India (Marxist) and remained an active member until his death in 1995 at the age of 77. Throughout his life, his tea shop served as a gathering place where comrades would meet, sit and exchange ideas over cups of tea.
Today, the tea shop sits next door to the local CPI(M) office. “Shome was a helpful man and was active in community service. His shop was well known then and now. There is a photo of him in the party office,” says Prashanto Mondal, 54, a regular customer at the tea shop.
He recalls how he was first brought to the shop by a colleague during a lunch break 25 years ago.
“There are many tea stalls in Serampore, but I always come here, almost daily, because of the shop’s unique atmosphere and sense of camaraderie,” the LPG gas delivery agent explains.
After finishing his tea, Prashanto gets up to help Ashish refill the coal in the oven. Like Prashanto, most customers help with duties such as fetching milk from the nearby shop or filling water from the tap.
“We have heard stories of Naresh Shome during his activist days,” says Ashish. “He would sometimes leave the shop abruptly for urgent community service or be taken by the police, always asking his customers to look after the shop. I believe this legacy has endured – customers naturally take responsibility for the tea shop in the owner’s absence – the test of time.”
From colonial past to Bengali adda and cha
In about 1925, Shome opened the tea shop on the ground floor of the building owned by his aunt. But before it was a gathering spot for tea drinkers and conversationalists, the 350-year-old building on the banks of the Hooghly River housed various types of shops, including one that sold utensils.
Exposed wooden beams on the ceiling seem to bear the weight of history. The thick limestone walls stand as silent witnesses to the many Bengali, Danish and English people who’ve passed through over the years. The shop looks out towards Chatra ghat (steps leading down to the river), where Hindus have cremated their dead for generations. Now, a modern electric crematorium has taken the place of traditional wood pyres.
The town of Serampore, home to about 200,000 people, predates the West Bengal capital of Kolkata by a few centuries and has been ruled at times by both the Danes and the British. The town was a Danish trading settlement named Frederiksnagore from 1755 to 1845, until the British took over, staying until independence in 1947.
Once, horse-driven carriages transported European officers and their families along the streets. Today, the bylanes bustle with motorbikes, electric rickshaws and cars. European-style buildings stand alongside the tall apartment complexes built in more recent decades.
Local restoration activist Mohit Ranadip explains that the tea shop holds an important position in the cultural history of Serampore. Ranadip is a member of the Serampore Heritage Restoration Initiative, a local citizen-led body dedicated to preserving and promoting the town’s heritage.
“Adda and para culture are still very relevant in the [Chatra] locality and maybe that is the reason why the tea shop is still so popular,” he says.
In West Bengal, para culture loosely refers to a neighbourhood or locality, defined by a strong sense of community. Each para inevitably has its adda spot – the corner of a street, park or, indeed, a tea shop. Adda is a beloved pastime that is unique to West Bengal. Markedly different from mere small talk or chatting, it is best described as an informal group conversation that’s long, fluid and relaxed in nature. A cup of cha invariably binds these gatherings together.
In the Chatra neighbourhood, Naresh Shome’s tea shop is a focal point for this adda tradition, attracting people from all walks of life to converge and share their daily experiences over steaming cups of tea.
Prashanto and his colleagues, Karthick and Amal, discussed the remaining gas cylinders they had to deliver by the end of the day. Some came on their own for a quick tea. The customers who dropped by in the evening were more relaxed, like Anima Kar, who came with her daughter to catch up with her brother.
The state of West Bengal’s connection with tea also runs deep. About 600km north of Serampore, the tea industry took root in the hills of Darjeeling in the mid-19th century during the British Raj. The first commercial tea gardens were established in Darjeeling and the surrounding areas. The emerald green tea estates of Darjeeling still produce some of the world’s most expensive tea.
At about 6pm, as evening sets in, Ashok returns from his clerical job. Wearing an olive green T-shirt, he takes over from Ashish, seamlessly continuing the shop’s daily rhythm.
Ashok is the son-in-law of Lakhirani Dakhi, the owner of the building. He has been in charge of the shop since Shome’s death.
“Today Ashish da (brother) gave me 400 rupees ($4.65) as the day’s income,” says Ashok, as he poured tea into clay cups. He says he has never faced any problems with customers not paying; without fail, they always leave the correct amount for tea in the cash box or return later to pay what they owe.
“We sell around 200 cups most days,” he adds.
‘A question mark on the future’
“I love the tea with masala (spice mixture) made by Ashok da,” says 50-year-old Anima, who has been a customer for years. “If Kolkata has a coffee house where people meet for some quality time and adda, well, this tea shop is our humble equivalent.”
Anima used to come with her father when she was a child and remembers Shome. Now, she sometimes visits with her family. “The tea shop remains an enduring symbol of tradition, community living and a love for tea. Every morning and evening, people are drawn not just by the tea, but by a profound sense of belonging and shared history,” Anima says.
At 9pm, Ashok pours the last pot of tea for the four remaining customers and prepares to call it a day.
In the past couple of years, he has started to worry about the future of his iconic shop.
“I doubt whether the younger generation will carry forward this cherished legacy of trust. There are very few visitors from the younger generation who come and participate in the tea shop,” he says.
His son, Ashok says, is an engineer and hasn’t shown much interest in the shop.
Restoration activist Ranadip shares his concerns: “The younger generation is so busy that they have little time for adda, which seriously puts a question mark on the future of the shop like this.”
Despite the shop’s uncertain future, Ashok remains hopeful that others will step forward to preserve it, just as previous generations have. “I choose to stay optimistic that the shop will continue its legacy, as it has for so many years,” Ashok says.
