Pakistan’s Best Kept Secret: Pak Tea House

Pak Tea House is an intellectual tea-cafe located in Lahore, Pakistan and is known for its association with progressive academics and left-leaning South Asian intelligentsia. Before partition, it was named India Tea House. Traditionally frequented by the country's notably artistic, cultural, and literary personalities, it was founded by a Sikh family in 1940 and quickly acquired its current name after it was leased to one of the locals in Lahore after the partition in 1947.

Intervention of Lahore high Court had led to the re-opening of the Tea House in 2013. Noted for being the birthplace of an influential literary movement, the “Progressive Writers Association'' the place is described as a hub of Lahore's intellectual life for many years.

The specialty of this hallmark is not the chaye, coffee or qehwa served, but the serenity that overlaps you. There are pictures of writers, intellectuals, and poets framed on the wall. There’s a mushaira happening every now and then.

The idea of shutting down Pak Tea House in 2000 was not well-received by the people, particularly the writers. The writers and artisans condemned the decision. Well, most of the artists and poets were left leaning, so duh… resistance and defiance, ta-da: that’s the foundational core of The Progressive Writers Association. The foundational basis of the Progressive Writers Association was laid upon the principle of defiance and resistance, even in regressive times.

Famous satire columnist Atta-ul-Haq Qasmi believed that closing the hub of Lahore’s literary movement would not only be a blow for the writers and artists, but also would cause some ruckus for the young writers, as they can learn a lot from the experiences of senior artists and writers.

It was then ordered by the High Court to renovate and reinitiate the café. Hence the chai café was restored and made functional for the public in 2013. The place has not lost its essence even after.

“Abhi bhi dil-kash hai tera husn, magar kia kijiye”

Almost a century long glory, rest is fable, rest is history, what’s left are memories, which however are, preserved on the walls, and if these walls could talk, they’d tell you stories so you can enjoy the chaye with more context. But, since the walls cannot, but you can, so you can, see pictures of legendary writers, hangin’, straight up chillin’ like the boys usually do. Nothing seems odd, or unusual, everyone’s having a fun time, debating, discussing, discovering. Pak Tea House has hosted not only artists and writers, but also their paramount energies which I personally believe, reflects the aura, the synergy and the serenity. It could be the charisma of people who broke cups here. Or it could be not.

I remember my experience of visiting the place, back in 2018. The café usually closes at 11pm. I was there with a few of my cousins, siblings, and niblings, and it was late. We got there at 11:10 pm, and had to request them to let us in. I would have begged if needed be, to let me in as it was my last day in Lahore. Well, that did not happen, and they let us in: mehmaan card works.

We took pictures, had chaye: which quite amazingly was good. Posh restaurants and cafés usually have much to offer, ambience, instagrammable food, good lights, neat crockery, but the chaye is not good. But Pak Tea House surprised me.

The place has a ground floor, and an upper floor, could be another, but I can’t remember. There are some tables and chairs. And so many pictures, of writers, critics, poets, and other notable literary figures. You get to see Faiz, Manto, Jalib, or other big names, but my heart melted, as soon as I saw Saghar Siddiqui’s picture framed, at least some acknowledgment for the Poet of Pain.

We got a bit overwhelmed, and it took us more than 40 minutes to comprehend and process, until a waiter very politely told us it was late and so, we took our disposable cups, and bid farewell. I remember, a customer was still there, who seemed like a writer to me, middle-aged, messy hair, his glasses hanging on the nook of his nose, with more empty cups of chaye than papers on his table, pondering, as if something wanted his attention. Felt like having a word with him but my social anxiety took over. At that very moment, I knew what this place stood for: and it was takhayul.