Lost in Time: A Cup of Tea and a Slice of Mystery in Kolkata’s Enchanted Café

Sikdar leaned back in his chair, the sounds of Kolkata fading as he prepared to recount his strange experience. The tea stall on the corner was filled with the usual hustle and bustle—people chattering, cars honking, and street vendors shouting to draw attention. But Sikdar’s tale was much more compelling than the surrounding noise. "It was late afternoon," Sikdar began, taking a sip of chai, "but you wouldn't have known it by the sky. A deep, dark cloud—12 kilometers deep, they said—had settled over Kolkata, and it felt like the sun had been completely wiped from the sky.

 The whole city seemed charged with some kind of energy, like static electricity was just hanging in the air. There was thunder, lightning flashing in the distance, and I knew rain wasn’t far behind." Samaranand listened, intrigued, his brows furrowing. “Sounds ominous.” “You have no idea,” Sikdar continued. “I was out at Hazra crossing, of all places, looking for a palmist. Ridiculous, right? I don’t even believe in that stuff. But something drew me out there. But this weather—unbelievable! It made me rethink the whole thing. The wind picked up, and I thought I’d better take shelter before the rain began." 

 He paused, remembering the moment vividly. "That's when I noticed this little café, tucked between two modern garment shops. A real hole-in-the-wall place. Strange thing is, I'd passed that spot so many times before, but I’d never seen the café. It was like it had just appeared out of nowhere. And the weather—this strange, electric atmosphere—was making me feel all kinds of odd." Samaranand leaned in closer. “And you went inside?” Sikdar nodded. "I was curious, but more than that, I needed to get out of the storm. As soon as I walked in, I was shocked". 

From the outside, it looked small, almost shabby, but inside, it was like I’d stepped into another world. It was clean, spacious even, with gaslights flickering. The walls seemed to stretch on either side, much wider than the space should have allowed. How could it be so big? I was puzzled—completely confused. The place should have overlapped with the garment shops next door, but somehow, it didn’t." 

 Samaranand frowned, trying to picture it. “Sounds impossible.” “Exactly! But then it got weirder.” Sikdar's voice lowered, adding a tone of mystery. “I was welcomed by an Anglo-Indian man—neatly dressed but in the most outlandish clothes I’ve ever seen. A mix of British colonial and something... else. He had an air about him, something formal yet strange. The place was busy, full of other customers, but everything seemed off. The light was dim, only from gas lamps, no electricity. I thought for a second I had somehow been transported to another era." 

 Samaranand laughed. “You always did have an active imagination, Sikdar.” “Oh, I thought the same. Maybe some young entrepreneur had opened one of those quirky, themed cafes that are popping up all over the city. You know, like a British colonial throwback? I sat down at a table, still confused but intrigued, and ordered tea and a tea cake, the kind the British used to have.” “Did they serve it?” Samaranand asked, already anticipating something strange. “Oh, they did. But here’s the bizarre part. It all happened so fast. One moment, I placed the order, and the next, the tea and cake were in front of me—like magic. I didn’t even see who served me. It was as if the table itself had conjured it up.” Sikdar paused dramatically before continuing. “The Anglo-Indian manager bowed and said, ‘Enjoy.’

          And then... things got really odd. The hall, this grand space I was sitting in, began to shrink. Slowly, but surely, it was like the walls were closing in, the place returning to its true size. Eventually, I found myself sitting in a narrow, cramped room. The grand illusion had completely vanished, and now, it was just a small café with a few chairs and tables.” “And the others? The customers?” “Gone. Vanished. The grand, colonial atmosphere disappeared with them. I was sitting there with a cup of chai—not the fancy tea I’d ordered—and a local biscuit. It felt like a hallucination. I was flummoxed, lost in my thoughts. That’s when a young guy in jeans and a tee—completely modern—walked up, winked at me, and said, ‘Hope you enjoyed the experience!’ Like it was all some kind of charade.” Sikdar leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. 

“But here’s the strangest part. When I first walked in, Kolkata’s streets were alive with chaos—cars honking, people yelling, the usual madness. But when the tea and cake were served, everything outside went quiet. Like the whole city had been put on pause for this strange performance.” Samaranand was speechless for a moment before he finally said, “And what do you make of it? Some sort of trick?” Sikdar smiled knowingly. “I don’t know. A trick? A dream? Maybe. Or maybe Kolkata hides more than we think. The city’s full of mysteries, after all.” The honking of cars and distant chatter seemed to return as Sikdar finished his story, but for a moment, both men sat in silence, letting the oddness of the tale sink in, unsure whether the enchantment had really ended. As Sikdar finished his description, Samaranand leaned back thoughtfully, a smile playing on his lips. "I’m trying to imagine the café," he said. "It must be like the Sangu Valley at Bhawanipore—small, cozy, and unassuming at first glance. But then it transforms, like one of those 24-hour coffee shops in a five-star hotel. Except here, you’ve got gaslights flickering, and the place is filled with the colorful gentry of the British era—people who might have arrived in horse-drawn phaetons, stepping in from a world long gone." He chuckled, “Sounds like you were caught in a beautiful illusion, Sikdar.”