Walk through any growing Nepali city and you’ll see a chiya pasal on almost every corner. Some look like cafes without the espresso machine, while others are just two benches and a kettle. Yet the idea is the same–tea, a seat, and a social pause. In the past few years, this simple corner business has quietly become one of Nepal’s most dynamic growth businesses–not funded by Silicon Valley VCs or run out of co-working spaces, but powered by kettles and relentless foot traffic.
This popularity isn’t just visible in the number of stalls–it’s in how seriously people are running them. Owners are investing real money into their spaces, and customers keep them busy from morning to night. Students drop in after college, office workers come after their shift, and many stop by simply to see friends. For many Nepalis, a trip to the chiya pasal is part of the daily rhythm, and that rhythm is now turning into one of the country’s most dependable income streams.
The economics are disarmingly simple. A cup of milk tea goes for Rs35 in most cities. But that’s only the front door to the till. The real profits are in the “extra”–a packet of cookies, a plate of instant noodles, and most reliably cigarettes. A customer who planned to spend thirty-five rupees often leaves after paying twice or even three times that amount. On a busy street corner, it’s not unusual for a stall to sell 150 cups of tea a day, plus dozens of snack add-ons. Even after paying for milk, sugar, tea leaves, gas, and rent, many owners recover their initial setup costs within months. That steady cash flow has made the business irresistible for a new wave of owners.
It’s easy to see why. The chiya pasal is a low-barrier, fast-turnover venture. You don’t need a huge investment, yet you start earning from day one. That makes it appealing to returnee migrants looking for stability, students seeking side income, and anyone who wants to be their own boss. At the same time, customer habits have shifted. Tea has always been part of Nepali culture, but while cafe culture is growing, coffee still feels expensive for many. Tea stalls deliver the same social experience at neighborhood prices, becoming the “affordable cafe” for the masses. Nepal’s own tea production strengthens the model, keeping supply local and tied to national identity.
As customer expectations rise, many owners have realized the atmosphere matters as much as the tea itself. Some stalls now feature cleaner branding, a signature “special masala,” free Wi-Fi, and even card games. They borrow the polish of coffee culture but keep prices rooted in the neighborhood. With inviting furniture and a decent playlist, a chiya pasal can hold customers for longer, selling more biscuits, noodles, and cigarettes in the process. In that extra time, students discuss projects, taxi drivers swap the day’s news, freelancers turn the space into a temporary office, and friends catch up without worrying about Wi-Fi passwords or hefty bills. The chiya pasal has become not just a tea stop, but a networking hub, and a local hangout place.
Behind this evolution are two kinds of entrepreneurs. Some are survival entrepreneurs, opening a stall because it’s one of the few low-barrier ways to make a living. Others are aspirational, using it as a stepping stone toward something bigger–a chain, a franchise, or even a branded tea label. In either case, the business taps into an economy that doesn’t rely on imports or luxury spending, but on steady local demand. This mix also explains why on the same street you might see a hand-painted stall and a designer tea bar coexisting. But the business is also not without risks. Rising milk and gas prices can squeeze margins overnight. On the other side, crowded markets mean owners have to differentiate themselves, either through taste, service, or atmosphere. And if hygiene and licensing rules tighten, smaller players could be pushed out, though it might also raise the overall standard. But if the sector manages to hold its quality or at least its consistency the impact on the local economy will keep compounding.
Even with these challenges, the role of chiya pasals in the economy is hard to overstate. Each one is a small economic engine, circulating cash between farmers, shopkeepers, suppliers, and landlords. They employ people directly and indirectly, and they protect a uniquely Nepali social space–open to anyone, cheap enough for daily visits, and deeply woven into everyday life. In that quiet, persistent way, the chiya pasal has become Nepal’s most popular grassroots business–not through hype or outside investors, but through the steady work of pouring tea, day after day, for a country that will always make time for one more cup.