Laxmi Thapa Magar
Birth: 1946
Death: 2025
Laxmi didi, as she was popularly known, passed away at the age of 79. A resident of Baneshwor, she was not only the owner of a small yet famous tea shop but also the heart of an entire generation’s memories, political discussions, and human warmth.
Born into a Newar family, she married into a Magar household during a time when inter-caste marriages were rare and frowned upon. She is survived by her son Mohan and two daughters Rita and Gita. Her husband passed away earlier, but her legacy remains alive in the hearts of those she served, laughed with, and inspired.
Her shop was once a traditional two-storey home, but it became something more—a sanctuary. From early morning, 7:00 am onwards, the place would fill with the smell of freshly brewed tea, the sizzle of mutton curry, and the chatter of minds hungry for conversation and connection. More than a local eatery, it was a hub of political thought, literary exchange, and lifelong friendships. Her mutton momo and curry were famous, but it was her calm smile and generous spirit that made people want to keep coming back.
Senior advocate and former lawmaker Radheshyam Adhikari, who has been visiting her shop for nearly 58 years, says, “If her shop had not existed, we would never have met each other. That place was not just a tea shop—it was a bridge. A group of us came together there, people from different districts and backgrounds, and we connected through conversation, debate, and Laxmi’s quiet strength.” “During times when FM radios, televisions, or even regular newspapers weren’t part of everyday life, her shop served as a place where people gathered to read shared copies of Gorkhapatra and other papers, passionately discussing politics and national issues. Figures like Rajendra Kharel, Hari Sharma, and even Kisun Ji would drop by regularly,” he adds.
From the later years of the Panchayat era to his active political life, former Prime Minister and Nepali Congress leader Krishna Prasad Bhattarai made it a routine to drink tea and meet party cadres every Saturday at Laxmi didi’s shop.
The small tea shop, housed in a modest building with a tin roof, would be frequented by many leaders and activists alongside Kisunji. Since it was the regular hangout of a top Congress leader, Laxmi didi’s tea shop became a hub for political discussions and debates. During the Panchayat period, when the Nepali Congress was banned, leaders and activists needed no other location—Laxmi didi’s shop was the go-to meeting point.
Even after the restoration of democracy and during his tenure as Kisunji continued to be surrounded by party workers at the tea spot every Saturday. The gatherings were filled with conversations about both joys and hardships.
According to Adhikari, people didn’t just come for the tea; they came for her warmth, her wisdom, and the community she created. Laxmi didi never raised her voice, never turned anyone away. She offered meals to friends even when times were tough. Her kindness wasn’t performative—it was embedded in every action of hers.
Adhikari recalls, during elections, her shop was where people gathered before heading to Ratna Library to vote.
It wasn’t just local figures who recognized the shop’s significance. Even BP Koirala, the democratic leader and writer, once expressed a wish to join the conversations that took place there. “I would like to be there and have an intellectual conversation with you all,” he reportedly said, “but the smoke doesn’t suit me.” Due to health reasons and the smoking habits of some attendees, he couldn’t visit often—but his words alone marked the space as a recognized hub of intellectual engagement.
Adhikari says that writers may have mentioned her in their essays, where she will be remembered forever. He laments, “Without her, the shop doesn’t feel the same. We miss her very much.”
