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Baat Se Hi,
Baat Banti Hai
Between two affluent neighbourhoods full of coffee shops, Shack remains a standalone feature in Shahpur Jat. Described as a cafe for bootstrappers, it borrows from the original Indian third space, the tapri; Abhishek’s ground-floor table is a space for familiarity with strangers, rotating updates on the neighbourhood
folks, and, of course, great coffee. Here, he shares further on what shaped Shack, bootstrapping, the
value of community, and what makes bad coffee.
What was the very first version of Shack?
‘The first version of Shack goes back much further than the café people know today. Around 2006, I was part of the early Couchsurfing community in India. We used to organise meetups, and once it fell upon me to host around fifty people. I was already experimenting with coffee, so I made cold brew with whatever basic equipment I had. We had rented a small space because I thought I might eventually start a business there. I casually called it Shack. That one gathering led to more.
Sometimes we'd cook or simply sit together over coffee. I tried opening a café in Hauz Khas Village around 2010. Before that, I hosted gatherings called Coffee Satsang, which loosely translates to "good company over coffee." Writers, designers, musicians and agency founders would come over on Friday evenings, I'd brew coffee, and we'd spend hours talking. The original plan was to open a café in Bangalore around 2007, but that didn't happen due to low finances.
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Looking back, those evenings probably looked more like today's Shack than anything else I was doing.
I was already writing online, so I started a creative agency instead. A proper space, proper furniture, proper equipment. This time I made myself a promise. I was returning to Shahpur Jat, the same building from where my agency had operated.
Instead of asking what I was missing, I will start with what I already had. One table. One chair. Someone gave us another chair; someone gave us a stool. I had a coffee grinder. A few manual brewing tools. There wasn't even a sign outside.
For the first year, we had no air conditioning, only a fan and a couple of tube lights. Someone gave us a second-hand panini press. Brick by brick, we invested, and more people started coming in. So, to answer your question, I do not know the exact date we launched because we never officially launched.’
I started writing about bootstrapped businesses through The Bootstrappers. I ran the publication and newsletter for nearly six years. Then the pandemic arrived. Media work almost disappeared overnight. During lockdown, it occurred to me that I should start something based on the principles I admired most. Small. Profitable. Businesses that didn't rely on constant visibility. That's when Shack finally began taking shape again. The first time I tried opening a café, I thought I needed everything to be perfect.
There's a French word, bricolage, which I love. It means creating something from whatever is already available to you.
You've described the cafe as a space for bootstrappers. What drew you to that community?
​‘If you look at government data, nearly sixty per cent of India's working population is self-employed. That includes everyone from domestic workers to people running businesses like mine. Most of these people don't have access to formal finance, administrative support or structured training. They build anyway.
I find this space interesting. I never wanted to build a big business.
Your vegetable seller, neighborhood restaurant, and small shops, they are all bootstrappers. They are running the country.
Yet, they aren't celebrated; no one wants to write about them, even though they're doing deeply meaningful work. For me, these are the most interesting people. They're rebels. I wanted to give them a space. They are like me. Shack is that space.’
Your work spans newsletters, digital platforms and physical spaces. What can an analogue space offer that digital platforms cannot?
‘We never wanted to build a business around publicity or online validation. From the beginning, we wanted to grow in a much more grounded way. I wouldn't even call it analogue because India is still largely an offline country. Most of our lives continue to happen physically, so we're simply operating in the context we're already part of. That doesn't mean we reject the internet. I write a newsletter on Substack; we have a website, and we use Shopify to sell coffee beans.
The internet is a tool. Like a hammer. You use it when the situation calls for it. It doesn't have to become the answer to every question. Someone ordering coffee from another city needs Shopify. That makes sense. But our entire menu doesn't need to live online.
Not every recipe needs to be posted.Food, by its nature, is already offline. You're eating with your hands. You're using all your senses. You're surrounded by people.
At Shack, we have one large community table. That decision came from studying design. One of the most valuable lessons in design is that good design only exists within context. Many cafés in India borrow heavily from New York, London or Japan. Someone visits a beautiful café abroad, comes back inspired and recreates it here. But it loses context.
I wanted to ask what already exists around us. Tea stalls. Halwai shops. College canteens. Railway stations. Weddings at home.
They're chaotic, but they're deeply communal. Think about an Indian wedding. Hundreds of people arrive, but there are never enough chairs. People sit wherever they find space. Nobody remembers the seating arrangement. What they remember is the people they met.
A roadside tea stall works the same way. There might be one bench and ten people standing around it. Many of them are strangers, but conversations begin naturally. That's something I grew up seeing in Varanasi. Visit the same tea stall a few times, and suddenly you know everyone there.
These spaces already exist all around us if we're willing to notice them.
I wasn't trying to invent a new format. I simply wanted to bring those qualities indoors, keep them clean, comfortable and welcoming. The food almost becomes secondary. The most meaningful thing people leave with is that they sat beside strangers and left having made new friends, learning something new. That's the experience I wanted to build.’
If someone wanted to build a café like Shack, what kind of investment would it take?
‘People usually expect the answer to be much bigger than it is. I started with roughly 5 lakh rupees. I bought a second-hand roasting machine for around two lakhs. An espresso machine and grinder together cost me another three. Beyond that, I spent very little.
I borrowed my mother's OTG, brought in my own dining table, used my study table as the sandwich station for nearly two years, and friends lent us chairs whenever they could.
I had learned a difficult lesson from my previous business. I'd invested heavily in furniture for my agency, and when I had to leave the space, most of it couldn't even fit through the door. ​
That experience stayed with me. Even today, every piece of furniture in Shack is designed around one question. If I had to leave tomorrow, could I carry it out through the door? A conventional café today might cost close to a crore to build. We grew differently.
In the food industry, the rule is that the rental-to-revenue rate should not exceed 15%. Mine, even as I am expanding to a first floor, is 5%.
I focus on good food, and good food does not need a great kitchen.’
Every community develops its own culture over time. What are some of the unwritten rules at Shack?
‘One, you cannot use expletives. You cannot be loud. Nobody shouts. Restaurant kitchens have romanticized aggression for far too long. You can disagree. You can be emotional. You can even cry. But you cannot be disrespectful.
The way we speak to customers is the same way we speak to one another.
Everyone cooks. Everyone cleans.
We are slowly trying to challenge the ingrained caste entitlement. Before we get female team members, we are educating ourselves on feminism. It is a process because we have all grown up with entrenched patriarchy. We talk through everyday life examples: Why does your mother cook every meal? Why doesn't your father fetch his own glass of water? Who cleans the toilet at home?
You begin with daily habits. You learn equality by practicing it. We're still learning, I think that's the more honest place
to begin.’
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What kind of communities do you wish existed more often today?
‘We should tap into the communities that already exist. For a business, a community should have stakeholders which you can name very clearly.
For us, it is bootstrappers. Everyone is either a bootstrapper or you aspire to be one. If you treat your customers right, a community builds itself, which is also how it works in the natural world. ‘
What does every creative space need?
‘Honesty. We started the gallery in March without knowing much about the art world. People asked why I was opening one if I wasn't into art.
I said, I can trust another person who knows more to come and educate me. This is how we operate. The way to be creative is to have a little confidence in yourself and to explore together. To collaborate. Collaboration is creativity.’
Finally, what does success mean to you today?
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‘Do good work. That's enough. We've all grown up believing we have to become the best. The best café. The best magazine. The best company.
But the idea of being the best only exists because everyone else has to lose. I'd rather see five hundred good cafés than one great one. Everyone being good is far more interesting than one person being exceptional. That's why we remind ourselves of one sentence: Never perfect. Always better.
Success also means something practical. We've managed to buy scooters for members of our team. We've helped families buy refrigerators. The next goal is to make sure everyone working at Shack has an air conditioner at home. Eventually, I hope each of them can buy a house. They're contributing more than I am.
If the people building Shack alongside me can build better lives for themselves, I'll consider that success.’
How do you manage so many different parts of the business?
‘Mostly by trusting people. There's a book called Maverick by Ricardo Semler, who used to run a manufacturing business. From there, one idea stayed with me.
Trust everyone in your team. Let them run this business.
As we're speaking, my team is handling a large order without me being there. The only way to manage is to say, “I trust you; you will perform.” If something goes wrong, accept it, and we'll fix it. There are no punishments.
After four years, I am not managing anything. I'm mostly involved with roasting coffee, developing new recipes and thinking about what comes next.
Trust has saved me time.’
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