Folklore in a cup: Myths and legends of milk tea in Bangladesh

Tea in Bangladesh traces its roots back to the tea trade in Bengal during British colonial rule. Introduced and cultivated by the British, plantations thrived in Sylhet and Srimangal, regions that remain at the heart of the country's tea industry today. 

What began as a colonial commodity soon grew into a daily ritual, a beverage that transcended refreshment to become part of Bangladesh's social and cultural fabric. Over time, the legacy of the Mughal era, the imprint of colonial rule, and the globalisation of South Asian tea all helped shape a tradition that is now inseparable from Bangladeshi life.

But tea in Bangladesh is more than history. Alongside the plantations and porcelain cups, it gave rise to a world of sayings, folklore, and urban legends. These tales, some humorous, others superstitious, reflect the way milk tea has been woven into everyday life across districts.

Tea as the elite's drink

When the British first introduced tea in 19th-century Bengal, it was viewed as a foreign luxury, reserved for sahibs and zamindars.

Villagers mocked it as "shadher shorbot", a precious, untouchable drink meant only for the powerful. Some even believed that tea gave the British their pale skin and unusual strength.

This early folklore framed tea not as a humble beverage but as a marker of class, distance, and power.

The first pour belongs to the customer

Among tong sellers, an old superstition endures: the first glass poured from a fresh kettle should never be drunk by the seller. If the cha-wala keeps it for himself, business will dry up, and customers will not return.

Instead, the first pour must always be served to someone else. Even today, many tea sellers follow this practice almost instinctively, keeping the old belief alive in everyday rituals.

Milk tea as medicine

In Bangladeshi villages, milk tea is often spoken of as a cure-all. Elders say it "softens the blood," keeps fever away, and strengthens bones.

Farmers returning from the fields call it their evening tonic, swearing it restores the body better than medicine.

While science may not confirm these claims, the folklore reveals how deeply tea became tied to health, resilience, and rural life.

'Cha khele kalo hoye jabi'

Every Bangladeshi child grows up hearing this line: "Drink tea and you'll turn dark." It was never meant as science but as strategy. In the past, tea was a luxury reserved for adults and guests, so parents invented the warning to keep children away from the kettle. The phrase has since outgrown its purpose, surviving as a playful joke. Even today, it is teased at tea stalls when someone downs their fourth or fifth cup in a row.

The spirits in the steam

Sylhet, with its rolling tea gardens and misty hills, has some of the richest tea folklore in Bangladesh. When the British set up tea estates in places like Srimangal and Habiganj, thousands of peasants were displaced from their land. Over time, locals began to say that the spirits of those who lost their homes still wandered the gardens.

Workers whispered that in the early mornings and late nights, ghostly shapes could be seen moving through the tea bushes. Near the factory kettles, where steam rose thick and heavy, people claimed they heard faint voices, as if someone unseen was speaking.

Even today, families in Sylhet jokingly warn children not to stare too long into the steam of a hot glass of tea at night. The belief goes that the vapour might draw bhoot, restless spirits who slip into the rising curls of smoke to "drink along with you."

These tales reveal how tea, trauma, fear and superstition mingled in the plantation belt.

Reheated tea turns into poison

In every Bangladeshi home, there are people who make a cup of tea, set it aside, get busy, and then keep reheating it again and again. 

For them, the old saying comes out instantly: "Cha bar bar gorom korle bish hoye jai." (Reheated tea turns into poison). Elders would scold with a smile, reminding forgetful drinkers that tea has a life which disappears once it goes cold. 

Of course, tea does not literally become poisonous. The belief grew as a way to discourage people from serving stale tea. Freshly brewed tea has always been a symbol of hospitality and pride in Bangladeshi homes. Serving reheated tea, especially to guests, was seen as disrespectful, unhealthy, and a sign of laziness. So elders exaggerated the danger, branding it "poison" to make sure families always prepared a fresh kettle.

Interestingly, there is some truth behind the superstition: reheated tea does lose its flavour, can taste bitter, and sometimes upset the stomach. But the folklore turned this small fact into a dramatic warning, one that still lingers in kitchens today.