This 140-Year-Old Watch Repairing Shop in Kolkata is a Must-Visit for Every Watch Enthusiast — Bholanath Das and Sons

Nestled in one of the city’s most beloved cultural corridors, the narrow lanes of College Street, Bholanath Das and Sons isn’t just a watch-repairing shop — it’s a ticking time capsule of Bengal’s rich past. From winding wristlets and royal pocket watches to rare wall clocks straight out of a Satyajit Ray film, this tiny space is a treasure trove of history, craftsmanship and personal tales.

Even if you’re not a watch nerd, this shop is likely to stir something in you — a memory, a smell, a sound — or at least the desire to own a vintage piece just for the love of stories attached to it. Bholanath Das & Sons, founded in 1880, isn’t just a watch repair shop—it’s a living archive of Bengal’s horological history. As we stepped into the tiny, weather-worn shop, the walls whispered stories. Clocks of all sizes tick in imperfect harmony, like an orchestra of memories.

And at the centre of this time-bound world is Mr. Gopal Chandra Das, the fourth-generation watch repairer and the current custodian of this legendary shop.

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The story begins in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Inspired by his father, Bholanath Das migrated to Kolkata and set up this shop in 1880. Over the decades, the shop has served everyone—from zamindars and maharajas to students and professors from Calcutta University.

“My grandfather used to say the Bardhaman Maharajas visited our shop regularly. Tarapada Bandyopadhyay came too. Even Shirshendu Bandyopadhyay’s brother Krishnendu Bandyopadhyay was a regular here,” Mr. Das shares, beaming with quiet pride.  When asked about the biggest changes in watches over the years, Mr. Das leaned back with a nostalgic glint. “If we start talking about watches, we’ll need all day,” he laughed.

He gives us a mini-history lesson: “From sand clocks and pocket watches to ‘wristlet watches’—that’s what wristwatches were first called—then came battery-operated quartz watches. And now, it’s the era of digital watches.”

But even in this digital age, Mr. Das says there’s a pulse that keeps the old-world charm alive. “People still come in to repair their grandfather’s wall clocks. These are not just timepieces, they are emotions,” he says. He adds, with a touch of concern, “There are no artisans left who can make these clocks anymore. No quality parts. It’s why they are slowly disappearing.” 

In his 40 years of experience, Mr. Das has handled countless watches—but a few left him in awe. “I once repaired a winding alarm wristwatch—never seen one like it before or after. Then there was a reverse wristwatch invented for polo players. They used to break their watches while playing, so they made ones that could flip the face inside.” 

“A man from London once gave me a Universal multifunctional handmade watch to repair. It wasn’t machine-made. It had the day, date, month and time—all in one. Made of globe gold. He paid me Rs. 80,000 just to repair it. Later, I found out it was sold in a London auction for Rs. 15 lakh,” he reveals, eyes sparkling. 

The shop itself is a visual treat. From grand pendulum clocks to rusty wristwatches stacked like books, every corner tells a story. If you’ve grown up in Bengal, it will remind you of your grandfather’s study. If not, it’ll make you wish you had. “There’s no space here,” Mr. Das laughs, “Only time.”

Despite the shrinking market for vintage watches, he continues with undying dedication. “You can't learn this just by watching others. You need to get your hands dirty,” he says, adding in Bengali, "Haate kolome na korle kokhono hoye na." (You have to do it yourself to really learn.) 

When asked about the future of Bholanath Das & Sons, his voice grows quiet. “This shop will end with me. My children have taken other paths. After my tenure, this 140-year-old legacy will close,” he says matter-of-factly. But there’s no bitterness. Instead, there's a deep respect for what was.

“Some people still value these old clocks. They preserve them, they repair them, they respect the craftsmanship. Others just sell them off as scrap—without realising they’re destroying something priceless,” he adds with a faint smile. He recounts how he’s seen scrap dealers break handcrafted wall clocks just to retrieve the copper. “O nije jane na oi ghorita koto khani mulloban  (They don’t even realise that clock is priceless)” he sighs. So, the next time you're walking past the bustling College Street, don’t just look for books—look for the ticking heartbeat of old Kolkata.