A case for women-only Dhaba: Walk through any city, town or village in Pakistan, and you’ll notice the same unspoken message: public space belongs to men. Streets named after male poets. Statues of ‘founding fathers’ looming over squares. From major arteries named after male leaders to “Men at Work” placards that assume only men labour on streets, our built environment is a celebration of male presence. If a woman is lucky enough to find a public restroom, it often arrives with a cramped “baby-care nook”, reinforcing the idea that women are secondary citizens in the public sphere.
Public space in Pakistan is engineered to signal male dominion. Even religious life is marked by gender segregation. Under General Zia-ul-Haq’s 1979 Islamisation act, strict pardah policies “demarcate(d) the public and private domains to separate women from men”, driving women out of mosques and other public forums, with most mosques often lacking any prayer space for women. Decades later, this legacy persists in many communities. By excluding women from these communal centres of belonging, the built environment sends a stark message: public life is not meant for half the population.
The impact of these spatial barriers shows up in harsh statistics. Pakistan ranks last (148th of 148) in the 2025 World Economic Forum Global Gender Gap report, reflecting severe inequalities in economic and political life. Women make up only 22.8% of Pakistan’s workforce, among the world’s lowest female labour participation rates. This gap isn’t for lack of aspiration: it is largely due to fears of harassment and inadequate infrastructure. Observers note that Pakistani women commonly avoid public transport, parks, or markets after dark. As one mobility advocate put it, seeing “maybe one woman and 50 men” on city streets is so routine it feels claustrophobic. In short, the unwelcoming urban environment — from dimly lit bus stops to the absence of sanitary facilities — literally keeps women indoors, widening the gender gap.
The Dhaba as a Male Domain
The roadside dhaba, the ubiquitous tea stall, serves as a prime example. Dhabas are mythologised as egalitarian gathering places; in reality, they are bastions of male camaraderie. As one report explains, dhabas are “quintessentially male” spaces where drivers and labourers congregate; the food, the crowd, and even the open-air courtyard all signal that “women don’t belong here”. These tea stalls are traditionally served by men for men. If women dare to sit at a dhaba, they often encounter stares. Without any explicit “no women allowed” sign, the silent code is enforced by uneasy eyes and unsolicited remarks. The dhaba thus becomes a symbol of women’s social immobility, reinforcing the false notion that public spaces are only for men.
In response, women-only dhabas have quietly appeared, creating new urban sanctuaries. In Karachi, activist Sabiha Shah opened a “Ladies Dhaba” run entirely by women. Within weeks, women lined up for biryani and chai; one celebrant exclaimed it was “the first time I’ve celebrated a birthday outside with female friends, with no men to stare at us.” Shah says women “need a space of their own”, a place where they can chat, eat or even read without an omnipresent male gaze. Encouraged by these results, Shah reports “requests from poor and rich women alike” to replicate the model across the country. Clearly, many Pakistani women see these dhabas as corrective spaces, not to exclude men, but to demonstrate that women too belong everywhere.
Amenities, Empowerment and Community
Beyond hospitality, women-only dhabas often fill critical infrastructure gaps. Many now provide clean restrooms, childcare corners, and even electrical outlets. By providing reliable Wi-Fi and quiet study areas, they effectively serve as co-working hubs in a country where roughly half the population lacks stable internet or power. This empowers students, freelancers and mothers alike to work and connect freely. Crucially, the staff is also entirely female: cooks, servers and managers are trained and employed at these venues. This creates not only jobs but also role models.
These dhabas also function as grassroots learning centres. Walls once lined only with cricket posters now host poetry readings, book clubs and craft workshops. In these gatherings, women share skills in business or education, practise financial literacy, or simply mentor each other over chai. One customer noted how much more comfortable she felt ordering food from female staff, saying, “Women from conservative backgrounds normally don’t feel comfortable with male waiters… but here they will be.” Similarly, women frequenting these dhabas report exchanging ideas and emotional support — forging the behenchara (“sisterhood”) that feminist groups have long championed.
#GirlsAtDhabas:
These new cafés have roots in an even broader movement. In 2015, Karachi journalist Sadia Khatri posted a selfie of herself alone at a street dhaba, using the hashtag #GirlsAtDhabas. The photo went viral and became a call to action. Soon women across Pakistan and even India and Bangladesh were snapping dhaba shots, playing street cricket or biking in public, proudly stating, “We belong here.” Offline too, the campaign spawned bike rallies, cricket matches, and charity drives. For instance, the Girls at Dhabas collectively raised funds (over $2,600 of a $10,000 goal) to open a women-run dhaba in Karachi — explicitly as an “inclusive, safe, and welcoming” space for women and minorities.
The philosophy behind all this is clear: the problem isn’t legal; it’s perceptual. Khatri notes that “no one is physically stopping (women) from going” to public spaces — the barriers are mental and social. By visibly placing more women on the streets and in cafés, these campaigns hope to change those perceptions. “If you see more women in a space visually, then hopefully you’ll feel safer… more encouraged and more comfortable,” Khatri explains. In other words, every woman claiming a dhaba stool shows other women that they too belong in the city.
Economic and Social Ripples
The rise of women-only dhabas has benefits beyond their walls. By centring women as customers and staff, these ventures keep money circulating in female-led enterprises. Pakistan’s Economy Minister noted that expanding women’s participation is key to growth — after all, women are over half the population. These cafés are proof that investing in women’s mobility yields returns. At the same time, by helping women travel farther (to work, school or markets), these dhabas indirectly support higher employment. Studies show that when cities offer basic amenities and safety, women’s labour-force participation rises. Every dhaba that lets a mother nurse without fear or a student work on her laptop under reliable Wi-Fi nudges Pakistan’s gender gap in the right direction. In short, these cafés act as micro-incubators of inclusive growth: they create jobs, build skills, and expand women’s purchasing power.
Challenges and Way Forward
Women-only dhabas are a bottom-up spatial protest, not an official programme — and they remain few and urban. However, they serve as a demonstration of their potential. To turn these small rebellions into broader change, public authorities must step in. Urban planners and policymakers need to prioritise gender-sensitive design: more functional women’s toilets (parity is still shockingly low), well-lit parks and transit stations, and safe pedestrian paths. It means encouraging enterprises to create women-run outlets and offering incentives or support to entrepreneurs doing so in smaller towns. NGOs and social enterprises can partner on incubators that train women in hospitality and business so that the next Karachi Ladies Dhaba has sisters in Peshawar and Quetta.
Above all, the goal is inclusion, not exclusion. Pakistani women want that sense of ownership in every corner of the city. The #GirlsAtDhabas movement and the dhabas themselves are demanding quietly but firmly: a cup of tea here is more than refreshment — it’s resistance.
