The quiet, bookish narrator who walks with a limp and often feels like the odd one out is drawn to the story of the beautiful Mohua who died a hundred years ago but still resides in her ancestral mansion on Moira Street in the heart of Old Calcutta. He finds himself outside the dilapidated mansion one day, sipping cha at a local tea stall and listening to the oddball cha wala narrate the story of the Deys who once owned the mansion. Unable to resist the temptation to make his life more meaningful the narrator enters the mansion, only to find that his life will never be the same again.