By day, from the cafe in Shimla where he works, Jai Chand enjoys one of the city’s best views of the Indian Himalayas. In the evenings, his view is one of the worst.

For 11 hours a day, the staff at the Book Cafe serve coffee and food to a stream of customers. Then they lock up and walk the 15 minutes back to prison.

Chand, 48, and his colleagues are all convicted criminals serving life sentences. They have been running the cafe since April 2017, as part of an initiative to help prisoners maintain a connection to society and earn money to support their families.

No prison officers are in sight as the men count money, prepare food and contend with the afternoon rush of children in school uniforms. Each staff member qualified for the programme by demonstrating years of good behaviour behind bars.

A notice on display at the Book Cafe. Photograph: Michael Safi/The Guardian

“For the last two years there has not been even a single complaint from anybody,” says Sanjay Chauhan, the former mayor of Shimla, who established the scheme during his term. The programme is considered a success, but one night last week the cafe was burgled. Of course, Chand and the staff had alibis.

The cafe is one of a range of operations being run by prisoners in Himachal Pradesh state, including mobile food vans, online supermarkets and theatrical shows performed to the public. “If somebody has done a crime, it doesn’t mean they are a criminal for ever,” Chauhan says. “We have to give them an opportunity to be decent men also, and earn for their families.”

Once the crowd of customers clears, Chand explains how he ended up in prison. “Section 302 of the Indian penal code,” he says. Murder.

Seventeen years ago, Chand claims he arrived home to find his wife attempting suicide. He tried to save her, he says. But the police believed otherwise, accusing him of drowning and then strangling her, and a court concurred. Chand was sentenced to life in prison.

Only a laminated government notice announces the cafe as any different to the others on the street. Many customers are not aware that the men behind the counter are serving time for violent crimes; the ones who do know are unconcerned.

“The staff here are very humble,” says Puneet Sharma, a regular customer. “People are happy, they are supporting this.”

Mohit Chauhan is surprised to learn who has been serving him coffee for the past few months, but shrugs. “I’m happy people are getting the opportunity to work,” he says.

For Chand, it is more than just a job. “When I was in prison, we weren’t a part of society – we were isolated,” he says. “When I’m here I feel like part of society. I matter, I’m human.”