THE MAVELI CAFÉ

--- The Mahabali of Cafes ---

The first time I walked into the red tower holding my father’s hand, I was immediately attracted to the seemingly endless spiraling ramp. I ran all the way to the top and insisted to be seated on the highest cold black bench. But the ‘bad uncle’ in the white uniforms (with a funny hat) requested us to be seated below, to share a table with a total stranger! My father said that was how the cafe functioned. It was probably my first lesson on coexistence.

A few years later, while I was walking past the Napier Museum - one of the famous tourist spots in my hometown –a foreigner peered into the ‘Lonely Planet guide for Kerala’ and asked me the way to the ‘Indian Coffee House.’ Even though there are multiple ICH joints in the city, only one could have made its way into the famed ‘Lonely Planet’ guidebook. “Right beside Trivandrum's main bus stand, this branch of the famous Indian Coffee House serves its strong coffee and wallet-friendly snacks (biryanis, omelettes, masala dosas) in a red-brick tower that looks like a cross between a lighthouse and a pigeon coop, and has a spiralling interior lined with concrete benches and tables” says the guide.

For anyone who has travelled to the capital of “God’s Own Country” by our favourite modes of transportation – KSRTC, the Kerala State Transport buses we lovingly call ‘aanavandi’ (elephant-ride); or the highly functional rail transport - the cylindrical brick tower is unmissable. Designed by the brick-master, Laurie Baker, the unconventional form was the response to design a distinctive building on a small site on prime land in the CBD, Thampanoor.

Even before you enter, you know it is a Baker building. It stands in stark contrast to the 88 year old Trivandrum Central Railway Station made in granite stone and adjacent ‘modern’ concrete buildings, non-compatible to the Kerala context. The curved exposed brick walls - enclosing more area for the same amount of building material than straight walls - with jaali work, which lets in natural light and air, are a hallmark of his style. As you make way into the building, one is intrigued by more than just the warm coffee and snacks served. Beyond the cashier’s desk, the floor ascends in a spiral through the two floors, with built-in tables and benches finished in black-oxide, set along the outer edge all the way to the top. This ramp is swirling around the central circular service core that houses the toilets (crammed and awkwardly shaped), wash and duct, which carries the drainpipes from the toilets.

The structure was initially designed as The Maveli Café, meant to be a self-serve cafeteria. So at the entry level on the left of the entry, an opening was made into the wall near the kitchen, where the customers could order food (the menu would be displayed on the wall opposite the entry), pay and move up, find a suitable seat, have food and move off. The building was never put to work what it was meant for. The government had no solution but to rent it to Indian Coffee House (ICH) which functioned with waiters, who have to cut through the crowd movement with trays in their hands to serve food. The steep, slightly slippery, slope makes the task highly strenuous.

Yet, the café is bustling with customers from dawn to dusk. Many are regular ones. If Keralites love anything more than food, it would be our own ‘Mahabali’; the Asura king who is hailed to have been wise, judicious and extremely generous. Legends say that the Gods grew so jealous of his growing popularity and fame that Lord Vishnu disguised himself as a Brahmin, Vamana, and pushed him to ‘patala’, the nether world.

For almost three decade, The Maveli Café has showered its benevolence on people from all walks of life. It is early breakfast for the ‘super-commuters’, travelling to and fro from work for hours every day; it is a lifeline for the daily wage labours and porters in the area. It becomes a ‘brewery’ for the politically inclined (politics every-one’s cup of tea in the capital); a discussion room for the gossipers; a ‘hang-out’ space for the auto-drivers. A lasting memory for the golden agers.

This little ‘coop’ at the heart of the city has stood testament to the rapidly changing – or as the politicians put it, ‘developing’ - times. While the population expanded and exploded, and the railway station gradually became the busiest in the state, the café grew – internally - to accommodate, by sharing tables and benches; the hearts grew – exponentially – to coexist. When hoardings and metal sheets threatened its visibility, it played peek-a-boo with the passers-by, multiplying their curiosity. Even as a new monster – the re-designed Bus Terminal – took shape, The Maveli Café acquiesced its neighbour, hoping that it would not turn into Vamana one day.

In spite of new cafés opening in some corner of Trivandrum every week, none of them can give me the soul-felt joy that the coffee from The Maveli Café gives. As a child, I remember thinking why this building was so different from the rest. Now, I look around and wonder why none of the surrounding structures are more like this one. Baker created not a ‘building’, but an envelope – for containing the life that goes on in it; and a background for the life which goes on around it.

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