Tina's Cafe
Right opposite White Teak, my usual third space when the silence of my 2 bhk begins to unsettle my otherwise silence-approving mind– there is Tina’s Cafe. A cafe with no pretensions or abstractions, the place belongs to Tina and hence, it is called Tina’s cafe. It is a true binary to White Teak in every sense. As opposed to the sophisticated and aesthetically detached exterior of White Teak, Tina’s has an interior brimming with lived life, in all its diverse glory. As you cross over and step into the breezy warm glow of Tina’s, it feels like you have switched worlds and suddenly there is a loosening up, a breath. You don’t have to play a part or merge into the fancy sophistication anymore. Once inside Tina’s, there’s no fitting in. The space reframes itself to fit you and your whims.
As you enter Tina’s, you are greeted by the stern looking woman at the counter, probably in her sixties. Her confidence and poise is proof for the fact that the space breathes through her and in her. She doesn’t fake a smile or exchange artificial pleasantries. If she remembers you from before, she will just say as much. “You are the English teacher.” A spark of recognition to warm the whole moment. Then you are free to browse the handwritten menu, often tweaked throughout the day in lieu with the demands and whims of the kitchen.
Once you are done ordering, reassured by “I’ll call you when the food is ready,” you begin to take in the space. Bright yellow chairs and red chequered table mats, touched occasionally by the warm yellow glow of the lamp. The regular chiming in of unrestrained laughter and buzz of conversations. People in their element. Unbothered, unapologetic, completely human. I think the ability to be all that is anchored in the space itself or the quality it emanates. Everything at Tina’s. Every single thing at Tina’s is an archive of life. Even the switchboards, messily hand-painted on a whim. I'd say that Tina's is a space that vouches for the whimsy. Whether it be the random blue and white dragon hanging from the Tibetan flag or the glass pots placed in a carefree angle; everything buzzes with the messy unevenness of life.
The whimsy and uneven. Two major aspects of life that we forget in a bid to control and regulate. I don't remember the last time I embraced the whimsy and uneven. I am scared of it. When did I forget the joy derived from whimsical doodles and carefree brushstrokes at the back of my rough note ? Perhaps, I am scared of time running out. What if I forget to keep tabs on time once I get immersed in anything that stills time ? In the end, however, like the lady at the counter said, "You can break your head but an egg boils when it boils."