The lunchbox

A mistaken delivery in Mumbai's famously efficient lunchbox delivery system connects a young neglected housewife to a lonely old widower in the dusk of his life as they build a fantasy world together through notes in the lunchbox.

How I discovered it

A lot of my friends have been recommending this film over a long time. Somehow I never got around to watching this until now.

Who would like it

Its a well crafted, artsy short story kinda film. The way the stories of each character reveal through the daily exchange of letters is not just an eager wait for Ila and Saajan but also for the viewers. An extra ordinary story of ordinary lives.

Thoughts (Spoiler alert)

‘The Lunchbox’ occasionally took me back to Mumbai and my childhood there. Especially the scene where the kid says bye to her mom who’s looking through the window, before she hops onto a super-packed Auto-rickshaw. Lack of space in commute is something that got normalised for us since childhood. Growing up there, my family never relied on tiffin service. Mom would wake up really early to prepare food for me, my sister and dad. So I never really looked up the whole dabbawala logistics that operates in Mumbai. Ritesh Batra has beautifully shown this in the opening scene of the film. In fact he was developing a documentary on dabbawala’s when he decided to switch and make this film instead.

The film artfully depicts how couples express and find love through the tiffins. The husband discovers his wife’s affection in the flavours of her homemade lunch, while the wife feels her husband’s love when the tiffin returns home empty, wiped clean. They culinary expressions of love. Ila says at some point in the film that ‘I almost thought that the way to ones heart goes directly through their stomach’

Local train journey in Mumbai, in a way, numbs you to the struggles of daily life. As you look around, you realise that thousands of others in the train are going through the same, if not worse. It normalises the mundane routine of a common man’s life in this city, making it part of a shared journey. The fact that Saajan worked in the same company for almost 35 years before retiring reminds me of my dad, who worked in his last company for about 25 years before switching. It really gets uncomfortable to move on from a space and bunch of people you’ve been seeing everyday for so many years. A comfort space in disguise of responsibility. The film also humorously touches on the dichotomy between those who carry elaborate lunches and those who have just two bananas. The latter is an economical choice that fills the stomach and aids digestion. Mumbai is very contrasting in a sense that you’ll see the rich and poor existing in a same geographical area but lives a completely different reality.

I really liked the way the film tries to trick your mind to assume something and then breaks that illusion. The exchange of tiffin boxes creates a cryptic connection between Ila and Saajan where the dabbawala becomes the enigmatic link between them. Connecting two strangers who have never seen each other. Their secretive relationship is entirely dependent on a consistent error from the dabbawala. The eager wait to receive a letter from a stranger is something I can relate to from my postcrossing experience.

Saajan’s seemingly emotionless approach to life contrasts sharply with Shaikh’s lively and affable character. It raises questions about what has shaped them and how their life choices have influenced their personalities. Saajan must’ve loved his wife. Or he realised it after she was deceased, the guilt and regret of which could’ve made him what he was. The part during Shaikh’s wedding, where the cameraman offsets the camera to accomodate all the relatives from his bride’s side when he only had Saajan – an office colleague, to stand beside him was sad but also seemed a bit broken from reality. I’m not sure how a character like Shaikh made no other friends all this time. Maybe just an extreme expression of his solitude. Shaikh was an orphan but still quotes his mother saying certain Idioms since he thinks it adds a certain weight to the message. That his mom used to say this, makes it truer in some capacity. The whole thing about how Ila makes tea in the evening and listens to some music, while at the same time Saajan is in the local train where these young boys would sing the same song (asking for money) Ila was listening to, is unreal. Shaikh once tells Saajan that his mother used to say that ‘Sometimes the wrong train can lead you to the right station’. In the end of the film the last letter Ila writes to Saajan is that ‘Somewhere I read that the wrong train can lead you to the right station’. Saajan, Shaikh, and Ila (All 3 from different religions btw) seemed to viscerally exist in a same reality.

The Deshpande aunty who lives upstairs, exists just as a voice during the entire film. She’s almost like Ila’s second brain in the initial part of the film. They somehow communicate through their windows and help each other out. Things change by the end, but her character and story adds a real flavour to the story.

Saajan's reflection that ‘We forget things if we don't have anyone to tell them to" was quite alluring. Made me think about the importance of sharing our experiences and memories with others. Probably why I forget a lot of things.

When Ila finds out that her husband is cheating on her, she resorts to leaving all of this and going to Bhutan which is a more affordable and peaceful escape from her life in Mumbai. Saajan asks if he can tag along with her. She then asks him to meet at her favourite restaurant in Matunga to have her favourite Dish – Kheema Pav. Saajan accepts the offer but then doesn’t show up. Ila send him an empty tiffin the next day. She wanted answers. He wrote to her (Personally I feel this was one of the most creative script in the whole film)

Saajan wrote:

Dear Ila,

I got the lunchbox today. There was nothing in it. And I deserved that. Yesterday you waited in the restaurant for me for a long time but before that, that same morning I forgot something in the bathroom. I went back to get it. And the bathroom smelled the same, exactly the same as it used to after my grandfather used the shower. It was like my grandfather had been there. But he was not. It was just me. Just me and the smell of an old man. I don’t know when I became old. Maybe it was that morning, maybe it was many many mornings ago. And maybe if I had forgotten something in the bathroom before, I’d have found out sooner. Life kept on going and lulled me with this motions. I kept crocking back and forth as it threw me left and threw me right and before I knew it. No one buys yesterdays lottery ticket, Ila. I came to the restaurant while you were waiting. There you were, fidgeting with your purse. Drinking all that water. I wanted to come up to you and tell you all this in person. But I just watched you wait. You looked beautiful. You are young. You can dream. And for sometime you let me into your dreams. And I want to thank you for that.

The film's conclusion left me with a bittersweet feeling. Ila's plan to head to Bhutan sets off a fresh start with her daughter, leaving behind a cheating husband. Her dream of escaping with Saajan is palpable, but reality intervenes. Saajan, too, reevaluates his plans, canceling his retirement trip to Nashik in search of Ila. The film concludes with uncertainty. Maybe because life is unpredictable that way. Saajan and Ila never appear on screen together.

Dialogues

Saajan: When my wife died, she got a horizontal burial cot... I tried to buy a burial cot for myself the other day, and what they offered me was a vertical one... I've spent my whole life standing in trains and buses... now I'll even have to stand when I'm dead!

Saajan: I think we forget things if there is nobody to tell them.

Saajan: Everyone’s busy these days. There are too many people and everyone wants what the other has.