கொஞ்சம் சினிமா ...கொஞ்சம் பாப்கார்ன், The Lunchbox, Irrfan, Nimrat and a dabba make a delicious combo

FP :Deepanjana Pal Sep 19, 2013
Everyone eats food, but in some societies, being well-fed is more
 important than it is to others. India is one of them. 

Our days are all about meals and snacks

. Meetings, weddings, casual drop-ins, festivals; no matter what
 the occasion, our first question invariably is “What’s there to eat?”

So it’s curious that food hasn’t featured much in the other national
 obsession, Bollywood. In a few films, like Bawarchi, Cheeni Kum
 and the recent Luv Shuv Tey Chicken Khurana, it’s made a
 half-hearted appearance as a device.

 Finally, in The Lunchbox, which opens in India this week after 
winning over audiences at international film festivals, we get a 
proper celebration of good, home-cooked Indian food.

Ila (Nimrat Kaur) is a housewife and a mother. The first time 
we see her, she’s cooking a meal that she packs into a steel tiffin
 carrier and gives to a dabbawalla. This is no common dabba 
made up of with watery curry and wilting veggies. Ila’s dishes 
are so colourful and plump with flavour that you can almost smell
 their aroma sitting on the other side of the silver screen. Ila hopes
 the lunchbox will land upon her husband’s desk, that he’ll taste it
 and there’ll be a moment of magic. This is precisely what happens.
 The only problem is, the one who is spellbound by the delicious
 dabba is not her husband.

A little mix-up sends characterless aloo gobhi to Ila’s husband and
 brings Ila’s cooking into Saajan Fernandez’s (Irrfan Khan) life. Saajan 
is a widower and a salaried man on the brink of retirement. Droopy,
 dour and dull, like a toy running on a dying battery, Saajan is the
 precise opposite of the crackling, simmering, gorgeous food that
 he eats, courtesy the mix-up.

Of course, Ila realises that same day that her husband didn’t get the 
meal she’d prepared so carefully. But there he is, barely registering
 her when he comes home, even though she’s standing in the same 
room with him. In contrast, there’s the licked-clean dabba whose 
absolute emptiness radiates appreciation for her. So, instead of 
speaking to thedabbawalla, Ila sends a note to the man who ate
 the lunch she prepared. He writes back – it’s an infuriatingly dry,
 humourless message – and with that, a relationship begins
 between these two lonely people.

Saajan’s life changes because of Ila’s dabba. 

It helps him make a friend of Aslam (Nawazuddin Siddique), the 
chirpy, young man who has been hired to replace Saajan at the
 office. As Saajan writes about his life in the notes he exchanges
 with Ila, he begins to savour what he has around him. And so,
 through the act of cooking and eating, two automatons come
 back to life.

There’s something timeless about The Lunchbox even though
 it’s set in the present. The trains, offices, dabbawallas, homes,
 cooking utensils – they’re all poignantly real. Debutant director 
Ritesh Batra’s The Lunchbox (he also wrote the film) is set in a 
familiar city, the one inhabited by the middle-class. There are no
 gangs or socialites here. Rather, it’s a labyrinth of relationships 
forged with trust and riddled by loneliness. Batra recreates 
Mumbai’s layer cake of solitude and solidarity exquisitely.

There’s also a hint of nostalgia in things like passing messages
 in hidden chits of paper, sharing lunches, making friends with
 the oddball. Internet and social media haven’t invaded the lives
 of Saajan, Ila and Aslam. Their relationships are delicately wrought
 using carefully-chosen words. They’re constrained not by character
 count, but by shyness and social circumstances.

Frequently funny and constantly subtle, The Lunchbox
 isn’t really a love story. 

What develops between Saajan and Ila is something far more 
tender than the flamboyancy we usually associate with romance
 in Indian cinema. This is a fragile companionship that 
nevertheless strengthens both of them, making them feel 
a little more vibrant and alive.

Saajan and Ila have been superbly portrayed by Khan and Kaur. 
Khan as Saajan transforms from forgettable to charming with 
elegant ease, his character blossoming into life thanks to Ila’s 
dabbas. No doubt well-written roles like this one make up for 
films like D-Day and The Amazing Spiderman. Kaur, whom 
we last saw in an ad, making an unnecessary chocolatey mess 
while stuck at a traffic light, is luminous as Ila. It’s a role that
 demands a range out of Kaur, and she delivers. In comparison
 to these two, Siddique’s Aslam is a sliver of a role, but much 
of the fun in the film comes from Aslam’s irrepressible good cheer.

Perhaps the most intriguing character in The Lunchbox is the
 one we never see: Auntyji (voiced by Bharti Achrekar), who lives
 in the flat above Ila and is house-bound because she must look 
after her paralysed husband. 

She’s a delight and ever ready to supply Ila with whatever 
the younger woman needs, whether it’s encouragement to
 write to Saajan or special mix of spices for a recipe.

Ila and Auntyji cheerfully chatter with one another, their voices being 
carried in and out of Ila’s kitchen window.

 For both, the other’s faceless voice helps drown out the white noise
 of solitude that comes from living with a husband who doesn’t notice them. 

Swirling in Ila’s cooking are the hopes and longings of two 
fantastic women, whose only outlet is in the dabba savoured
 by a stranger.

 ....................a delicious, beautiful little film.