This week in Film Club, the seven of us discussed Ritesh Batra’s debut feature "The Lunchbox" (2013). It tells the story of how a wife named Ila’s (played by Nimrat Kaur) lovingly prepared tiffin ends up not in the ungrateful hands of her husband, but by some unlikely mishap in the hands of a certain office worker named Mr Sajaan Fernandes (played Irrfan Khan). In the days that follow, the pair exchange notes via the lunchbox, gradually revealing more and more about their lives and observations of modern day Mumbai.
The Lunchbox was as refreshing as the first bite of some mango kulfi on a hot summer’s day. It is my favourite kind of film, the kind where nothing much seems to happen, but afterwards you’re left with a lot to stew on. It’s the kind of film which avoids the Hollywood/ Bollywood cliches, and instead explores the questions about how we relate to one another and the world around us; following two lonely characters at something of a crossroads at different sides of the city. It does so without hitting you in the face with the answers -- a subtle, beguiling sort of way. I liked The Lunchbox as soon as I watched it, and after our Film Club discussion I liked it a lot more.
This week, I was late for our meeting, but in a way this was a blessing, as it meant I spent my time listening; the conversation was not lacking without me.
It was fascinating to see how Film Club’s attendees related in multifarious ways to the different characters presented in The Lunchbox. We discussed, for instance, the way in which Shaikh, played by Nawazuddin Siddiqui, who Sajaan is at first loathe to train, initially appeared to be a trope of the silly fun character, there to provide comic relief to counterbalance the seriousness of the leads; one of the many takeaways of our Film Club discussion was an appreciation of how expertly The Lunchbox proved this simple characterisation to be untrue.
The most poignant moments of the film were those that were most subtle. There were deaths (something one might naturally perceive as a tragic plot feature, but the death of Ila’s father actually demonstrated a liberation of her long-suffering mother. Whereas Shaikh’s wedding to his lovely wife, had tragedy in the lack of the people on his side oh the photo, harking back to his conversation with Saajan in which he told him if he came to the wedding he would be the only one on his side. In this scene there is smiling, there is happiness, yet at the same time there is the feeling of great loss, a skilful exposition rarely achieved during the relatively brief length of a standard feature film. Nor does this captivating scene feature the standard change of soundtrack which can degrade the subtleties of such a key emotional juncture. The music change was not necessary; we already understand.
Another point of the film we discussed was its use of smell. I can’t recall another film which made me imagine what a scene smelt like in such a visceral way (or, at all). Smell is important right from the beginning, as Ila’s auntie says she can smell that a spice is missing. This prompts us to ponder, how can she know? What can she possibly be able to smell? But we know the final product must be delicious when Saajan brings the box to his nose, and inhales deeply. An action which couldn’t be resisted even by a man of such reservation. Later on in the movie, we are told simply by Ila’s bringing of her husband’s to-be-laundered shirt to her nose a second time that she knows he is cheating. I was at a loss to think of another film which deploys this olfactory feature in such an evocative fashion.
Partway through the discussion, Josef, Film Club’s organiser, shared with us some enlightening facts surrounding the production of The Lunchbox It was originally envisioned as a documentary of the lunchbox delivery system in India. If you’ve been to one of the new generation of “modern” Indian fine dining restaurants outside of India, you may be familiar with the tiffin. This ingenious concept: a layered selection of lunch boxes containing a range of cheap and nutritious dishes that power India’s burgeoning labour force, which are also known as dabbas. The dabbawallas, or delivery drivers, sustain India’s workers by delivering an estimated 80 million of these tiered delights each year. In India the film was barred from receiving awards on the grounds that the mix up underpinning the entire movie would not happen in actuality, and it falsely made the system look bad.
Later, Tim makes a wonderful observation which would have passed some of us by: The film’s quote, “The wrong train often leads to the right station,” uttered initially by Shaikh parallels the arrival of the lunchbox at Saajan’s hands instead of Ila’s husband’s. Another one of our favourites which also sums up the essence of the film is Sajaan's, "I think we forget things if we have no one to tell them to," encapturing the basic human need for sharing and connection.
We were also fortunate that Sahil, who had grown up in India, could join us last night and provide us with greater insight into life in Mumbai and the accuracies of the film. He confirmed that it was an accurate depiction of life in middle-class Mumbai.
There are some comparisons here which may be drawn to the subject of the last Film Club post, Revolutionary Road, in that both feature a woman trapped, who holds in mind the idea of a different place as a solution to their dreams. But in The Lunchbox, there is no doubt that escape for Ila would not simply be running away from her problems, but solving them.
Finally, the ending. It is generally agreed upon that we enjoy the ending in its ambiguity. But I realised I need to rewatch it to formulate a deeper opinion. Like a good tiffin, The Lunchbox is a film that delights the viewer on many levels, serving up a visual, auditory, and olfactory delight in just under two hours. In doing so, it showcases a truly incredible feat of logistics that amounts to far more than the sum of its individual parts. I should end here by warning any potential viewer of The Lunchbox that after consuming this showstopper of a film, you may never look the same way at your own lunch again, or indeed your own life and relationships.