A Not-So Review: The Lunchbox

I didn't get the chance to look up anything about this film that I just recently watched. The old-fashioned poster, adorned with half-body shots of the actors, immediately signaled that it was perhaps an Indian movie. After finishing “Slow,” a Swedish film (I believe), I felt the urge to explore another foreign film—something beyond my usual choices. I went to Reddit and hopped on some old discussions about Asian cinema. Among the recommendations, “The Lunchbox” caught my eye in one of the comment threads. Intrigued, I decided to download it offline, along with other Asian films that piqued my attention based on their title.

First, I tried to watch “Barfi,” another Indian film. Regrettably, even after giving it half an hour to grow on me, I still struggled to connect with it. Similarly, my initial experience with “The Lunchbox” left me also feeling disconnected. However, I knew I needed to give it more time, so I paused the film after about 15 minutes. Exhausted from switching between movies, I decided to call it a day and get some rest. The following day, after finishing work, I had a conversation with a friend. As we were about to say goodbye (he had another class to attend to), I mentioned “The Lunchbox.” His enthusiastic response surprised me—he praised it as the best and highlighted Irrfan Khan’s exceptional acting. Encouraged by his recommendation, I decided to give the film another chance that night. And you know what? I’m glad I did. Without his encouragement, I might have missed out on this gem. (Thanks, Batman!)

The Lunchbox

Halfway through the movie, I was already confident that I would finish it. When they began exchanging letters, the story became even more interesting. However, in the back of my mind, I wondered: Wasn’t she also cheating on her husband? Although it hadn’t been the case before, however, when she invited him to meet in person, I felt uneasy about her intentions. It seemed there was more to their supposed meeting than just a friendly encounter. Fortunately, he didn’t show up—a decision that was beneficial for both of them.

Regarding the lunchbox mix-up, I also found it questionable as Ila did. Did this happen all those times, or did it start only when the film began? Additionally, why did Ila choose a lunchbox delivery service instead of asking her husband to take it to work? Perhaps there’s a cultural nuance or practical reason behind this choice that I was not fully aware of.

The Letter

In the modern world, where traditional letters have lost their place to instant messages, the exchange of letters between Saajan and Ila felt deeply personal and almost “romantic.” Born into an era where letters were no longer commonplace, I struggle to imagine the anticipation of sending your thoughts to someone, waiting patiently for their response. If such a scenario unfolded today, we’d likely hear collective sighs and desperate pleas to fast-forward time just to receive the eagerly awaited reply.

The act of waiting—the hopeful anticipation, the uncertainty, and the time restraint—becomes an integral part of the experience. Beyond the physical letter itself lies the labor invested in its creation. Letters hold sentimental value, capturing moments and emotions, and carrying the weight of people bound by time and hope.

The film “The Lunchbox” beautifully portrays this sentiment through the unlikely connection between Ila and Saajan. Ila, a housewife seeking to rekindle romance with her husband, had her lovingly prepared lunchbox mistakenly sent to Saajan, a middle-aged widower on the cusp of retirement. Their lives intersect through this misplaced lunchbox.

While romance through exchanging letters is no longer a new trope, “The Lunchbox” manages to infuse it with a unique flavor. As I've always believed, despite having common staple ingredients in a movie, if the production manages to reinvent the familiar flavor into something tasty, they can for sure entice people to buy what they offer. In the film, rather than "love" letters, their correspondence delves into life’s philosophical aspects. They discuss existence, beauty, and the lessons learned along the way. Their casual conversations transcend the boundaries of strangers, reminding each other how to truly live and relive their past experiences.

The Saying

In the film, I had this striking realization about the vertical and horizontal plots associated with burial. Saajan requested a horizontal plot, as he told Ila in his letter, because he had spent his entire life standing in buses and trains. He burst out wryly—did he really have to stand even in death?—that was funny but it surely made sense to me.

Later, Saajan shared a profound insight with Ila, perhaps also reflecting on his own life:

“We forget things if we have no one to tell them to.”

This resonated with me the most. When my sisters reminisce about the past and ask me about it, I often struggle to access those memories consciously. I wonder if it’s because I didn’t experience those moments or simply because I’ve forgotten them. It’s fascinating that my sisters can recall those childhood snippets, while I remain unsure.

I once read a post on Twitter suggesting that the inability to remember childhood experiences might be linked to certain traumas. Perhaps that’s true for me, maybe I’m just naturally forgetful, or Saajan might be correct that I just don't have no one to tell them to? After Ila finished reading his letter, she walked into the open room and briefly played with her daughter.

In another scene, Ila confided in Saajan about her husband’s alleged affair. In response, Saajan recounted a past experience during his train ride. He noticed an elderly woman and felt something brush against him. Like me, he assumed it was the elderly woman who had accidentally touched him. However, instead of accepting this hasty conclusion, he cast a quick glance downward to check for himself. To his surprise, it was the briefcase of the passenger in front of him, gently bumping into 'his'. I stifled a laugh, just as Ila did. Here, Saajan might have wanted to tell Ila that she could be wrong and should not jump to immediate conclusions.

Saikh also shared several funny moments with Saajan. Initially, I expected him to remain on the periphery throughout the film. However, it turned out to be a good decision that, apart from Ila, Saajan found a friend in Saikh.

One memorable scene was when Saikh followed Saajan home. As they conversed, Saikh casually chopped vegetables during the ride—a comical sight! But there was another moment that stood out. Saikh shared a saying with Saajan, one that had been mentioned a few times in the film:

“Sometimes a wrong train can get you to the right station.”

According to Saikh, his mother had imparted this wisdom. Saajan nodded, but then he paused and looked at Saikh. “Wait,” he said, “didn’t you mention that you’re an orphan?” Saikh’s witty response had me laughing again. He explained that he preferred to add “my mother says” to make his words more believable. Hahahaha! I really enjoyed that.

The Closing

Although I didn’t fully support the “emerging romance” hinted at in the film between Saajan and Ila, my heart crumbled when Ila read his last letter to her. After all the anticipation of finally meeting her in person, Saajan stood before the bathroom mirror, briefly scanning his reflection. He decided to shave his beard, but the look on his face suggested lingering dissatisfaction. In that heartfelt letter, he showered Ila with compliments, describing her as beautiful and still young. Meanwhile, he acknowledged his own impending retirement, the scent of age clinging to him, and the time he was addressed as “Uncle” during a ride to the office. The truth hit him like a slap, and he felt a sudden embarrassment—he believed he didn’t deserve her.

Despite the film’s open ending, I still prefer it that way rather than providing a concrete, fairytale-like conclusion. Saajan and Ila have the choice: they can either meet at the ends or continue living their lives, carrying the secrets that only they know—the secrets that the lunchbox holds. In life, there are those chance encounters on trains, fleeting eye contact, shared seats, one-time smiles, and snippets of conversation before we get off. Not everyone accompanies us throughout our journey; sometimes, we meet people at a single station when we accidentally board the wrong train. And after that ride, as we walk home, we realize it’s not so bad after all.