Had the opportunity of watching The
Lunchbox recently. It was a rare privilege.
I tend to fantasize a lot. from my childhood
days. When in kindergarten, I would love to be a part of my favourite cartoon
heroes. When I was old enough to read Enid Blyton,
I became the true friend Swarup
Dutta of Tapan Sinha’s Ekhonee, Cheno as he fought Swarup Dutta in Apanjan
.and
a little later the angry young man of
Deewar.Utpal Dutta, the Mamababu of Agantuk fired
my imagination of being a globetrotter and visiting my non-existent family many
years later. 
When I met Naseeruddin Shah in Akrosh fighting for both Om Puri and his wife, I had to take both the roles.
Now that I have retired ,
reminiscence has become a strong contender to fantasy .
Most literary and screen characters are too young for me to play even in my
imagination. And then this man came along. Mr Sajan Fernandez with his Lunch Box.
A retiring Barababu of an Insurance Company, living alone in the hustle and
bustle of Mumbai. His wife has died. No children. He has nothing but the useless
pride of his meticulous office routine to his credit. He is not friendly. He is
not much liked. He does not like to open up. He does not know how to open up.
And two entirely different persons
come out of nowhere to upset his routine. The woman pops out of her wrongly delivered
Tiffin Carrier. In the form of handwritten notes. Nawazuddin Siddiqui is the
disturbing replacement for the retiring Barababu, Irfan Khan.
Siddiqui makes no effort to learn his routine. He talks
his head off on his prowess in his earlier jobs but is unable to even tap
Khan’s stiff reluctant wall. Not one to give up Siddiqui’s Mr
Shekh tries hard to get familiar with
Irfan Khan’s Mr Fernandez.
Nimrat Kaur’s
Ila, a mother to a primary school
going girl, tries to break her husband’s cold behavior through her neighbour’s recipes in
his lunch box that ends up on Sajan
Fernandez’s table. He is so surprised at
the delicious package that he checks with his regular eatery and confirms that there was a
mixup somewhere. Ila judges from her
husband’s casual reaction that her
efforts had landed elsewhere. She sends a note in the next day’s box. Sajan sends a reply. Gradually these two lonely and
unhappy people from two different age groups and backgrounds start a
communication that strengthens their lives.
It is often said that the English
language has a very poor vocabulary to express the myriads of Indian sentiments
and relationships. Just one word “LOVE” to express your feelings for your
sweetheart, your brother, your parents
and even your neighbor! Just like that one
“UNCLE” for all your chachas and mamas and
mousas. But I find that they have a very
functional definition. It is only that one feeling of love that compels you to
make exceptions. The notes of Ila make a hole in Mr Fernandez’s wall for Shekh
to sneak in. Fernandez becomes friendly.
He even owns up Shekh’s mistakes, takes boss’s wrath on himself and sits late to correct them while Shekh as usual
babbles on. These acts are unimaginable to anyone who knew Fernandez for the
last 35 years or even to Fernandez himself. But in those thirty five years he
had not met Ila.
Ila is happy like a teenager. She gets her neighbor to play the song from the film
Sajan, when he reveals his name in a note.
Mera dil bhi
kitna pagal hai
Ye pyar to
tumse karta hai,
Par samne
jab tum ate ho
Kuch bhi
kahne se darta hai
O sajan mere
sajan
And she hums
along unmindfully. The notes become an escape for them, eagerly awaited. None
of them asks the dabbawala to correct the delivery. Rather they agree to
Shekh’s filmi dialogue “ Kabhi kabhi
galat train bhi sahi jaga pahuchati hai!”
When a
neighbourhood young woman jumps from her roof top with a small daughter to
commit suicide, Sajan Fernandez’s worry
mounts till the the reassuring Lunch Box reaches his table. The way Ila reacts
to the incident, picturising how the lady
would have woken up at the dead of night, taken off her ornaments, woken
up her daughter and walked up the stairs , talking to the little kid to
reassure her, throws a hint at her identifying with the lady. She writes of how
the lady would have clutched the child tightly before she let herself go from
the edge of the precipice. Ila herself seemed
near a precipice. Her husband was having an affair. His clothes smelt of
perfume. He would be glued to his mobile. He would be late. He would go out to office on holidays, at odd hours.
She confided to Sajan. He suggested a second child. Her husband simply ignored
her coaxing. . Sajan consoled her with his anecdotes. He said he would go to
Bhutan with her, because Bhutan was not worried about their GDP. They had their
GNH, Gross National Happiness. And you actually felt happy for them.
Ila decided
to meet her Sajan. She waits at the appointed place for long, never to find
him. Angry, she sends him an empty lunch Box the next day, no food, no note!
Sajan admits it serves him right. He confesses to have seen her wait. She was
too young, too beautiful, and he an old man. He could not bring himself to face
her. He thought she deserved a lot better in life. He does not meet Ila. But
Ila changes him forever. He starts to care for people, the neighbourhood
kids, the talkative Shekh and even
admits he should have cared more for his family and his dead wife.
Ila traces
the Lunch Box to Sajan’s office, but he is retired and gone. She leaves her home
and the city with her daughter in search of a new life. And Sajan waits. I hope someday he meets Ila.
All these
feelings actually come to you when you watch Irfan, Nimrat and Siddiqui act it
out on the screen. I felt the same numbing worry for Ila as Sajan must have
had, when she takes off her ornaments one by one and takes her child in her
arms to go out. I was relieved no end to
see her on the screen next, leaving the city and not the world.
Lillette
Dubey is brilliant as Ila’s mother, specially when she realizes that she is
simply hungry hours after Ila’s father dies ending years of prolonged and expensive treatment.
As is usual,
when something touches the heart, it evokes many images. And our Great Poet Rabindranath
Thakur who has touched all our lives with his innumerable offerings on all
facets of our existence shines the strongest. His poem, “Kuaar Dhare “ comes to my mind to describe this image.
I reproduce the poem Kuaar Dhare in Roman :
Tomar kache
chaini kichu, janaini mor nam,
Tumi jakhan
biday nile nirab rahilam
Ekla chilem
kuaar dhare nimer chayatale,
Kalash niye
sabai jakhan paray gache chale
Amay tara deke galo, ‘ ay
bela je jay’
Kon alashe rainu base kiser
bhabnay
Padadhdhani
suni naiko kakhan tumi ele
Kaile katha
klanto kanthe- karun chakhhu mele-
‘Trishakatar
pantha ami,’ shune chamke uthe,
Jaler dhara
dilem dhele tomar karopute
Marmaria kape pata, kokil
kotha dake-
Babla phuler gandho othe
pallipather banke
Jakhan tumi
sudhale nam, pelem baro laj-
Tomar mone
thakar mato karechi kon kaj
Tomay dite
perechilam ektu trishar jal
Ei kathati
amar mone rahilo sambal
Kuor dhare dupurbrla temni
dake pakhi,
Temni kape nimer pata- ami
basei thaki
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____________________
Thank you Mr
Ritesh Batra.
