The last piece of film that resonated with me

With every watch of The Lunchbox (2013), I learn a new, more poignant lesson. However, my first time watching this Bollywood marvel had me thinking about one dialogue, over and over again.

“I think we forget things if we have no one to tell them to,” Saajan wrote to Ila.

Saajan Fernandes, a middle-aged widower living in an old apartment that serves as a constant reminder of how lonely his life has become after his wife's death. Communicating with Ila through the notes becomes his way of keeping himself from forgetting things (memories).

On the other hand, Ila, a young housewife whose love language is putting effort in making the most delicious lunch for her husband every day, keeps failing to get the acknowledgment that she has always longed for.

It’s an unconventional love story portrayed in its simplest form, but hinting at deeper aspects of what it’s like finding love in the most unexpected places. The emotional intimacy and human solitude that is depicted through the exchange of letters between two strangers who seek in each other what they have lost with people in their lives- a true human connection. The emptiness of their lives contrasted with the bustling lifestyle of Mumbai streets and overcrowded trains where there is almost no time and space to sit back and build connections with anyone else.

This movie, and specifically this dialogue, plays a significant role in reshaping my individualistic approach towards life. Growing up with ideals that have propelled me to seek sanity by protecting my own little bubble had ultimately turned me into someone who actively pushed people out of her life. (Maybe that’s why I keep forgetting things).

I believed in secrecy and the freedom that comes with not having to depend on other people. So much so that I refused to accept the emotional support even when I needed it the most. I wanted to be successful, happy, and independent all on my own. But what fun is it to be successful and not have anyone to share that success with?

The fear of being vulnerable in front of the wrong person made me a little too cautious and dare I say, lonely.

I realized that as a person, I need people just as much as they need me.

As a writer, I need people to read and appreciate my stories just like Ila wanted to be acknowledged; just like Saajan wanted to be heard.

To fill that void, to protect my sanity, and to accept that “sometimes, the wrong train can take you to the right station,” I need to have faith in simple human connection.