Directed by  Ritesh Batra  Reviewed by Paul Sorrell

Neither a comedy, a heavyweight drama, nor a Bollywood romance, this gentle love story set in contemporary Mumbai is consistently engaging. In addition, it is subtle, not a bit sentimental, serious in its own way, and takes some unexpected turns. It also gives some mouthwatering insights into Indian cuisine .

A hardworking accountant, Saajan is on the point of retirement after 35 years of service. He spends his days poring over voluminous files — oddly, there isn’t a computer in sight — and, as a recent widower, passes lonely evenings on his verandah, gazing wistfully at his neighbours’ lively dinner table across the way. The sole oasis in his stultifying work routine is the lunch hour, when he retreats to the office café to enjoy a hot lunch delivered to his desk by one of the city’s army of dabbawallas.

One day he receives the wrong lunchbox which, to his delight, contains a quite heavenly meal. The misdelivered lunches continue, and he strikes up a correspondence — via notes left in the food canister — with the beautiful young Ila, who had assumed that her meals were going to her inattentive husband. But her relationship with him is souring, and the succession of notes gradually takes an intimate — but always decorous — turn.

If all this sounds predictable and, given the pair’s age gap, unlikely, then this would be to give a false impression. Their developing relationship is handled with delicacy and tact, and certainly tugs at our heartstrings, but not in a schmaltzy way. Part of the reason for this feeling of groundedness is that the plot is firmly set in bustling Mumbai, with its cheeky street kids, crowded trains and restaurants and endless flow of humanity. We gain a detailed insight into the lives of the dabbawallas, bicycling delivery men who are paid a pittance to serve the white-collar caste but who pride themselves on never making a wrong delivery!

Everywhere in The Lunchbox there are signs of intelligence and attention to detail, as in Ila’s communication with her unseen but garrulous auntie in the flat above via a basket on a rope, a device which allows her to reveal her thoughts and feelings — but always guardedly. Then there’s the beautifully handled subplot involving Saajan’s irritatingly deferential replacement, Shaikh. His heart thawed by his burgeoning affection for Ila, Saajan eventually warms to the younger man — part of his gentle flowering as a human being, which is what this beguiling film is really all about.