The big reveal in Talaash is that Rosie is a ghost, roaming the physical world to avenge her undignified death. It’s a poetic touch to have a dead woman who radiates vivacious energy embody a city that’s obsessed with making a living.
True to the tropes of supernatural fiction, Rosie’s spirit almost always wanders out at night, giving Talaash an excellent excuse to explore Mumbai after dark. Kagti and Mohanan’s interpretation of the city’s midnight is that of a spiritual haven: A time when lost souls – both human and paranormal – can step out and look for connection, away from the harsh, cold light of the day.
The Lunchbox (2013)
After being carefully prepped, the emerald-green lump of the dabba leaves Ila’s (Nimrat Kaur) house at the same time every day, pinned to the cycle of one of Mumbai’s many dabbawallas. It gets wet in the city’s pouring rain and dries itself in the sunlight that streams into the local train. It listens to the dabbawallas singing. It bumps into other brightly-coloured dabba bags before reaching the table of Saajan Fernandes (Irrfan), a grumpy widower. Only that’s not his dabba, and a mistake turns into a miracle.
Although the essence of Ritesh Batra’s The Lunchbox is human connection – that tenuous bond that can occur despite the distance of staggering loneliness or a wide ocean – the film’s greatest strength lies in the portrait of isolation that it offers the viewers. Knowing Ila and Saajan spend their days almost entirely alone make their letter exchange even more provocative and intimate. We see their estrangement – from their loved ones, their surroundings and their own life – and we hope desperately that the two will find each other.
Some of The Lunchbox’s most poetic moments are nestled in the everyday. Take, for example, Ila’s house. Her kitchen, where she cooks most of those mouth-watering delicacies for Saajan, is a quintessential Mumbai kitchen: Cramped and economical. Almost every shot has something partially-obscuring our view of Ila – a wall, a washing machine, a line of clothes hanging over her house’s hallway. The cinematography speaks to how trapped Ila feels not only in tangible terms of living in the small apartment but also in her loveless marriage. In one unforgettable shot, Ila sits for dinner with her husband and daughter. She faces the camera while her husband watches the small TV that’s above her head. Only his back visible to us. She gazes at him and we can tell he barely notices her.