“They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” – Ian Somerhalder.  No wonder it is said by a man, but strangely no woman writer has opposed it.   Now what about the way to a woman’s heart? 

Before I get into the review, I would like to narrate a small story.  It dates back to Stone Age, where caveman and cavewoman had begun to stay together and fire was discovered. Hunting was their only occupation and the cave needed to be protected from predators as they had children.  They were in a dilemma who would look after the fire.  Someone had to be beside the fire to keep it burning.  After a great argument they agree upon women staying back.  “The Great Indian Kitchen” is a modern version of this age-old story of who would watch the fire from getting extinguished.  Impressively, the characters don’t have names, so anyone (woman) can relate to it.  The language maybe Malayalam but the scene overall is the same in every Indian state – a married woman in a traditional Indian household and her kitchen.  The story unfolds with a montage where the heroine (Nimisha Sajayan) is happily dancing, (one of the few moments where she is smiling). Simultaneously, snacks are being prepared in a remote kitchen for “pennu kaanal.”  Suraj Venjaramoodu a teacher by profession is introduced to Nimisha, an educated girl raised in Dubai, as the prospective groom from a renowned, traditional Tharavadu family. 

The innocent new bride enters the Tharavadu and learns that the routines in this household are quite different from hers.  Her father-in-law prefers chutneys ground in the grinding stone, chutney and sambhar both are to be made for breakfast, husband likes chapatis for dinner…etc.  Kitchen plays an integral role in the movie and all we see is women juggling with multiple tasks in and around the kitchen to keep the house in order.  It seems repetitive and tiresome, but the director, Jeo Baby’s message is clear, if mere watching it can be so irking, imagine the agony of women toiling in the kitchen, going through this mundane drudgery for ages. 

As the mother-in-law has to tend her pregnant daughter, her role is passed on to the new bride.  Slowly but drastically the new bride undergoes a stark change, from the cheerful, bubbly girl she becomes more meticulous and gloomier as the story progresses.  The rice has just begun to boil in the traditional chulha and the new bride is perspiring profusely in her attempt to impress the father-in-law. Her marriage life is no more a sweet bliss, but rather a domestic routine, which is taken for granted. 

The menfolk in that family are free to practice their hobby, indulge with their phone, it is only the women who have no time to break their routine.  The father-in-law reads newspaper and doesn’t move from his chair until his wife hands him his toothbrush in the morning and when she brings his padukas (slippers), I was literally transported to the Medieval era, where kings were seated in their throne and sevaks rushed to serve them. 

The wife has now graduated to the woman of the house, ready to exercise her rights at least that’s what she thinks, however, her first casual comment doesn’t go well with her husband.  She notices him follow table manners while they dine together in a restaurant, properly piling the bone wastes in a plate, but at home he usually spits the chewed drumstick pieces on the table cloth, leaving the place in shambles, mindless of she shared the same table.  He is clearly annoyed at her remark and replies, “It’s my home, my convenience.  I’ll do as I please.  I have only this much manners.”  One could guess what ensues next.  No matter what the reason, only the women are to be apologetic; be it for the peace of the world or for the peace of the family.  The triumph in his smile while she utters “sorry,” is typical of an egoistic male.  Suraj’s performance has to be applauded for making you hate him. 

The men in the family aren’t tough or dominant.  They are soft spoken, yet their suppressions are sugar coated and decisions very subtle.  When the wife (Nimisha) receives an interview letter for a dance teacher, her father-in-law says – “having a woman at home is very auspicious for the family.  They bring prosperity.  What you people are doing is much greater than what collectors and ministers do.”  Can you find any fault in his statement?  Further he adds that he had forbade his wife’s (Nimisha’s mother-in-law’s) wish to work adhering to his father’s advice and that is why his sons are in good positions.  So, vileness is passed on to their genes by patriarchy which they too are unaware of.  He generously forgives her with a “Saarille mole,” leaving her speechless and guilty for no fault of hers.  Nimisha’s expressions are unbelievably convincing. The song, “Thangamunu ooru unna mela thooki vaikkum, Dindugulu pootu rendu maati pooti vaikkum….” from 36 Vayadhinile Tamil movie reverberated to me. 

She somewhat makes peace with the drudgery of the kitchen and its many unpleasantries – cleaning, dirty vessels, and leaking sinks that is when they have visitors, her husband’s cousin who judges her cooking skills and teaches her to make “kattan chaya.”  Later he volunteers to cook the dinner claiming to provide rest to the woman in the house.  The sight of the kitchen after his endeavour is like a cowshed, a complete disaster.  Setting the kitchen back to its former glory with no help is a Herculean task, nevertheless his remark, “What work is left in kitchen now? Didn’t we do all the work?”  It is the take on how male claims credit for little jobs done in the house. While the women toil their entire life yet don’t receive the appreciation that they duly deserve. Jeo Baby makes you feel the heat surging for a moment and cools you down with a shower shot.

“The Great Indian Kitchen” reveals the implicit bias and secrets that everyone knows, but didn’t dare to talk about openly.  Obviously the wife now hesitates to voice her opinion lest she may hurt her husband’s feelings, ego rather.  The husband plans to visit Sabarimala and talks about abstinence, she slowly opens up about her inconvenience and suggests foreplay.  Not only egoism but inconsideration towards her needs and feelings gets revealed in his reply – “I should feel something towards you for that.”

Each time she cleans the sink gingerly and constantly washes her hands, I was reminded of Lady Macbeth rubbing her hands for a quarter of an hour, lamenting “what, will these hands never be clean.”  She can still smell sewage in her hands even after retiring to her bed.  The family which glorifies woman as its backbone is extremely regressive regarding menstruation.  She is appalled to discover this belief when she gets her periods during their Sabarimala virutham.  What surprises her is a female relative of the family asking her to hole herself up in a room, sleep on the floor, bathe in the river, eat separately, and wash all the things she touches.  She talks about maintaining sanctity of the household, completely neglecting the essential personal hygiene that she requires presently.  What disgusts her more is her mother too supports those views, asks her to obey them as she is now part of a prestigious Tharavadu family. 

During this time, her husband slips from his scooter and she helps him to get up.  She is shooed away like an untouchable and scolded for touching a pilgrim.  The traditional purification process includes drinking cow dung water or swallowing cow dung, yet the older priest conveniently asks him to take a dip in the river.  Patriarchy reiterates that their convenience and comfort always come before a woman’s.  

The movie also touch bases the life of many women from various background, a friend of the wife who is pampered by her husband, who makes tea while she is inviting a friend for her dance performance, a Facebook activist who voices her opinion regarding the female devotees visiting Sabarimala, an older relative who finds no fault in the patriarchal system instead chides the new bride and curbs even the meagre liberty that she has, a maid who sings while doing the household chores, and an innocent little girl who is slowly watching all the goings. 

Jeo Baby uses the maid to voice, “how can we live following such old practices?  How would someone know whether I am having my period unless I reveal?” While these events transpire, Kerala is grippled with the Sabarimala temple verdict where the courts decide that menstruation is not an impurity and women should be allowed to visit the temple.  A lot of people including this family (Suraj’s) do not approve of the verdict. They consider themselves as the protectors of the tradition.  The husband from behind the doors dictates the wife to delete the Facebook post that she had shared in support of the verdict, but she refuses.  Entering her room is forbidden as per virutham rules, but is seething in anger and cuss words permissible?  Will all these injustices boil over one day and make her take a draconian step or will she end up as one among the family photo holding the family tradition high above her freedom and dignity? Brilliant performance by Nimisha both as an innocent bride and a progressive dancer master.

A cooker whistle, a running mixie, clutter of utensils or tadka sound; aren’t these sounds you hear when you enter a house?  What if I say Sooraj Kurup (music director) uses merely these sounds for BGM? There is no background music or re-recording. These natural sounds add liveliness to the story.  The photographs of the ancestors of the house, who withheld those customs are on display.  There are many women in those black and white photos, but all we could hear are sounds of running taps, water leaking, blowing air into chulha, vessels rattling, pounding, sieving, grinding stones going to and fro, sizzling, clothes being washed, scrubbing, and the spatulas constantly hitting the frying pans.  Reiterating that all these years only patriarchy has cooked stories of submission that these womenfolk devoured without a hiccup.  These women kept the firewood burning extinguishing the fire to achieve their goals within themselves.  Here the kitchen is not in the corner of the house, but the centre of universe in every woman’s psyche.  They are married to it and it curtails them from stepping out into the real universe.

Nimisha and Suraj’s excellent performances makes “The Great Indian Kitchen” a fulfilling experience. While “The Great Indian Kitchen” rips through patriarchy, it also throws light on various aspects.  It not only talks about the new-gen women who question this unsung slavery, but also is a tribute to all those women who have been running the show silently. It is not about the husband-and-wife relationship, but also the independence and individuality of human beings beyond gender.  The film made me ask, while in a household of 2 or 3 men, women still struggle to raise our voice, how loud are we to shout to change the mindset of menfolk in this nation?

It is almost 25 days now, but I haven’t come out of SPB’s demise. These days I have been watching his interviews, teleseries, movies, anything and everything about him or related to him and that’s how I came across the movie “Mithunam.” Mithunam means a couple, also the zodiac sign Gemini in Telugu. I must say Tanikella Bharani (director) has done justice to the title with just two characters on the screen with their own share of romance and it strikes a chord. Mithunam doesn’t narrate a great story, but beautifully portrays life of an old married couple living to its fullest in an idyllic locale.

The entire story unfolds in a hamlet with signature tunes of radio bringing back a whole load of memories inside a traditional house with backyard, (right out of the black and white Telugu movies), complete with a thota, a well, an old pendulum, a swing, a cow named Savitri, and of course a radio. Feeling nostalgic? The couple live a yesteryears’ life, listening to Vividh Bharathi’s “Mann Chahe Geet,” and if you are a radio generation, then you would be familiar with it. Interestingly they have no time to miss their children and handle detachment with maturity. It is refreshing to see aging parents savouring every moment of togetherness and romancing without any regrets, contented, and self sufficient. 

Coming to the characters, Appadasu(SPB) is a retired teacher. He has three passions in life – eating, his wife Buchchi, and growing plants in his garden. Buchchi(Lakshmi) also has three passions in life – cooking, taking care of Appadasu, and obsessing over her NRI children. In a retired life, one shouldn’t do the routine work that he or she had been doing. Appadasu (SPB) grows vegetables, fruits, doubles up as a cobbler, silversmith, weaver, also tends his cattle and in between munches his favourite dishes. He is obsessed with food, enjoys its aroma, colors, and texture before he relishes them. You fall in love with home grown vegetables and this film makes you crave for a farm house. Like the organic vegetables, their love is pure. Exemplify as they do the words “alone together,” they are perfectly happy and if they squabble once or twice about Appadasu’s lack of sociability and Buchchi’s ex-suitors with names of grapes – well as Appadasu pithily puts it, ‘daampathyamu, dhappalamu baaga marigithene ruchi.’ 

The couples have done with their struggles of raising the kids and settling them. Their tranquil post-retirement life, loving each other, and living life as it is meant to be – working side by side, cooking, eating and talking about the recipes to cook is literally “Adbuthaha.”

When there are only two characters in a movie, they need to be played to perfection. However, telling a tale worth telling doesn’t require stellar stars, but great performers. Both are seasoned actors, Lakshmi with her expressive eyes and shy smiles, exudes love through every expression of hers, a very natural performance. Equally brilliant performance by SPB, you forget him because he has lived as Appadasu. Be it his innocence while stealing jaggery or arrogance shouting at the door banger, both are applaudable.

A special credit goes to the screenplay and the camera work. The hot drops of coffee squeezing their way out of the traditional steel filter never looked so inviting nor the act of making coconut chutney so colorful.

Buchchi makes Pesarattu sprinkled with onions and green chilies, textured with dollops of emotional ghee, but her childlike anger melts it in no time. She sulks, plays, teases, admonishes, argues, fights and cries being confined to kitchen, cooking her whole life for Appadasu. When she gets excited at her son’s arrival, she is yet another mother yearning for her child, but when they don’t turn up as promised, she isn’t teary or sentimental and tugs at your heart strings.

Appadasu’s love is sometimes explicit and sometimes subtle. Taking care of Buchchi while she falls sick and worrying she may leave him early is so realistic. Husband and wife relationship gets stronger as years go by and seeing them on screen shows there is a bright side breaking the general perception that old age is depressing. Ideally, this film will appeal to those who have grown watching their grandparents love for each other.

Mithunam makes you feel a lot of things; mirthful, contemplative, refreshing, and somewhere tad envious too. It is the joy you derive from a spoonful of piping hot payasam. It is the ecstasy in the first sip of freshly made filter coffee. It is the confidence drawn from absolute self-sufficiency. More than anything else, it is the comfort of spending your life’s evenings in leisure and peace with the person who is the love of your life.

Tanikella Bharani’s love for the Telugu language is striking in every word uttered, be it the clever dialogues that draw chuckles every time they intend to or the ingenuous lyrics that blend into the screenplay seamlessly. And if the movie drags a bit towards at the end, it is more soporific from a soothing lullaby than tediousness of the new age movies. 

I haven’t read the book “Mithunam” (21 pages) short story, but this amusing script cannot be termed as movie for the senior citizens. It is one of the rare Telugu movies that reflects the practical strategies for our twilight years, hence any age-group can watch.

Wishing to die before husband is considered auspicious, but isn’t it selfish to leave the husband at the mercy of others for the sake of a “sumangali” title? Will Buchchi commit this sin?  Watch this emotional and sensitive tale of romance to rediscover the raison de’tre of cinema.