In these times of content overload, it is rare for a film to spark discussion around an issue and capture the viewer’s imagination. In recent times, Mrs is one such film that did. Mrs. is a relatively low-budget film that premiered directly on OTT platforms (available on Zee5 / JioHotstar). It is a remake of the original 2021 Malayalam film The Great Indian Kitchen, written and directed by Jeo Baby.
For those who haven’t seen it (highly recommend that you do), the film tells the story of an Indian woman who marries into an educated family of doctors. She moves in with her husband and in-laws, only to find herself expected to cook elaborate meals using laborious traditional methods (think stone-ground chutneys, no mixer-grinders), just as her mother-in-law has done for decades. Neither her husband nor her in-laws are overtly forceful. Nobody shouts at her. Yet, they all employ a passive-aggressive style of expressing disappointment with her cooking. They genuinely believe they are being reasonable when they make seemingly harmless (but relentless) requests for hot, fresh-off-the-tawa phulkas (instead of rotis kept in a casserole) or customized lemonades. This results in a life of drudgery for the woman, with constant criticism over the smallest infractions and a complete disregard for her needs and desires.
The film is well-made. It is biased towards the woman’s perspective and portrays her husband, in-laws, and all their male relatives and friends as emotionally unintelligent, empathy-lacking individuals. However, this is forgiven the film wants to drive the point home forcefully, even at the cost of some exaggeration. Overall, kudos to the entire team for doing a fine job!
Feminism is a broad topic, encompassing issues from female foeticide to increasing women’s representation as CEOs to ensuring women’s safety. It also has various styles of expression, ranging from moderate to extreme. As a man, I will not claim to represent feminism or fully understand the female experience. Nor will I attempt to defend the male perspective. The film makes a valid point: we drive our women crazy with relentless, nonstop expectations of cooking and domestic chores. Based on internet comments, many male viewers of the film related it to what their mothers endured. However, beyond individual households, there is a larger issue that is never discussed—the massive economic cost of this specific aspect of patriarchy, where Indian women are expected to dedicate their lives to the kitchen. The cost of Indian men demanding fresh, hot phulkas is so enormous that it may have significantly impacted our GDP and contributed to India’s continued economic struggles. Don’t believe me? Hear me out.
There is a generation of Indian men, let’s call them the ‘Mediocre Uncle Generation’ or MUGs. These MUGs grew up in the 1970s and 1980s, when India had a closed economy and limited opportunities. The ultimate aspiration (which persists for many) was an easy, low-effort, government job with no risk of being fired. There was no culture of innovation, entrepreneurship, or start-ups. These men led mediocre lives, stuck in unfulfilling jobs, often feeling like failures. On top of that, they lived in a society rife with corruption and nepotism, forcing them to conform to a system that didn’t make them feel good about themselves either.
However, these MUGs had one source of comfort—their home. At home, these men were little emperors, served hot tea, hot snacks, fresh phulkas, and elaborate dinners. The level of service they received was probably better than that of a seventeenth-century European emperor. Even today, in millions of Indian homes, a government office peon comes home to a seven-dish dinner. In a life filled with mediocrity, frustration, and inadequacy, the only respite an average, frustrated Indian male has is the wife at home, ready to serve 24/7—providing meals and service fit for a king. As a result, these MUGs fought to maintain this system at any cost. Patriarchy was the only thing that made them feel important and valued. The suffering of women did not matter if the uncle continued to feel like a king. This is why Mrs. resonates so deeply.
In fact, Indian meals could be far simpler, without the accompanying judgment of the woman of the house. Have you ever observed how an average middle-class Indian eats? They expect two subzis, one daal, raita, pickle, chutney, papad, chaas, ghee, jaggery, rice, and of course, phulkas made fresh off the tawa mere seconds before being served. Not to mention desserts, followed by paan, mukhwas, and churan. Have we lost our minds? Is food so important that we must turn every meal into an elaborate ritual? It’s not even good for us—just look at India’s diabetes statistics. The labor involved in preparing, serving, and clearing each meal is immense. So why do we insist on it? Why can’t we eat simpler meals—one protein, one fiber, and one grain—without shaming the daughter-in-law for it? Why is outsourcing a few items, like bread, still seen as unacceptable?
The issue isn’t just about taste. The entire system is designed to make things deliberately difficult for women—because how else would men assert dominance? How else would a mediocre uncle feel like a king? How else would patriarchy be maintained? This is why Indian cuisine is among the most complex in the world. Heard of a sandwich for lunch? Yes, people eat them. And they survive just fine.
Now, consider this. If Indian women were freed from the burden of preparing elaborate meals (with some additional help from other family members), think of the excess labor, talent, and skills that could be redirected into the economy. How much could that alone contribute to our GDP? Imagine this: if these uncles were not allowed to feel like emperors at home by demanding daily feasts, perhaps they would strive for something more meaningful in their lives. Instead of focusing on hot phulkas, they might work harder at their jobs, start businesses, or develop new skills. Instead of tormenting women, they might improve themselves. Imagine the boost in productivity and economic output this would bring.
We often view patriarchy as a social ill to be addressed through moral appeals for equality and justice. However, patriarchy has a massive economic cost too. Keeping women oppressed often means remaining a poor nation, and recent data supports this. The cost of Indian kitchen patriarchy is staggering. Those hot phulkas and stone-ground chutneys are not only making our women suffer—they are also holding us back as a country. And that, ultimately, leaves a bitter taste, doesn’t it?