A Screengrab from Mrs.: The film’s most striking moments come in the kitchen A Screengrab from Mrs.: The film’s most striking moments come in the kitchen Mrs. is dividing audiences. Some see it as a harsh reflection of Indian marriage; others dismiss it as exaggerated. But it is timely and unsettling, especially as many urban Indian women are questioning the very institution of marriage. This shift should be expected to cause deep anxiety in a society where conjugal families are almost completely built on the silent sacrifices of women.
Closely based on the Malayalam film The Great Indian Kitchen (TGIK, 2023), Mrs. adapts its themes for a Hindi-speaking audience, adding glamour while toning down some of the regional specifics that made TGIK bolder in what it challenged (Brahmanical patriarchy). TGIK was set in an upper-caste Hindu household in Kerala, where patriarchal customs tied to the Sabarimala pilgrimage reinforced the film’s critique of gender roles. Mrs., in contrast, avoids clear regional markers, presenting a more generalised north Indian setting where the family speaks Hindi and eats mutton. While menstruation remains a topic in both films, Mrs. addresses it with more subtlety, making the family’s traditionalism feel broader and more relatable.
Many recent films have critiqued the institution of marriage. Thappad (2020) sparked heated debates on whether a single slap justified divorce, with some defending marriage at all costs and others demanding dignity for women. But Mrs. delves deeper, into the kitchen—the heart of domestic labour—where the imbalance of a traditional Indian marriage is most evident. It exposes how, while the bait of marriage is love and companionship, it quickly switches to a power hierarchy where the wife gives everything and receives nothing in return.
organpgRicha, the protagonist of Mrs., finds herself lower in her marital home’s hierarchy than she ever was in her maternal one. In her parents’ house, she could argue as an equal, even if her family was from the same culture as her in-laws. Her dreams were real, and her parents had a stake in her well-being. But in her marital home, her worth is tied solely to her labour. She does not sit at the same table as her husband and father-in-law. She is not treated as a person of equal value. Instead, she must earn her place through relentless caregiving, without expectations in return.
The film’s most striking moments come in the kitchen. In one scene, Richa spends an entire afternoon preparing dum pukht biryani for her father-in-law, only for him to ignore her. A whole day’s labour, met with silence. In another, she attempts to join the men’s conversation at the table to talk about going to work, only for her husband to cut her down with a critique of her dal pithi (rice lentil dumplings). Then, lightly, he adds, “I was just joking.” The joke, of course, is a reminder of her place at the bottom of the family pyramid.
Her labour, while urgent for the household in her mother-in-law’s absence, is never good enough. The rhythm of chopping, stirring and serving never ends. Any modern conveniences that she may use to bring herself some relief from the drudgery is called out on and she is pushed to do it ‘properly’ in the way of the family. Whether it is grinding the chutney on the mortar and pestle or washing clothes by hand. Petha, mathri, matar chiwda, hari chutney, kadhi, biryani—she prepares these dishes with care, yet every bite is subject to scrutiny. Her father-in-law, who has never cooked in his life, feels entitled to critique her food, embodying generations of male entitlement. The pressure to serve her husband a hot phulka before he gets annoyed is excruciating to watch, especially for anyone who has ever served a table. Mrs. is unparalleled in its visceral portrayal of how women’s labour in the kitchen is taken for granted. Unlike other films that celebrate cooking as an act of love or cultural pride, Mrs. makes it a site of quiet suffering. The film resists romanticising food and instead shows how the kitchen becomes a cage. This shift in perspective is what makes Mrs. particularly unsettling: introducing viewers to confront the reality of domestic work as emotional and physical labour, and not just as an act of devotion.
Unlike other films that celebrate cooking as an act of love or cultural pride, Mrs. makes it a site of quiet suffering.The degradation extends beyond the kitchen, following her into her marital bed, where she is reduced to a labouring body rather than a person. Sex, like everything else in her marriage, happens at her husband’s convenience—wordlessly, without tenderness or consideration. There is no intimacy,fef777 cassino no sweet words exchanged—only the mechanical fulfilment of duty. Her husband does not meet her gaze, reinforcing her invisibility even in the most intimate of spaces. As she smells her fingers, still carrying the stench of jhoothan—leftover scraps washed from the men’s plates—the metaphor becomes inescapable. The film draws a stark parallel between her role in the household and that of an untouchable, her worth measured only by the labour she performs for others. With every scene, frustration and powerlessness mount, culminating in an emotional crescendo that resonates deeply with those who have lived this reality, but never found the words to articulate it.
The film firmly situates itself in a world where both balanced domestic partnerships and exploitative marriages coexist. This contrast becomes evident when the couple visits Richa’s friend, whose husband actively helps with household chores and supports her passion for dancing. In this setting, Richa’s husband, on his best behaviour, appears charming and progressive, effortlessly blending into their modern world. However, when Richa expresses her surprise toward this changed attitude, he reacts with shock and offence. Like many men, he wears a mask of modernity in public while expecting his wife to adhere to traditional roles at home—growing defensive when confronted with his hypocrisy.
As expected, Mrs. has provoked extreme reactions from men’s rights groups like the Save Indian Family Foundation (SIFF), which defends traditional gender roles and sees feminist narratives as threats to marriage. The SIFF has accused the film of promoting “toxic feminism,” arguing, “Men work 8-9 hours at construction sites, railway stations, airports, factories, courts, police stations, restaurants, country’s borders, and a happy young woman cooking food, doing dishes, and pressing clothes for her father-in-law is oppression for her.”
Meanwhile, some social media users have mocked Richa, belittling her exhaustion from household duties. One viral post sneers, “She wouldn’t mind sleeping with two different men at the office but minds cooking for two men at home.” Others have dismissed her frustration outright, writing, “How hard is it to cook for two?” On the other hand, women have largely rallied behind the film, sharing personal experiences and frustrations. Twitter user Radha (@SheIsTheFire) remarked, “Not seen a single woman disliking #Mrs (the film). It’s only the men who seem to be having a problem with the movie.”
Hosted on ZEE5 amongst other controversial films like The Kashmir Files and The Kerala Story, Mrs. stands out as a rare feminist critique in the platform’s largely mainstream and Right-wing lineup. Unlike traditional media, which had clear ideological leanings through newspaper ownership or state-controlled television, OTT platforms operate within a capitalist logic where engagement—measured through watch hours, shares and controversy—matters as much as ideology. It is easy to see how OTTs like ZEE include a film like Mrs. purely because of how it can spark engagement without disrupting its core audience, allowing the platform to appear diverse while containing dissent within controlled boundaries. A feminist film may generate temporary outrage, but it exists alongside a broader lineup that upholds traditional, nationalist, or majoritarian viewpoints. The inclusion of Mrs. does not challenge the larger messaging of the platform; rather, it serves as a release valve, allowing for controlled opposition within an otherwise conformist space. And that’s the real bait-and-switch—not just in marriage, but in media itself.
(Views expressed are personal)
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Pearl Sandhu is a documentary filmmaker and journalist whose work explores the intersections of gender, culture, and power
(This article is a part of Outlook's March 11poplar365, 2025 Women's Day special issue 'Women at Work', which explores the experiences of women in roles traditionally occupied by men. It appeared in print as 'Packing The Kitchen ’)