Have you ever wondered which is the image that resembles The Average Indian Man, who is truly average in every which way, through his entire life, living it by the definition of average? In what can be termed as a rare moment of epiphany this afternoon, the image struck me. It screamed the averageness of the Indian Man out so loud that I thought I was stupid all these days not to recognize it. It is The Man with the Lunch Box. He is your truly average man, who would neither bring out any emotion from you, nor evoke any memories or a sense of recognition. He is quite commonplace in the areas that he sets foot in, and does not pull any surprises, just like how the box and its contents does not surprise him.

Once you see a guy with a lunchbox, he will be doomed to be remembered along with it. It doesn’t matter whether he is tall, fat, short or handsome, he will always be the man with the Tupperware Lunch bag, or the man with the long stainless steel carrier, or the man with the black and red lunchbox. His face doesn’t register with you. Only when he appears without the box, you seem to notice him. You sense that something is wrong with the guy, if he doesn’t conform to the image the lunchbox has given about him. In a way, the lunchbox says a lot about the man, which he could not bring himself to say about him. 

If ever a cartoon were to be made out of this character, I’m certain it would be more iconic than the Common Man Cartoon by R.K Laxman and more importantly, it would be relevant and representative of the look of the Common Man in these changing times. The image of the man builds itself unconsciously into our collective psyche and its power to evoke the man, lies in the simplicity of the imagery the lunchbox offers to the man carrying it. 

Chances are that you would have encountered the man with the lunchbox more than once every day, unless you are living under a rock or in a hostel. You can find him in your commute to your office or the walk towards your home, shopping for your groceries, or even waiting for a bus. He is always there, walking or driving towards his destination, with his box dangling by his neck or firm between his legs when seated, or occupying the seat next to him in his car. There will be no surprises, for he is not a man of intrigue. He is like the electric pole at the end of your street, an assurance that it is there, and all is well with it, but never important enough to warrant serious thought. 

Many of us are the men with the lunchboxes ourselves, at least in a metaphorical way, without consciously being aware of it. I always resisted the idea of carrying a lunchbox with me even though it was comfortable for me to do so. It is not about carrying a box, or the comforts it offers, such as the indulgence in food cooked at home, or the economic viability of it.  I saw it more as an act of defiance on my part and the refusal to become a common man just like other men carrying their lunchboxes. Now with the benefit of hindsight, I think it was living in a denial and the lunch box was always inevitable and it has seen more men like me than I thought I had. 

My lunchbox weighed around half a kilogram and when I carried it for the first time today, I felt a part of me was completely buried in it. I became like the other men whom I have scoffed at. Someday, you may come across a man who, like all the other men carrying lunchboxes, may come in your way and excuse himself as unintelligibly as he came in your way. You may never notice him again but, that could be me.