Abhilash Shetty's Naale Rajaa Koli Majaa is a lovingly crafted cinematic experience that brings together food, family, and nostalgia in a setting soaked in the monsoon hues of Malnad. With his second feature, Shetty turns his attention to the small joys of rural life, told through the perspective of an 11-year-old girl and her yearning for something as simple as a chicken curry meal.
The story revolves around young Sneha (played by Samrudhi Kundapura), who eagerly looks forward to Sundays-not for cartoons or playtime, but for the special chicken curry that her family prepares. It's a weekly ritual, a highlight of her week. But one particular Sunday falls on Gandhi Jayanti, a day when slaughter is prohibited, leading to a quiet upheaval in the household. What begins as a small disruption soon evolves into a gentle, warm story about memory, food, and the relationships that bind a family together.
What makes Naale Rajaa Koli Majaa stand out is its ability to treat such a seemingly trivial conflict with sincerity and warmth.
Samrudhi Kundapura as Sneha delivers a wonderfully natural performance. Her innocence and quiet determination hold the film together. Around her, the ensemble cast fits snugly into their roles-their banter, disagreements, and shared silences feel lived-in. These are people we recognize from our own lives: the uncle who over-explains, the cousin who teases, the grandmother who communicates more with gestures than words.
Shetty, who had earlier impressed with Koli Taal, again proves his mastery in capturing the Malnad region not just as a backdrop, but as a character. The cinematography bathes the screen in rain-drenched greens, misty skies, and soft indoor lights. It's a visual treat that mirrors the emotional warmth of the story. The sound design, too, is minimal and immersive-letting natural sounds fill the silences instead of relying on music to direct emotions.
One of the film's most endearing qualities is how it explores the meaning of food beyond sustenance. The Sunday chicken curry is not just a dish-it's memory, celebration, connection. It reminds us how food is tied to our emotional landscape, how a simple recipe can carry stories, rituals, and identities. Sneha's anticipation is not just about taste; it's about belonging and routine, about being part of something that's hers.
The screenplay subtly touches on themes of tradition versus modernity, personal desire versus collective rules, and the passage of time. Gandhi Jayanti becomes a symbolic interruption, reminding the characters-and us-that even the most cherished routines can be disrupted by larger systems.
