Food represents the former intimacy of Shukumar and Shoba’s marriage, and the nostalgia Shukumar feels for who Shoba used to be and the relationship they once had. Shukumar connects food to Shoba’s former preparedness. Before the stillbirth, Shoba would stock the pantry full of everything imaginable. She would cook elaborate meals for Shukumar and their friends, noting the date she first made each dish in her recipe book. At present, though, Shoba’s grief in the wake of their child’s stillbirth causes her to lose faith in planning ahead. Shoba no longer cooks or plans for the future, and the task of preparing their meals falls to Shukumar. Shukumar enjoys cooking, as he sees it as “the one thing that ma[kes] him feel productive.” Symbolically, Shukumar’s decision to take on the responsibility of cooking represents his determination to hold on to some semblance of the marriage he once had. Along these lines, Shoba’s decision to abandon food implies that she is more prepared than Shukumar to give up on the marriage. When the blackout forces the couple to dine together for the first time since the stillbirth, this is a symbolic act that signifies the couple’s relationship may be on the mend. When Lahiri reveals this growth to be false—when Shoba and Shukumar’s rekindled relationship leads only to them revealing hurtful, alienating truths to one another—Shukumar leaves the table, and “carrie[s] the plates to the sink.” By removing the dinner plates from the table, Shukumar symbolically removes the possibility of renewed intimacy in his marriage.
Food Quotes in A Temporary Matter
He hadn’t left the house at all that day, or the day before. The more Shoba stayed out, the more she began putting in extra hours at work and taking on additional projects, the more he wanted to stay in, not even leaving to get the mail, or to buy fruit or wine at the stores by the trolley stop.
It was typical of her. She was the type to prepare for surprises, good and bad. If she found a skirt or purse she liked she bought two. […] It astonished him, her capacity to think ahead. When she used to do the shopping, the pantry was always stocked with extra bottles of olive and corn oil […] It never went to waste. When friends dropped by, Shoba would throw together meals that appeared to have taken half a day to prepare […] Her labeled mason jars lined the shelves of the kitchen, in endless sealed pyramids, enough, they’d agreed, to last for their grandchildren to taste. They’d eaten it all by now.
Shoba had turned the lights off. She came back to the table and sat down, and after a moment Shukumar joined her. They wept together, for the things they now knew.