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The Journey of 'Sabar Bonda,' the First Ever Marathi-language Feature to Premiere at Sundance
The director of 'Sabar Bonda' (Cactus Pears) talks candidly about his self-taught filmmaking experience, the difficulties of sustaining an artistic vision, and the significance of authenticity in queer cinematic storytelling.
(Cactus Pears) — the first-ever Marathi-language feature to premiere at the Sundance Film Festival 2025, as part of their World Cinema Dramatic Competition — like many debut features, yanks from personal loss.
In 2016, Kanawade, a Mumbai born and raised filmmaker, lost his father. He had to go to his ancestral village with his mother to perform the last rites. Relatives and strangers would stream in and out, rupturing his grief with questions about when he is getting married.
A gay man, out to his parents, but unsure of how such a declaration would be received in a village, Kanawade, instead, dreamed of a fictional friend who knew about him, his sexuality — a knowledge that would allow for him to grieve, instead of playing an emotional hide-and-seek. Kanawade became Anand (Bhushaan Manoj), and this fictional friend became Ballya, (Suraaj Suman) — the two characters who keep trying to carve space for each other, and for themselves, in each other’s company.
Sabar Bonda is a coming together of many countries, having developed under the Venice Biennale College Cinema 2022-2023 and NFDC Marathi script camp, presented at global markets and script labs like the Film London Production Finance Market, NFDC Marathi Script Camp, Film Bazaar Co-Production Market, Venice Gap Financing Market, and Goes to Cannes. It is produced by Neeraj Churi (UK), Mohamed Khaki (Canada), Kaushik Ray (UK), Naren Chandavarkar (India), Sidharth Meer (India), and Hareesh Reddypalli (India), with Jim Sarbh as co-producer and Rajesh Parwatkar as associate producer.
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In a conversation with The Hollywood Reporter, edited for length and clarity, Kanawade speaks about his journey into cinema through cinema, and what are the kind of stories he is chasing.
Edited excerpts:
Can you chart your journey from growing up in a slum in Mumbai, to being an interior designer, and finally, falling into cinema?
My love for cinema started with a projector. When I was four, my father took us to watch this Marathi film Maherchi Sadi (1991). Looking at the screen, I asked my dad: ‘Is this a big TV?’ He explained what the projector was, and then I looked back at that small window, from where those colourful lights were coming and dancing. I was so fascinated.
So, every time I went to the theatre, I wanted to go inside that projector room. When I was in fourth or fifth standard, I even made my own slide projector.
Is the decision to use rounded edges in Sabar Bonda an homage to this nostalgia?
Yes, because when we used to go and watch movies in the cinemas. With celluloid projection, all the corners were always a little rounded. They were never sharp — those are my memories of watching movies in the theatre.
Then, over the years, when I watched Jurassic Park (1993), I fell in love with sound. When I was in tenth standard, we had this one chapter in our Marathi textbook, Krushnakathchya Katha, which was written so cinematically that I fell in love with writing, and I started writing short stories.
When I finished my tenth, just because I was good at drawing, my dad’s boss suggested I enter designing, because I didn’t want to study till the 12th — I hated maths and science. So, I ended up doing interior designing.
When I was working, I was still writing short stories. One of my colleagues suggested making a short film for a competition. We borrowed one of our colleague’s Nokia mobile phones — that was in 2007 — which had this 1.5-megapixel camera, and we shot our film on that. But we couldn’t finish it, because we didn't know how to tackle the many technical problems — the home computer we were editing on would crash all the time. But that process was so interesting that I wanted to make another film. This time, my parents and a few friends in my neighbourhood acted in it. I did not know how to handle many things, like dialogues, so I made it a silent film with slates in between.
Slowly, I met actors and other friends who guided me. My father was the first person who supported me. I remember him saying that it was fine if I wanted to change my career, but that I must do it passionately. Him saying that — after starting and shutting down a business due to losses, going into depression — was brave and important. I started exploring. I started making more short films. Then, in 2013, one of my films went to Kashish Pride Film Festival, which was my first international festival, and I won the Best Emerging Filmmaker award.
I kept making shorts and writing features. I wrote a few features before Sabar Bonda, but things didn’t work out with producers. When I wrote Sabar Bonda, I felt, in a way, my father was still supporting me, because it is based on my experience mourning him. Even though he was not around, it was still that experience which helped me write this film.
So, it all started in 2007, a long journey exploring to this day, where I have a finished feature film. [The process] was all self-taught, so it took a time, but I think it was worth it.
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In between these shorts there must have been gaps. What were you doing then?
Thankfully, I found the right people in my life who supported me in this journey, and because of them, I could explore filmmaking without really thinking about many other things.
First, was my dad. Then, an architect friend told me that I could work with him, so I got a lot of time to work on my film on the side. Then, I met my partner. We have been together for ten years now. Because of these people, I got all the time to explore filmmaking and invest time in it.
You have never been on set as an AD or DA. Craft was all trial and error. How did you become a more polished filmmaker, then?
It is more about watching and absorbing films, and then writing them. One of the things I do is, if there is a film that I want to watch that has an available script, I first download and read the script. This way, I have something [to visualise] in my head, after which, I watch the film.
I also keep watching interviews of filmmakers and writers all the time. I am especially interested in watching the behind-the-camera footage.
In all the films that you mentioned — Maherchi Sadi, Jurassic Park, the short story collection — there are no traces of queerness. So, when did it enter your imagination, and then, your cinematic imagination? Many of the short films you made deal with queerness.
Not all the features I wrote before Sabar Bonda were queer. Sabar Bonda came from a personal experience. Even the film that I had made before it, U For Usha (2019), was queer — but that was because Chhaya Kadam had told me to write that story. Before that, the father and son film I made was also queer.
When I watched world cinema and explored queer films, I thought I could make them too. For some reason, I never felt that I was doing something bold or brave — but people felt so when they saw some of my movies. For me, it was very simple: I was just telling a story I felt strongly about. I know the story that I want to tell — a story only I can tell — and I want to tell it as authentically as possible.
You shot Sabar Bonda in your mother’s village, with some of your relatives and villagers. How do you navigate this? Do they know this is a queer film they are partaking in?
Not all the villagers have prominent roles, but they were part of the filmmaking, even behind the camera. And, of course, we didn’t tell them what the actual story was — just that it was a story about two friends meeting.
See, you don’t know how people will react, and with the entire crew and equipment, you don’t want to take those risks. We did the same thing with U for Usha. But when we had our first screening for the cast and crew of the film, we invited the whole village — and they loved it.
It was then I realised: It all depends on how you tell a particular story. If it’s sensationalised, then it’s different. But if you tell it in an authentic way, it changes the experience completely.
Sabar Bonda is slightly different, with other explicit things happening. But, of course, when it is time, we would love to show it to them, and we shall see how my people will react to it.
How do you think of queer representation? There is a critique of weepy, tragic queer stories, the cliche of the mopey, self-pitying gay man. What are the stereotypes that you are trying to complicate through this film?
As a kid, I was never sad. When I came out to my parents, they easily accepted me. So, when I watch these queer films that are sad and question people, [my experience] was not the same. I am sure it is the reality for many people, but why am I not seeing the other side? So, we need to change queer storytelling, and show the other side as well.
That is why I didn’t want to make Sabar Bonda a sad film, even though there is a death at the centre of the film. I wanted to make a gentle, warm film — a celebration of this relationship, of sexuality. Also, we always see characters from the upper class. We don’t see the other socio-economic background represented on screen and, for me, that was important.
[In cinema], we have always seen coming out as a struggle of parents not accepting us — that’s the impression [often portrayed]. I, too, was scared about it. But in 2013, when I came out to my father, the first thing he said was that it was okay, and that the most important thing was that I know myself. It’s also a line I have used in the film.
The basic thing was the love for a child. My parents love me and want my happiness — it was just that. Even when I came out to my mother, who is illiterate — I mean, she started writing her name only after her marriage, when my father taught her how to — she accepted it without any hesitation. That’s when I realised that education doesn’t give you wisdom. This simplicity, I feel, we don’t see in queer films — why do we complicate them? I wanted to show this aspect also. That’s when the stories will change.
Take, for instance, the idea of needing to stand up to people. In one of the film labs, my mentor said, “Rohan, I think the character should stand up to the village!” But I said no, because that’s not the kind of film I’m making. But my mentor replied, “No, Rohan. That’s the power of cinema!” I understand that, but I’m not making those kinds of films.
I know so many people who are living their life, who have found their happiness without standing up to people. They navigate their own lives, dealing with their own complications. I want to show that reality, not the imagined version of queer life. So, preserving my vision was always a struggle.
Do you feel international labs and funding push filmmakers to make films that are “film festival certified”? Is it a challenge to retain your voice?
The international labs are there just to give you a platform and visibility. Because of the kind of film we were making, we knew there would be challenges to fund it, so we needed more collaborators to come on board and make this film happen. Rest, Sabar Bonda is an Indian film, completely based on my experience of living in slums and villages. Also, since I am self-taught and without mentorship, through these labs I got insights into writing, producing, and directing.
I always prioritise the story. I am so happy to explore different languages all the time. So, U For Usha has tracking shots and different colours, different moods; it even has background music. Sabar Bonda, however, doesn’t have any of that — there is no music, just gentle sounds of the silence of the villages, the trees, the birds, the goats, and the people all around me. The aesthetic is something that the story dictates, not the festival or funding.