Sabar Bonda: Love, Loss, and the Spaces That Hold Us
by Gaura Singh
Courtesy of Sundance Institute
“A tender film,” says Rohan Kanawade. He returns to the word often when speaking about Sabar Bonda (2025), his debut feature. It’s a beautiful word, and it holds great truth. Sabar Bonda is tender—not just in its storytelling but in the way it wraps you in its emotions, like a warm embrace. No wonder it became the first Marathi film to premiere at Sundance; its universality transcends language, speaking instead in the language of love.
Anand (Bhushaan Manoj), the film’s protagonist, is a semi-autobiographical reflection of Kanawade himself, with much of the narrative drawn from real events. The exception? Balya (Suraaj Suman), a character who never existed but whom Kanawade longed for during those times. This longing became the reason Sabar Bonda was written. The choice to weave fiction into reality lends the film its weight, scenes unfold with an ease that makes their heaviness more real. The cultural specificity is so strong that at times, it feels like a documentary. The body of Anand’s father carried from the vehicle upon reaching the village, the memorial portrait printed at a local shop, the rules of mourning stated like facts—each moment etches the finality of death in an understated yet piercing manner. Through these intricate, sometimes humorous scenes, through exchanged glances and restrained conversations, Kanawade masterfully weaves silence to convey numbness, grief, hope, and love over 112 minutes.
An interior designer turned filmmaker, Kanawade transforms spaces into silent narrators. His family’s ancestral home isn’t just a backdrop; it’s alive with meaning. The open field where Anand and Balya take the goats, the terrace corners where Anand confides in his mother, the quiet spots where he meets Balya. These spaces offer safety, yet their openness also invites vulnerability. For an Indian audience, this contrast is deeply familiar. Safe spaces are a privilege, and love, especially queer love, exists in the tension between secrecy and exposure. Kanawade doesn’t just show us these spaces, he makes us feel them, their warmth, and their looming threat, shaping the film’s emotional terrain.
Courtesy of Sundance Institute
Suraaj Suman (Balya) said he never thought of the story as being queer-centred but as a story of people who exist everywhere but are not often heard, and it shows in all of the actors’ performances, supporting cast included. I won’t say Sabar Bonda is a queer love story. To me, above all, it is an Indian love story. I was in awe of the beauty of the subtle interactions between Anand and Balya that are signature to couples in India across the spectrum of gender and sexuality. Love in public spaces is taboo and is often expressed in the holding of a hand, patting of a head, a warm embrace, and prolonged touch rather than through direct verbal communication or grand romantic gestures.
The film does a brilliant job at showing the purity of love, not just between Anand and Balya but also between Suman (Anand’s mother, portrayed by Jayshri Jagtap) and Anand. Indian parents are done a disservice within popular media, generally portrayed as strict and conservative to the degree of wanting their children to be unhappy at the cost of their image in society. Although Suman is a complex character trying to balance the grief of her husband’s death and her understanding of conservative societal views, she never wavers in being a supportive mother and safe space to her son. A lot of parents in rural India put their children’s happiness and well-being first and show up for them consistently. It was beautiful to see the film highlight the existence of this parent-child dynamic by putting the act of coming out and the development period of a support system itself in the past and letting the film be about a lot more.
In an era where most relationships are shaped by uncertainty, Sabar Bonda ends on a note of possibility. Its stunning colors and immersive sound design leave behind a lingering warmth—the feeling of being held, understood. One of the most thoughtful and genuinely heartwarming films to come out of India in recent years, it sets an exciting precedent for independent cinema in the country.
Courtesy of Sundance Institute