Revathi Sunil | Audio-Visual fellow, Tamil Nadu

Revathi Sunil is a Bengaluru-based filmmaker, writer, and editor working across documentary and fiction. She is interested in intimate, non-intrusive storytelling that centres dignity, complexity, and the perspectives of those furthest from the frame. Revathi is drawn to stories at the intersection of gender, caste, and labour, particularly the lives of women and vulnerable communities whose work remains invisible to dominant narratives. Her practice is rooted in a critical and political understanding of art, shaped by her own position, privilege, and relation to the world. Revathi enjoys walking aimlessly and engaging in  conversations about politics and history. 

What do you hope to learn through this fellowship?

When I was growing up, my mother’s favourite line was, “If you go to China and you’re served snakes, you should eat it.” That instinct was challenged at boarding school, where vegetarianism was preached as a means of non-violence. Watching my mother put food on the table, day after day, made me realise food is never just food. It is a window into how power structures operate through caste, gender, and identity. Through this fellowship, I hope to develop a filmmaking language shaped by the women and food systems I encounter, stepping outside my own peripheral vision in the process.

What film or writing would you recommend we read to understand more about women farmers in your region, and what did you love about it?

I would recommend M. Palani Kumar’s photo essay on a fisherwoman published by PARI. Titled To Walk a Mile, his photographs evoke a question every time I look at them. I would also recommend The Caravan‘s photo essay, Framing the Tide, on women fishing communities in Tamil Nadu and Odisha. Lastly, Kalachuvadu Publications is an important imprint for Tamil writing that centres Dalit and marginalised voices.

What is an ingredient and an associated recipe from your region that you hold dear?

Karuvaadu, or dried salted fish, is what I hold dear. People complain about its smell, but I’ve always loved it. Another recipe I love is my mother’s red fish curry without tomato, something she picked up from my father’s coastal family. Growing up in Gudalur, I also remember the wild Putttru Koonu—termite hill mushrooms that emerge in the fields after the rain. We’d take big buckets to fill them up. I fear I’ve forgotten how it tastes—I haven’t eaten or seen it for years now.