Sholay@50: The film that died at birth to live forever

India Today

2 days ago

On August 15, 1975, Sholay lit up Indian theatres, igniting a cultural fire that burns bright even today. To celebrate its golden jubilee, we revisit the legacy of the masterpiece, exploring the stories, struggles, and serendipity behind its creation. In part one, we revisit the chaos around its release.
In 1975, Bombay buzzed with a reckless dream. Ramesh Sippy and his family's Sippy Films had staked Rs 3 crore on Sholay, a cinematic gamble bigger than every Bollywood production of its era.
A fortune was spent on carving out Ramgarh from a rocky village near Bangalore, a sprawling set built like a microcosm of India. Panavision lenses, imported for India's first 70mm film, promised widescreen grandeur. Stereophonic sound, a rare beast, thrummed through RD Burman's score.
The cast—Dharmendra, Amitabh Bachchan, Hema Malini, Sanjeev Kumar, Jaya Bhaduri, Amjad Khan—was a constellation of stars and talent. Train robberies, explosive stunts, battles with hundreds of extras: every rupee was a dare. But ambition is a tightrope, and a fall loomed.
Minerva Theatre's air was thick, electric with hope. Sholay roared onto the screen—Jai and Veeru riding into Ramgarh, Thakur's armless quest for vengeance, Gabbar's chilling snarl. The 70mm visuals dazzled, Burman's score thundered, yet the audience sat in eerie silence. No taalis, no seetis. Instead of a theatre, Minerva resembled a crematorium full of hushed mourners.
Whispers slithered through the stalls: Flop. Disaster. Dead. By morning, Bombay's streets hissed with venom. Posters of Jai and Veeru on horseback, Gabbar's sneer, were mocked. Trade papers sharpened their knives: 'A bloated misfire.' Critics tore into the three-hour runtime, branding its Western influences a betrayal of Bollywood's soul. 'Too much masala, not enough heart,' one sneered. Another called it a pale shadow of Leone and Kurosawa. Someone else said it was Chholey–a bland dish.
Box-office reported poor collections, empty theaters. Distributors whispered of pulling the film. In Sippy Films' office, Ramesh pored over grim numbers, the family's fortune teetering. Salim-Javed, the golden scribes, faced accusations of hubris. Amjad Khan's Gabbar, later a legend, was ridiculed as a caricature.
In the chaos, Ramesh Sippy considered drastic measures. Doubt gnawed: had he misjudged India's pulse? Convinced the film's grim ending—Jai's death and Thakur's brutal vengeance—alienated audiences, he planned to reshoot scenes, softening the tone to appease critics and win back crowds. Studios were prepped, actors called, but he decided to wait for a few more days.
Salim-Javed, the film's legendary writers, refused to surrender. Convinced of Sholay's brilliance, they took a bold gamble. In response to the scathing reviews and industry skepticism, they published a full-page advertisement, proclaiming that Sholay would earn Rs 1 crore per territory—a staggering claim when no film had achieved such figures, and tickets cost as little as Rs 2.
The ad was a defiant middle finger to the naysayers, a public wager on their vision. Javed Akhtar later recalled, 'People laughed, asking if we meant one crore for the entire country.' Salim Khan admitted their prediction was ambitious but rooted in unshakable faith in the film's story, dialogues, and characters.
Competition came from unexpected sources. Sholay's mortal characters faced a divine rival. On August 15, 1975, it clashed with Jai Santoshi Maa, a devotional film made for Rs 30 lakh. While Sholay opened with Rs 8 lakh, Jai Santoshi Maa earned Rs 7 lakh, a neck-and-neck battle. It became a sleeper hit, with people singing bhajans in theatres, women keeping fasts on Fridays, offering prayers to the on-screen deity.
By its end, the devotional film grossed Rs 5.25 crore, yielding a 1616% profit. It became an all-time blockbuster, stealing the Independence Day crown, its divine narrative eclipsing Sholay's guns and gore.
Then, a spark. By the second week, whispers of hope crept through Bombay's gullies. In Matunga, families hummed 'Yeh Dosti.' Dadar's chai stalls echoed with 'Kitne aadmi the?' College students mimicked Jai's coin toss, Basanti's chatter. Salim-Javed's razor-sharp dialogues sank into India's veins, spreading like wildfire. Crowds trickled back to Minerva, then surged. Tickets vanished; black-market prices soared.
Across India, the tide turned. Delhi's Regal Cinema added midnight shows. Kolkata's Metro became a fortress of fans. Rural screens, makeshift and dusty, erupted at 'Jo dar gaya, samjho mar gaya.' Burman's score—'Mehbooba Mehbooba,' 'Haan Jab Tak Hai Jaan'—blared from radios, binding cities to villages. Gabbar, mocked as caricature, rose as India's greatest villain, his lines scripture. Sholay hadn't failed—it had waited for India to catch up.
In Sippy Films' office, the phones wouldn't stop ringing, each caller euphoric, demanding more prints of the film. The Sippys' gamble turned to gold, Sholay's profits rewriting Bollywood's rules. By 1976, Sholay was no film—it was a ritual. In a dusty village, under a banyan tree, families chanted dialogues, wept for Jai, and roared for Veeru. The early failure, a fleeting ghost, fueled its myth. Sholay's success is the stuff of legends, a phenomenon that transcended its original box office numbers to become a cornerstone of Indian cinematic culture.
By 1976, Sholay had ascended to become India's highest-grossing film, a title it held firmly for 19 years until the release of Hum Aapke Hain Koun in 1994. When the global picture is taken into account—including the Soviet Union, where Sholay was a cultural blockbuster, and markets in the Middle East—the total gross climbs to an unprecedented Rs 35 crore, a feat unmatched by any of Bollywood's contemporaries.
Fans formed secret societies, memorising every frame, every pause, every gunshot. In the Soviet Union, where Sholay drew millions, dubbed prints sparked underground fan clubs, chanting 'Basanti, inn kutton ke saamne mat nachna' in broken Hindi. Across borders, Sholay's gospel spread. In Pakistan, films like Maula Jatt (1979) borrowed its raw machismo; in Turkey, action epics mimicked its ensemble casts.
According to some estimates, adjusted for inflation, Sholay's earnings today would reach above Rs 3000, crore, placing it alongside or ahead of the highest-grossing Indian films in history. The scale of its viewership—estimated at 25 crore (250 million) tickets worldwide—remains unrivaled, outstripping many recent global hits that dominate today's multiplexes.
Across India, it achieved 60 golden jubilees (50 weeks in a single theater) and over 100 silver jubilees (25 weeks), a feat unmatched until Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge in 1995.
At the Minerva Theatre in Mumbai, Sholay enjoyed a historic run that has since become mythic—five continuous years, spanning a record 286 weeks, during which it played over a thousand shows. The theatre did not just screen a movie; it became a pilgrimage site.
In 1999, BBC India declared it the 'Film of the Millennium.' The British Film Institute ranked it among the top 10 Indian films in 2002. Its dialogues were voted the best in Indian cinema history by Filmfare in 2005.
In every sense, Sholay was more than a film. It was a cultural Big Bang that set new standards in scriptwriting, acting, music, and technical craftsmanship. But the magic could never be recreated.
Filmmakers sought to resurrect Sholay's magic through remakes and homages–Ramgarh Ke Sholay, Aandhi Toofan, and many regional avatars tried. But each attempt was rejected.
In 2007, Ram Gopal Varma dared to retell the legend with Ram Gopal Varma Ki Aag, casting Amitabh Bachchan, the original Jai, as a reimagined Gabbar. The result was a sacrilege to the faithful. It didn't just bomb at the box office, but was brutally panned. The failure only deepened Sholay's myth. It was proof that its fire couldn't be replicated. There was, and will be, just one Sholay.
In its 50th year, devotees don't just watch Sholay, they kneel to it, in awe of its legend, its dialogues, its gods that graced the screen.
Sholay's journey from an uncertain beginning to monumental success is a powerful reminder that resilience lies at the heart of every great story. Life's embers, Sholay, may dim once in a while. But once a spark lights them up again, they can turn into an inferno that nothing can douse.
Next: The Hunt For Gabbar