Sholay at 49: How Ramesh Sippy’s film embedded itself into the national psyche

As someone who was not even born when Sholay was released, my first introduction to the film happened only through VCR/VHS, which was introduced in Japan a year later, and became ubiquitous in Indian households in the 1990s. Ramgarh serves as the epicentre of this saga, a microcosm of rural India besieged by lawlessness and violence. Thakur Baldev Singh, played with steely resolve by Kumar, is a man driven by vengeance. His physical disability — arms severed by Gabbar — becomes a potent symbol of his personal loss, and the impotence of law and order in the face of unrestrained, seemingly invincible evil. Thakur’s character personifies the idea of justice, but it is a justice that is personal, raw, and extrajudicial. His quest is not merely to capture Gabbar but to reclaim his lost honour, a quest that drives the film forward with relentless intensity.

Jai and Veeru: The unlikely heroes

Jai and Veeru, portrayed with an effortless charm by Bachchan and Dharmendra, are drifters with a sense of rootlessness and defiance, men without ties — no family, no home, and no clear purpose beyond their own survival and camaraderie. It is this very sense of being adrift, of living on the fringes of society, that makes them the perfect instruments of the film’s central premise — a tale of redemption, vengeance, and the forging of a community out of chaos. Jai and Veeru are introduced as small-time criminals, men who live by their wits and their guns, without any real understanding of what it means to belong to a community or to bear the responsibilities that come with it.

They are wanderers in every sense of the word, more at home on the open road or in the rough-and-tumble of a card game than in the structured life of a village like Ramgarh. This lack of rootedness is both their greatest strength and their most glaring weakness. It allows them to act with a freedom and audacity that more conventional men might shy away from, but it also means that they are initially blind to the deeper currents of loyalty, duty, and sacrifice that will ultimately define their journey.

From men who live for the moment to heroes who come to understand the weight of the past and the demands of the future, the duo win our hearts. They start out as mercenaries, drawn into the conflict with Gabbar Singh by the promise of a reward, but they end up fighting not just for money, but for the people of Ramgarh and for a sense of justice that they had never truly grasped before. In the process, they learn what it means to be part of something larger than themselves — to protect a community, to forge bonds that go beyond friendship, and to stand up for something that matters. Their evolution from mercenaries motivated by money to heroes driven by a sense of fairness, is at the heart of Sholay, turning Jai and Veeru from outsiders into the essential cogs of the community they had once viewed with casual indifference and even nonchalance.

Bachchan’s brooding intensity as Jai is the perfect foil to Dharmendra’s affable, boisterous Veeru; it creates a dynamic that is uplifting and heartwarming. Gabbar Singh, brought to life by Amjad Khan, is one of the most iconic villains in the history of Indian cinema. His portrayal of evil, a bandit who revels in his own cruelty, is chilling and terrifying, but immensely endearing. His brutality is offset by his dark humour. The scene where he asks Sambha (an unforgettable Mac Mohan), his trusted aide, with his infamous line, “Kitne aadmi the?” (“How many men were there?”), has become legendary, not just for its delivery but for the way it encapsulates Gabbar’s menacing unpredictability.

For our polarised time, the film also has a subtext of communal harmony. Imam Chacha (A. K. Hangal), a Muslim elder in a predominantly Hindu village who is its moral compass, represents the ideal of religious harmony and social cohesion. Imam Chacha is introduced as a respected elder, whose wisdom and guidance are sought by the villagers. When his son is murdered by Gabbar Singh, his response is not one of revenge, but of a call for unity. His speech, in which he urges the villagers to stand together against the common enemy, becomes a call to rise above individual differences, and tragedies, for the greater good of society.

Why it will always have an audience

The film’s narrative structure, inspired by Westerns and samurai films, particularly Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai, is a noticeable departure from the traditional Bollywood template of good vs evil that was in vogue until then. Sholay strings together elements of action, drama, comedy, and romance, creating a vocabulary that keeps us emotionally involved. The scenes with Jai and Thakur’s young and reticent widow Radha (Jaya Bachchan) — her character effectively shows how silence, too, can be a language — are so poignant, they make you tear up every time you watch it.

The use of wide shots to capture the vast, rugged landscape of Ramgarh, combined with tight, intense close-ups during moments of confrontation, underscores the film's epic scale and its intimate emotional stakes. The film’s cinematography, by Dwarka Divecha, helps create the mood and tone that have become synonymous with Sholay. Ramesh Sippy’s direction is a masterclass in pacing and tension. He manages to balance the film’s many subplots — each with its own distinct flavour— without losing sight of the central conceit. The film’s runtime, over three hours long, never feels sluggish because Sippy understands the importance of rhythm in storytelling. Every scene in Sholay serves a purpose, whether it is to develop the characters, advance the plot, or simply entertain the audience with a moment of levity.

Its music, composed by R.D. Burman, is another crucial element that contributes to its eternal appeal. The songs, from the lively Yeh Dosti celebrating the bond between Jai and Veeru, to the haunting Mehbooba O Mehbooba that accompanies one of the film’s most visually striking sequences, are woven well into its narrative arc. They are not just interludes but extensions of the story, providing insight into the characters’ emotions and motivations. Sholay is also notable for its dialogues, penned by the legendary duo Salim-Javed, whose chemistry and separation is the subject of a new Prime Video documentary, Angry Young Men; if you have been let down by it, perhaps you can go watch the films that they did when they were at their peak.

The script is peppered with lines that have become part of the lexicon of Indian cinema. Dialogues like “Tumhara naam kya hai, Basanti?” and “Jo dar gaya, samjho mar gaya” have an almost mythical status, quoted and referenced endlessly in popular culture. Sholay resonates with us on multiple levels. On one hand, it is a rousing action-adventure film, filled with thrilling set-pieces and larger-than-life characters, on the other, it is a deeply philosophical exploration of themes like friendship, sacrifice, and the nature of justice. The film asks difficult questions about the morality of revenge and the cost of violence, questions that remain relevant to this day.

There is no doubt that Sholay set a new standard for what a Bollywood film could achieve, both commercially and artistically. The film’s success paved the way for a new era of Indian cinema, where directors and writers were inspired to take risks and push the boundaries of storytelling. In the decades since its release, Sholay has been dissected, deconstructed, and celebrated in countless ways. It has been remade, referenced, and parodied, and its influence is evident in films across genres and industries. But what remains most remarkable about Sholay is its ability to connect with audiences on such a visceral level. It is a film that entertains but also challenges, provokes, and inspires. The fact that it still has takers nearly five decades after its release, it is clear that its legacy is secure. And will remain so in the years and decades to come. For it’s one of those films that has embedded itself into the national psyche.