Once upon a time in India, Jai and Veeru sang a paean to epic homoerotic friendship, Gabbar Singh was a terrifying Candyman to thousands of children, Veeru threatened to commit suicide via water tower if Basanti didn’t accept his suit, Basanti channelled Scheherazade to dance barefoot on broken glass, Jai tragically died in Veeru’s arms, and finally, justice was served, Old Testament style (at least in the original version). The broad story beats of what is possibly the most iconic Bollywood movie of all time are familiar to anyone with even a passing acquaintance with Indian cinema. But it is notable, too, that this “curry western”, as these riffs on the spaghetti westerns made famous by the likes of Sergio Leone are called, was released exactly 40 years ago today, on the first I-Day after the proclamation of the Emergency.
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By the time the Emergency was imposed, the script had already been written; the movie had been produced. So the anxieties particular to those turbulent months would not have directly affected Sholay’s politics. (Still the state’s censors, dismayed by the victory of vigilantism and the conspicuous absence of the police in the final denouement, reportedly forced reshoots upon director Ramesh Sippy.) But part of the film’s enduring appeal lies in the timelessness of its themes — a barren landscape where the state is a figment, the vulnerability of law and order, the uncertain distance between what is legal and what is just. The unspeakable violence inflicted on ordinary folk resonates across the decades because it is mirrored in the everyday experiences of lakhs of people today.
Yet, Sholay is not merely a grim narrative about postcolonial dread and tension — indeed, those threads are skilfully buried under layers of wisecracks and bombastic dialogue. It is simultaneously a buddy comedy, several romances, an action thriller and a feudal melodrama. In its multitudes, Sholay truly is the quintessential Bollywood movie, and one that set the standard for all future potboilers.
