Honestly, if you grew up watching Bollywood, you probably remember the first time you heard that low, growling background score as Ajay Devgn walked across the screen in all-white. It was 2010. The movie was Once Upon A Time In Mumbaai. People went nuts. But here’s the thing—ten years later, we’re still arguing about what was real and what was just Milan Luthria being a "filmy" genius.
Most people think it's a documentary with better lighting. It's not.
Basically, the movie is a romanticized, neon-soaked fever dream of 1970s Bombay. It’s about the shift from the "old school" gangsters who had codes of honor to the "new school" who just wanted to watch the world burn. If you’re looking for a dry history lesson on the underworld, you’re in the wrong place. But if you want to understand why this specific film changed how we look at crime on screen, we need to talk about what actually went down behind the scenes.
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The Real Inspiration: Sultan Mirza vs. Haji Mastan
Let's get one thing straight: the producers had to put those big legal disclaimers at the start for a reason. Sultan Mirza is "loosely" based on Haji Mastan. But how loose are we talking?
Sultan Mirza, played by a very intense Ajay Devgn, is depicted as a man of the people. He shovels coal. He helps the poor. He refuses to touch drugs because it's "against his faith." In real life, Haji Mastan was indeed a dock worker who rose to power by smuggling gold and electronics. He was known for being a "gentleman gangster" who never once fired a gun in his entire life. Think about that. A crime lord who didn't use bullets.
The movie nails the aesthetic. The white Mercedes-Benz? Real. The obsession with a Bollywood actress? Real (Mastan married a small-time actress named Shahjehan, though the movie gives us Kangana Ranaut’s "Rehana" who feels like a mix of Madhubala and Sona).
What the movie leaves out
In the film, Sultan is a tragic hero. In reality, while Mastan did become a politician and a "social worker" later in life, he was still the guy who built the infrastructure for the underworld. He wasn't just a Robin Hood figure; he was a businessman who realized that smuggling was more profitable than shooting. The movie makes his death look like a political assassination at a rally. In the real world, Haji Mastan actually died in a hospital bed in 1994 from cardiac arrest.
Not exactly the cinematic exit Emraan Hashmi gave him, right?
Why the Shoaib Khan Character Scared Bollywood
When Emraan Hashmi signed on to play Shoaib Khan, everyone told him he was making a mistake. His mentor, Mahesh Bhatt, actually warned him that playing a character inspired by a young Dawood Ibrahim would end his career.
Hashmi did it anyway. And he was terrifying.
The contrast is what makes Once Upon A Time In Mumbaai work. Sultan Mirza wants to rule the sea; Shoaib wants to rule the streets. Sultan has a "limit"; Shoaib thinks limits are for losers. This friction isn't just good scriptwriting—it reflects a massive shift in Mumbai's history. The 1970s were about "gentlemanly" smuggling. The 80s and 90s, led by the real-life inspirations for Shoaib, became about extortion, drugs, and eventually, the 1993 bombings.
Randeep Hooda’s character, DCP Agnel Wilson, acts as the narrator, and he basically spends the whole movie regretting that he didn't kill Shoaib when he had the chance. It’s a heavy burden. It suggests that if the police hadn't been so focused on taking down the "honorable" Sultan, the "monstrous" Shoaib might never have risen.
The Dialogue: Why it Sounds Like Poetry
If you feel like the characters in this movie talk like they’re in a Shakespeare play but with more "bhai-giri," you can thank Rajat Arora. He wrote the dialogues, and they are unapologetically theatrical.
- "Dua mein yaad rakhna." (Remember me in your prayers.)
- "Jab dost banakar kaam ho sakta hai, toh dushman kyun banayein?" (Why make enemies when you can do the job as friends?)
Nobody actually talks like this in the Mumbai underworld. Real gangsters in the 70s spoke a mix of Marathi, Konkani, and "Bambaiya" Hindi that was way grittier and less polished. But the movie isn't trying to be Satya or Company. It’s trying to be an epic. It’s a neo-noir film that uses the 70s as a backdrop for a story about ego and betrayal.
The Music That Shouldn't Have Worked
Pritam did the soundtrack, and on paper, it’s weird. You have a Sufi-style track like "Pee Loon" mixed with a 70s-inspired "Parda." But somehow, it became the heartbeat of the film. "Pee Loon" isn't just a love song; it’s the sound of a man who thinks he’s finally found peace before everything falls apart.
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The Controversy You Forgot About
Before the movie even hit theaters, it was buried in lawsuits. Haji Mastan’s adopted son, Sundar Shekhar (also known as Suleiman Mirza), tried to stop the release. He argued that the film defamed his father by showing him as a common criminal.
The court eventually allowed the release after the filmmakers clarified it was a work of fiction. But that controversy actually helped the box office. People wanted to see the "forbidden" story. It grossed about 85 crores worldwide back in 2010, which was massive for a film with a 35-crore budget.
Actionable Insights for Fans and Filmmakers
If you're revisiting this film or studying why it worked, look at these three elements:
- The Power of the Anti-Hero: The movie doesn't have a "good guy." Even the cop, Agnel Wilson, is flawed and failing. This makes the audience empathize with Sultan Mirza, despite him being a smuggler.
- Color Palette as Storytelling: Notice how the film is bathed in sepia and gold when Sultan is in charge? It looks like a memory. When Shoaib takes over, the colors get harsher.
- The "Mentor-Protege" Trap: This is the ultimate lesson of the movie. Sultan tries to "groom" Shoaib to be like him, but he forgets that you can't teach someone to have a conscience. You can only teach them the trade.
To really understand the era this movie portrays, you should check out the book Dongri to Dubai by Hussain Zaidi. It’s the closest thing to a factual roadmap of the events that inspired the script. You’ll see exactly where Milan Luthria took "creative liberties" and where the truth is actually scarier than the fiction.
The next time you watch that scene where Sultan slaps Shoaib in the middle of a party, remember that it wasn't just a slap. It was the moment the old Bombay died and the new Mumbai was born.