Once I am done with the film, I don't worry about how many

The words of Chiranjeevi — “Once I am done with the film, I don't worry about how many centres the film has released, what are the BO records, etc. As I have no knowledge of such things, feeling the pressure doesn't arise” — are more than a glimpse into the mind of an artist; they are a philosophy of detachment and mastery. In an age where success is measured by numbers and applause, Chiranjeevi’s statement stands as a reminder of an older truth — that the worth of creation lies not in its reception, but in the purity of its making. His words carry the calm of one who has journeyed through fame and learned that peace belongs not to those who chase results, but to those who give themselves wholly to their work, and then let it go.

To understand the depth of his meaning, we must look beyond the world of cinema into the timeless discipline of craft and surrender. Every true artist, every master in any field, faces this same moment: the point where the work leaves the creator’s hands and enters the unpredictable flow of the world. For Chiranjeevi, this is the instant of release — the point at which attachment must die so that freedom can live. His refusal to worry about “BO records” or “centres of release” reflects not ignorance, but wisdom. He understands that once his part — the act of creation — is complete, the outcome is no longer his to command. It belongs to destiny, to time, and to the hearts of those who receive it.

This truth was known to the ancient sages of every civilization. The Bhagavad Gita, that great song of divine counsel, teaches: “You have the right to your labor, but not to the fruits thereof.” In those immortal words, Krishna instructed Arjuna to act with total devotion, yet without attachment to success or failure. Chiranjeevi’s quote is the echo of this teaching in the language of the modern artist. By detaching from the results of his labor, he frees himself from the chains of anxiety and pride. He becomes, in essence, a servant of the art, not a prisoner of its reception. This is the way of mastery — the path where joy comes not from reward, but from the act itself.

Consider the example of Leonardo da Vinci, who spent years perfecting the Last Supper, knowing that the pigments he used might one day decay. Yet he painted with the intensity of eternity, not worrying about how long his work would last, or how it would be received. The same spirit lived in Beethoven, who composed his Ninth Symphony while deaf, unable to hear the music that would one day move the world. Both men, like Chiranjeevi, found freedom not in public acclaim, but in the fulfillment of their inner calling. They created because creation itself was sacred. Their detachment from the world’s applause was not indifference — it was reverence.

Chiranjeevi’s words also speak to the modern burden of performance — the constant pressure to measure, compare, and prove. In an age of instant statistics, where success is counted in likes, sales, and scores, his serenity offers a profound counterpoint. To “not worry about how many centres the film has released” is to reject the tyranny of metrics. It is to reclaim the soul of the artist from the marketplace. For true art, whether film, music, or writing, is not a competition; it is communion — between the creator and the creation, between the soul and the eternal. Only when one is free of external pressure can one create something truly authentic and timeless.

This detachment, however, does not mean carelessness. Chiranjeevi does not suggest apathy, but completion — the quiet satisfaction of having given all. His calm arises from discipline, not from neglect. To complete one’s duty with full heart and then release it — that is the art of balance. It is the same principle that guided the samurai who sharpened his blade to perfection, but accepted the outcome of battle as fate; the same wisdom that guided the monk who wrote his manuscript by candlelight, knowing it might never be read. When one has done their part with sincerity, there remains no fear, no regret, only peace.

The lesson of this quote reaches far beyond cinema. It teaches that in every field — whether one builds, writes, teaches, or leads — the highest path is to give one’s full devotion to the task, and then let go of the result. Success and failure are waves upon the surface; the true depth lies in the stillness beneath. By releasing attachment, we reclaim the freedom to create, to serve, and to live without the crushing weight of expectation.

Therefore, let these words of Chiranjeevi be remembered by all who labor with heart and hand: do your work with love, finish it with integrity, and release it without fear. The world may praise or ignore, exalt or forget — but that is not your concern. For the one who acts with purity of purpose and detachment of outcome is already victorious. He walks the path of the ancients, the path of peace through mastery, where the joy of creation is its own reward, and the soul is untroubled by the noise of the world.