Illustration: Ashoke Mullick

The economy was still shining. The world was yet to know what recession meant and bankers were much in need. But the investment banker in Hong Kong still felt lost. Number crunching, he thought, was not his game. Quietly, he started writing a book about his college days. He wanted to prove a point to his boss whom he disliked beyond words.

The year was 2003 and the literary world was still orthodox. The banker sent out the finished manuscript to a dozen odd publishers. He faced rejection from everywhere till an equally enterprising youngster entering the family publishing business took note of him. Rupa Publications signed him on, giving India its very own Harry Potter moment with the 2004 book Five Point Someone.

And so Chetan Bhagat — arguably the most read novelist in the country — was born. He gives credit to his ex-boss for forcing him to dream about becoming a writer. “It was the worst phase of my life. And it pushed me into discovering the best days of my life,” says Bhagat.

We are sitting in the living room of his suite at the India International Centre in Delhi. Sporting a black T-shirt, a pair of denims and a day-old stubble, he is ready to talk about a multitude of things. “But first, let’s order coffee,” he says. In the adjoining bedroom, I can hear snatches of conversation: his Delhi-based mother is telling relatives on the telephone about his arrival in town. Bhagat now lives in Mumbai with his wife and twin sons. But on top of his mind is his new book Revolution 2020. Everything else can wait.

“The book raises the issue of education and corruption — two topics close to my heart,” he asserts. As the parrots outside his window enjoy the last few minutes of the fading sunlight, the man who is credited with making young Indians read gives a short lecture on integrity.

“When I was writing the book, nobody talked of Anna Hazare or corruption. I am glad it’s been released when the anti-corruption movement is at its peak,” he says. Set in Varanasi, the story deals with the middle-class dream of making it big with an engineering degree. It looks at the thriving coaching industry of Kota and corrupt deals in the education sector. “I started writing this book even before Egypt’s revolution,” dimples Bhagat, implying that he knows the pulse of the reader.

In the last few months, as the country divided itself into those who supported Hazare and those who didn’t, Bhagat wrote columns supporting the Gandhian and his message. His tweets drew awe and ire in equal measure, but Bhagat wasn’t bothered. “I will draw criticism whatever I do. I have learnt to deal with it and move forward.”

Indeed, he has been drawing flak for a while now. He had a public spat with actor Aamir Khan over the credits of 3 Idiots, which was roughly based on his first book. He was criticised for supporting Gujarat chief minister Narendra Modi. Earlier this week, he went on record against the founder of Infosys. Clearly, Bhagat and controversy go hand in hand.

His detractors argue that he has an opinion on everything under the sun — and airs them without provocation. “I talk about things which I can comprehend,” he replies. “What more do I have to prove? At 37, I have got everything which may take a lifetime for many.”

That’s a fact. Rupa expected half a million copies of Revolution 2020 to be sold on the day of its launch. Bhagat’s debut book and the last three — One Night @ the Call Centre (2005), The 3 Mistakes of My Life (2008) and 2 States: The Story of My Marriage (2009) — have each sold a million copies. No wonder The New York Times calls him the biggest-selling English language novelist in India and The Guardian describes him as India’s paperback king.

Two of his books have also been turned into films. Apart from 3 Idiots, there was Hello, based on his second book. Bollywood producers have bought the rights of his last two books too.

But Bhagat is peeved that his critics still brush him off as a supermarket writer — a reference to the fact that his books cost Rs 95. “The longevity of my work has stood the test of time. Millions read my book, yet the connoisseurs are unhappy,” he says rather grim-faced. “They should just say that we feel you are disproportionately successful. At least make an accurate assessment instead of saying my books sell because they are priced low.”

Bhagat is aware of his literary limitations and is not worried about not rubbing shoulders with the snooty literati. He is happy with his readers, and the way they reach out to him. “During a talk at an institute in Dehra Dun, a girl stood up and asked me why I kept my hair so short. Now this is something she may not ask Salman Rushdie. Perhaps she may not ask Rushdie a question at all. With me, they don’t feel that barrier.”

He seems a bit agitated now. He jumps up from the couch on which he has been sitting comfortably for the last 40 minutes and walks up and down impatiently. He opens a packet of potato crisps. He offers me some, and tells me that he is on a Navratri fast — a habit that he formed when he was growing up in a strict Punjabi home in Delhi.

He lived in Naraina, a middle-class locality in west Delhi, and studied at the Army Public School. His father was in the army and mother an agricultural scientist. “It was a good life by middle-class standards,” he says, adding, “I still travel by autos every day in Mumbai. Often, I make my children take the local train. I want them to be in touch with their roots.”

A curious child, Bhagat once recreated a chemistry lab at home with his younger brother. “I was the guy who made everyone laugh in class,” he recalls. His grades were good but nothing extraordinary. “I was lucky to get into the Indian Institute of Technology in Delhi and later the Indian Institute of Management, Ahmedabad.” But while he studied, his love affair with the written word continued. As a small child, he wrote short stories and he scripted plays in college.

Today, Bhagat is also in demand as a motivational speaker. He writes columns in national dailies. Ask him how he feels about having figured in Time magazine’s list of the 100 most influential people in the world last year, and he replies with an anecdote. “Last week at an airport, the police official frisking me said I was the only author he had ever read. Perhaps that’s what influence is all about. I tell people stories close to their hearts and in the process they get influenced by me.”

So is he veering towards politics, going by the praise that he heaped on Modi? “I didn’t speak in praise of any particular politician but lauded a city, a place where I spent a few years as a student,” he stresses. “Ahmedabad is an entrepreneur’s city. But suddenly people started judging it by the (2002) riots. So I felt the need to talk about it.” And no, he is not interested in politics. “I don’t want to be one of 500 members of Parliament when I have so much influence and power over young people. I will join politics only if I am allowed to do things my way.”

But politics or not, his interest in social issues will continue. The success of his books, in fact, lies in his deft weaving of an underdog’s story with a social issue as the background. “The toughest challenge is to write about under-performance when you are successful,” says Bhagat rather immodestly. “A lot of kids — maybe not the elitist kids — look up to me. I have to be successful for ordinary kids. For their sake I want to keep going.”

Bhagat quit his banking job which he describes as “golden handcuffs” in 2009 to concentrate on writing and raising his children. “Many of my batchmates are now country managers and when I meet them at airport lounges in their suits, there is a raised eyebrows look that says: ‘You write books. Does it give you enough’,” he narrates. “And no matter how hard I try to explain, society believes staying at home and writing, when your wife has a corporate job, is equal to being unproductive and underutilising my degrees.”

But in the same breath Bhagat adds that he is learning not to get affected by such attitudes. “Someone once told me, I am like ketchup, which goes well with everything, but may not find a place on the gourmet list,” he says.

Darkness has now set in, and the parrots have tucked themselves in. “I hope you have your transport to go back home,” he asks with concern. I suddenly understand the Bhagat magic: it’s all about familiarity. You may like or dislike ketchup — but it’s always there in every home.