Revolution 2020

REVOLUTION  

2020

  
Love.

 
Corruption.

 
Ambition

Chetan Bhagat

RUPA
PUBLICATIONS INDIA

  
To
my
mother

                            
To
Varanasi

                           
To
the
holy
river

                   
To
the
Indian
student

scanned
and
proofread
by
calvinda
for
bolt.cd

Thanks to:

My readers, for
their love and support.

God, who looks after
me.

Shinie Antony, who
remains the first reader and editor of my books.

Anubha Bang, for her
suggestions at all stages in the writing of this book. Nutan Bendre,
Niharika Khanna, Michelle Pereira, Prateek Dhawan, Zitin Dhawan and
Anurag Anand, for their great comments on the manuscript.

Saurabh Rungta and
Kishore Sharma, for their help in research.

The amazing, amazing
people of Varanasi.

All the people I met
during my travels and talks, who helped me understand my country
better.

My mother Rekha,
wife Anusha, brother Ketan, for being in my life. My sons Ishaan and
Shyam, who tell me, ‘Its OK, Daddy,’ during my lows.

My extended family
on Twitter and Facebook.

Rupa and Company,
for publishing me.

The filmmakers who
chose to make my stories into films.

And once again, you,
dear reader, for wanting a revolution.

Prologue

‘
And
I
hope
not
just
you
but
our
whole
country
will
keep
that
spark
alive.
There
is
something
cool
about
saying
-
I
come
from
the
land
of
a
billion
sparks.
Thank
you,
’
I
said,
ending
my
motivational
speech
at
Tilak
Hall,
Varanasi.

The claps and
whistles were my cue to leave. Security volunteers formed a human
barricade and soon I managed a neat exit from the hall.

‘
Thank
you
so
much,
sir
’
someone
said
right
behind
me.

I
turned
around
to
face
my
host.
‘
Mr
Mishra
’
I
said,
‘
I
was
looking
for

you!

‘
Please
call
me
Gopal,
’
he
said.
‘
The
car
is
over
there!

I walked out with
the young director of GangaTech College, Gopal Mishra. His black
Mercedes whisked us away from the crowded Vidyapath Road.

‘
So
you
saw
the
temples
and
the
ghats?
’
Gopal
asked.
‘
That
’
s
all
Varanasi
has,
anyway!

‘
Yeah,
I
went
to
the
Vishwanath
Temple
and
Dashashwamedh
Ghat
at
five
in
the
morning.
I
love
this
city,
’
I
said.

‘
Oh,
good.
What
did
you
like
best
about
Varanasi?
’

‘
Aarti,
’
I
said.

‘
What?
’
Gopal
looked
surprised.

‘
The
morning
aarti
at
the
ghats.
I
saw
it
for
the
first
time,
all
those
diyas
floating
at
dawn.
It
was
out
of
this
world!

Gopal frowned.

‘
What?
’
I
said.
‘
Isn
’
t
Varanasi
’
s
aarti
beautiful?

‘
Yeah.
Yeah,
it
is
...
it
is
not
that,
’
he
said,
but
did
not
elaborate.

‘
Will
you
drop
me
at
Ramada
Hotel?
’
I
said.

‘
Your
flight
is
only
tomorrow
morning,
’
Gopal
said.
'Why
don't
you
come
home
for
dinner?
’

‘
Don
’
t
be
formal
...
’
I
began.

‘
You
have
to
come
home.
We
must
have
a
drink
together.
I
have
the
finest
whisky
in
the
world,
’
he
said.

I
smiled
as
I
shook
my
head.
‘
Thanks,
Gopal,
but
I
don
’
t
drink
much!

‘
Chetan
sir,
one
drink?
I
can
tell
people
I
had
a
drink
with
“
the
”
Chetan
Bhagat.
’

I
laughed.
‘
That
’
s
nothing
to
brag
about.
Still,
say
it
if
you
want.
You
don
’
t
actually
have
to
drink
with
me!

‘
Not
like
that,
sir.
I
actually
want
to
have
a
drink
with
you!

I saw his intense
eyes. He had sent me twenty invites in the last six months, until I
finally agreed to come. I knew he could persist.

‘
Okay,
one
drink!
’
I
said,
hoping
I
wouldn
’
t
regret
this
later.

‘
Excellent,
’
Gopal
said.

We drove ten
kilometres outside the city on the Lucknow Highway to reach
GangaTech. The guards saluted as the campus gates opened. The car
came to a halt at a gray bungalow. It had a stone exterior that
matched the main college and hostel buildings.

We sat in the
living room on the ground floor. It opened out to a badminton
court-sized lawn.

‘
Nice
house,
’
I
said
as
I
sat
on
a
cushy
brown
velvet
sofa.
I
noticed
the
extra-high
ceiling.

‘
Thanks.
I
designed
it
myself.
The
contractor
built
it,
but
I
supervised
everything!
Gopal
said.
He
proceeded
to
the
bar
counter
at
the
other
end
of
the
room.
‘
It
’
s
the
bungalow
of
an
engineering
college
director.
You
and
your
friends
raided
one,
right?
’

‘
How
do
you
know?
’
I
said.

‘
Everyone
knows.
We
’
ve
read
the
book.
Seen
the
movie!

We laughed. He
handed me a crystal glass filled with a generous amount of whisky.

‘
Thank
you!

‘
Single
malt,
twelve
years
old,
’
he
said.

‘
It
’
s
the
directors
bungalow,
but
you
don
’
t
have
a
daughter
’
I
said.
You
aren
’
t
even
married.
The
youngest
director
I
’
ve
ever
seen!

He smiled.

‘
How
old
are
you?
’
I
was
curious.

‘
Twenty-six,
’
Gopal
said,
a
hint
of
pride
in
his
voice.
'Not
just
the
youngest,
but
also
the
most
uneducated
director
you
’
ve
met.
’

‘
Uneducated?
’

‘
I
never
went
to
college
’

‘
What?
’
I
said
as
I
twirled
the
ice-cubes
in
my
glass
and
wondered
how
potent
this
drink
was.

‘
Well,
I
did
do
a
joke
of
a
correspondence
degree.
’

‘
Wow!
’
I
said.
‘
It
isn
’
t
a
joke
to
open
such
a
big
college.
’

‘
Sixteen
hundred
students
now,
Chetan-ji,
across
all
batches.
Each
paying
one
lakh
a
year.
We
already
have
a
sixteen-crore
turnover.
And
you
inaugurated
the
MBA
coaching
today.
That
’
s
another
new
business.
’

I
took
a
sip.
The
smooth
whisky
burnt
my
throat.
‘
Do
you
have
beer?
Or
wine?
’
I
coughed.

Gopal
’
s
face
fell.
Not
only
had
I
ignored
his
impressive
business
statistics,
I
had
also
rejected
his
whisky.

‘
Not
good?
’
Gopal
asked.
‘
It
’
s
Glenfiddich,
four
thousand
a
bottle.
Should
I
open
Blue
Label?
That
’
s
ten
thousand
a
bottle.
’