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The 3 Mistakes of my life is the third novel written by eminent Indian Author Chetan Bhagat. Based on cricket, business and religion, the novel is set against the backdrop of beautiful city Ahmedabad. Revolving around three young Indian boys Omi, Ishaan and Govind, the book goes on to narrate how the three are trying their best to make ends meet in the city.

Based on real events, the book starts with a dramatic twist, where Bhagat is reading an e-mail sent by some young person Govind, who has consumed sleeping pills for some reason and is writing to Bhagat, while waiting for his life to end. This book revolves around the three major mistakes committed by Govind in his life; he also happens to be the central character of the novel.

Govind dreams to be a successful businessperson, while his friend Ishaan loves cricket and with the help of Omi and his priest parents, they set up their first venture – a sports accessories’ shop in a rented place outside the temple premises.

Mostly revolving around these three young fellows, the novel has almost everything that youngsters in India can relate to; from budding love story and betrayal to death, riots and suicide, the book touches upon a wide range of emotions and common perceptions in India. Targeting young audiences, the 3 mistakes of my life is a simply written novel that like his previous work is filled with dramatic twists and turns that keep a reader glued to the book till the end.

About the Author:

Chetan Bhagat is an Indian author, columnist and screenwriter, who is popularly known for his English-language novels, mostly based on the lives of young urban middle class Indians. Bhagat’s novels have sold over seven million copies and in 2008, The New York Times quoted Bhagat as “the biggest selling English language novelist in India’s history. The Three Mistakes of Life was published under the banner of Rupa Publications; the 260 pages novel is a mix of cricket, friendship, religion, business, love and betrayal. The bestseller novel, similar to Chetan Bhagat’s other novels has been made into a movie too. Directed by Abhishek Kapoor, the movie Kai Po Che was received well in India.

From the Publisher

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In Conversation with Chetan Bhagat


It is not everyday you sit in front of your computer on a Saturday morning and get an email like this:

From: Ahd_businessman

Sent: 12/28/2005 11.40 p.m.

Subject: A final note

Dear Chetan,

This email is a combined suicide note and a confession letter. I have let people down and have no reason to live. You don’t know me. I’m an ordinary boy in Ahmedabad who read your books. And somehow I felt I could write to you after that. I can’t really tell anyone what I am doing to myself – which is taking a sleeping pill every time I end a sentence – so I thought I would tell you.

I kept my coffee cup down and counted. Five full stops already.

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I made three mistakes; I don’t want to go into details.

My suicide is not a sentimental decision. As many around me know, I am a good businessman because I have little emotion. This is no knee-jerk reaction. I waited over three years, watched Ish’s silent face every day. But after he refused my offer yesterday. I had no choice left.

I have no regrets either. Maybe I’d have wanted to talk to Vidya once more – but that doesn’t seem like such a good idea right now.

Sorry to bother you with this. But I felt like I had to tell someone. You have ways to improve as an author but you do write decent books. Have a nice weekend.



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17, 18, 19. Somewhere, in Ahmedabad a young ‘ordinary’ boy had popped nineteen sleeping pills while typing out a mail to me. Yet, he expected me to have a nice weekend. The coffee refused to go down my throat. I broke into a cold sweat.

‘One, you wake up late. Two, you plant yourself in front of the computer first thing in the morning. Are you even aware that you have a family?’ Anusha said. In case it isn’t obvious enough from the authoritative tone, Anusha is my wife.

I had promised to go furniture shopping with her – a promise that was made ten weeks ago.

She took my coffee mug away and jiggled the back of my chair.

‘We need dining chairs. Hey, you look worried?’ she said.

I pointed to the monitor.

‘Businessman?’ she said as she finished reading the email. She looked pretty shaken up too.

‘And it is from Ahmedabad,’ I said, ‘that is all we know.’

‘You sure this is real?’ she said, a quiver in her voice.

‘This is not spam,’ I said. ‘It is addressed to me.’

My wife pulled a stool to sit down. I guess we really did need some extra chairs.

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