"Real Lives Are Always More Compelling Than Polished Legends": Manish Sabharwal and Sundeep Khanna on their book Made in India

The book Made in India: The Story of Desh Bandhu Gupta, Lupin and Indian Pharma (Juggernaut, 2026) is, on the surface, the story of pharmaceutical pioneer Desh Bandhu Gupta (DBG) and the company he built. But beneath that lies a far richer narrative—of a young man from a modest Rajasthan town, the rise of Indian pharma, and a newly independent nation discovering the power of entrepreneurship.

Co-authors Manish Sabharwal and Sundeep Khanna bring different perspectives to that journey: one shaped by entrepreneurship and public policy, the other by decades of business journalism. Together, they explore how vision, resilience and institutions can change not only a company, but an industry—and, ultimately, a nation.

In this conversation with Reader's Digest India, the co-authors reflect on the making of the biography, the enduring legacy of Desh Bandhu Gupta, and the lessons his extraordinary life holds for anyone striving to build something that lasts.

Reader’s Digest India: The book opens with three intertwined journeys—Desh Bandhu Gupta's life, Lupin's evolution and the rise of Indian pharma. At what point did you realize these stories couldn't be told separately?

Sundeep Khanna (SK): Very early in my conversations, I realized that DBG was an entrepreneur who helped shape an entire industry at a pivotal moment in India's economic history. His combination of scientific conviction, entrepreneurial resilience and long-term vision wasn’t unique, but it captured the spirit of the times. His story became a window into how Indian business matured and how public policy and private initiative interacted in that early post-Independence stage of modern India's economic and industrial journey.

Manish Sabharwal (MS): We started writing the book inspired by DBG’s success but were determined to unpack the relative contributions of luck and skill. We soon realised this framing of two vectors was less important than a number of policy, industry and entrepreneurial choices. So, about a year into the three years of writing, it became clear that the arc of the narrative involved three improbable and enchanting journeys. No economist predicted that a developing country ranked 128th in per capita GDP would be making half the world’s medicines and selling them in 200 countries. And DBG grew up in a house without electricity or water. So this is not really a biography of a company or industry. It is simultaneously the story of a striving man, institution and country.

The book begins in a small Rajasthan village rather than with Lupin's first product or office. Why was Rajgarh the right place to start telling this story?

SK: Rajgarh was the natural place to begin because it explains the man before it explains the company. When I first visited the town on a scorching day in May, I was struck by how modest it still is, with few of the amenities we take for granted. It made me wonder what it would have been like more than 70 years ago, and how extraordinary it was for someone from that environment to imagine building a world-class company. That contrast stayed with me. It became clear that if readers were to understand Lupin's story, they first needed to understand the values, resilience and ambition that were forged in Rajgarh.

Desh Bandhu Gupta, fondly known as 'DBG', founded Lupin in 1968.

DBG’s journey unfolded against the Licence Raj, changing patent laws and, later, economic liberalization. How much of his success was shaped by policy—and how much by temperament?

MS: As somebody who has ranted about regulatory cholesterol for decades, it was fitting punishment to write a book that chronicled how DBG’s success would have been impossible without bold actions by two governments on two opposite sides of the planet: the Indian Patents Act of 1970 and America’s Hatch-Waxman Act of 1984.

In 1960s India, medicines cost more than in Europe and Western pharma's interest in infectious diseases was just starting to diminish. In 1980s America, the prices of drugs that were off patent were not falling as fast or as far as predicted. Policy created possibilities. But DBG and his six co-founders of Indian pharma converted those possibilities into outcomes by combining their policy luck with ambition, persistence and bravery.

And what does DBG's story tell us about the India that was emerging in the 1960s and the India we see today?

MS: DBG’s India and today’s India are chronologically and cosmetically separated by six decades, but what matters is economic philosophy. Why did a newly independent nation not create mass prosperity in parallel with our magnificent creation of mass democracy? This happened because of the weird relationship of policy with entrepreneurship that was first articulated in the Avadi Resolution of 1955 and codified into policy in the Second Five-Year Plan of 1956. They created the toxic Licence Raj that handicapped our labour without capital and our capital without labour. This meant very low odds of success for first-generation entrepreneurs like DBG who didn’t have connections or capital.

But India has changed: deeper capital markets, better infrastructure, digital public infrastructure, an open economy and an entrepreneurial culture that celebrates builders over administrators. The biggest recalibration is ambition—the belief that Indian world-class companies can emerge.

This thread of aspiration connects today’s India to DBG and the other six co-founders of the Indian pharma industry. But this comparison also makes their success so much more impressive; very few first-generation companies survived the Licence Raj and even fewer thrived after the reforms of 1991.

The book traces the rise of Indian pharma, an industry celebrated for making medicines affordable but also scrutinized over ethics and regulation. How did you navigate those complexities without oversimplifying them?

SK: The approach was to follow the evidence, not a predetermined narrative. It is true that while Indian pharma has been a remarkable success story, like any large industry, it has also faced ethical and regulatory challenges. We didn't shy away from those complexities but tried to present them in context, acknowledging both the achievements and the imperfections, and trusting readers to draw their own conclusions.

Throughout the book, DBG repeatedly turns setbacks into turning points. What did his journey teach you about resilience?

MS: People often describe resilience as bouncing back. Rubber bands bounce back. Entrepreneurs do something much more interesting—they bounce forward.

There are so many instances in DBG’s life of misfortune leading to fortune: the poor medical treatment of his youth, getting fired from BITS Pilani, investing in factories long before they returned anything, and so much else. But I think the ten years from 1992 till 2002 were very hard personally and professionally. The company faced a major liquidity crisis that nearly bankrupted it and the stress created major personal and physical and mental health challenges.

But he came back from this crisis to put Lupin on a path that would make it more powerful, successful and global than it had ever been.

Instructions from DBG's father to him at age 11. It reads: 1. Resolve to bring the matters round; 2. Never to shun anybody; 3. To do good deeds as far as possible; 4. Country's welfare shall be my motto; 5. All mankind be treated as brethren

You write about entrepreneurship as a marathon rather than a sprint. Which aspect of DBG's approach to business most challenged your own assumptions about building something enduring?

MS: The first three words of the book are Veer Bhogya Vasundhara, meaning “the brave inherit the earth”. Society and investors rightly value virtues like patience, persistence, empathy, vision, etc. over the skills I learnt in my MBA, like finance, marketing, economics, etc. But bravery may be the most valuable of all virtues because it cannot be faked and it makes all the other virtues more valuable.

DBG’s bravery allowed him to balance the next quarter with the next quarter-century. Entrepreneurship is not about moving fast all the time. It is about knowing when patience is actually the fastest strategy.

There is a lovely paradox here. The companies that survive for fifty years often appear slow while they are being built and inevitable once they have succeeded. The marathon metaphor is not only about endurance but also strategic thinking. As Kenyan marathoner Eliud Kipchoge reminds us, we run the first half of the marathon on our legs and the second half on our minds.

During your research, what surprised you most about DBG the person, as opposed to the entrepreneur everyone thought they knew?

SK: What surprised me most was his extraordinary optimism. Throughout his life, he faced both personal and professional setbacks, some of them very serious. Yet he never seemed to lose the belief that things would eventually work out. Even in the middle of his biggest crises, there was a quiet confidence that he would find a way through. That confidence, that sense of hope, was infectious and transmitted to people around him.

The early chapters reveal a young man who questioned authority, loved learning and wandered through several careers before finding his calling. Which of those early experiences most shaped the leader he became?

SK: I think it was his lifelong love of learning. That curiosity made him question authority, explore different career paths, and ultimately find his calling in pharmaceuticals. It never left him. People who knew him well and even those who met him only briefly often spoke about his endless curiosity and the questions he would ask.

In many ways, that hunger to keep learning was the quality that shaped both the entrepreneur and the leader he became.

Was there a small habit or anecdote that, for you, captured the person behind the public figure?

SK: For me, it wasn't a single anecdote but a small habit. He would often end meetings, even difficult or potentially acrimonious ones, by saying, “Bhagwan aapka bhi bhala kare”.

I found that deeply revealing and moving. It reflected a man who could disagree without becoming bitter and who, at heart, bore no ill will towards anyone. Sometimes, those small gestures tell you more about a person than their biggest achievements ever can.

Success stories often smooth over failures. Was there an episode you deliberately chose not to romanticize?

MS: It is now fashionable to talk about failure as the best teacher. The truth is rather less romantic. Failure is expensive. It damages confidence. It strains relationships. It hurts health. It creates uncertainty for employees and families. Nobody enjoys failing while they are actually experiencing it.

But the lesson from DBG’s story is that failure is not final. We did not want readers to think every setback secretly contained a blessing waiting to be discovered. DBG's strength was not that he anticipated every challenge but that he refused to waste adversity. The best entrepreneurs know that failure is an uninvited guest, but they don’t let it leave empty-handed.

Lupin's pre-IPO advertisement from 1992.

Was there a difficult aspect of Lupin's legacy that you felt the book had a responsibility to confront directly?

SK: Yes. One of the more difficult episodes was Lupin's decision to invest heavily in non-core businesses, which had a significant impact on its financial performance. I felt the book had a responsibility to address that period honestly and not gloss over it. A credible biography has to acknowledge both the successes and the missteps, because they're equally important in understanding an entrepreneur’s journey.

Many business biographies become corporate celebrations. How did you ensure this remained a story rather than a tribute?

MS: I hope it is honesty, reflection and complexity. The book is honest about DBG’s personal and professional challenges. The book reflects on how much of DBG’s success came from luck, skill and choices.

The quickest way to make readers lose interest is to convince them they are reading a brochure. From the beginning, Sundeep and I agreed on a simple principle—we were not writing about perfection. That meant asking questions like: Why did certain decisions work? Why did others take longer than expected? What uncertainties existed at the time that are invisible today because we already know the ending? History has an unfair advantage—we know what happened. Entrepreneurs do not.

And finally, the complexity of three journeys—Indian pharma, Lupin and DBG—hopefully shows how they were individually magnificent, mutually dependent and imperfect. Readers deserve complexity; real lives are always more compelling than polished legends.

After spending so much time with the archives and personal memories, did your own understanding of success change?

SK: It didn't change my understanding of success so much as reinforce it. I believe that success is best measured by how far you've travelled from where you began.

DBG didn't build the world's largest pharmaceutical company, or even India's largest. But when you consider that he started life in a small town with very modest means, what he achieved was extraordinary.

His story is a reminder that success isn't about absolute scale but about the distance you've covered and the barriers you've overcome.

You came to this project from very different professional backgrounds. How did those perspectives shape the story you ultimately told?

MS: Sundeep has spent decades understanding corporate India as a business journalist. I spent my life building a company in human capital but also spent a lot of time thinking about labour markets, entrepreneurship, institutions and public policy.

Those perspectives are complementary; one of us would focus on an individual decision while the other would ask what it revealed about India. Those conversations helped us avoid two common mistakes. One is writing a technical history of the pharmaceutical industry that loses general readers. The other is writing an inspirational biography that ignores the institutional context.

The most interesting stories usually live at the intersection of people, systems and circumstances. I hope readers feel both voices throughout the book—not competing with each other but challenging each other to ask better questions.

SK: Our objectives were always the same: to tell the story DBG, Lupin and the rise of Indian pharma with rigour, balance and candour. Our different backgrounds turned out to be complementary strengths rather than differences.

Manish brought a deep understanding of the business, the family's perspective, and a lifetime of reading and reflection. I brought the instincts and discipline of a journalist: to ask difficult questions, verify facts and build a narrative grounded in evidence.

Together, I think we ended up telling a richer and more nuanced story.

DBG and Lupin's executive management team, 2005.

With a story that spans nearly eight decades of one man's life, the evolution of an industry and the transformation of a nation, what do you believe is ultimately at its heart?

MS: The heart of the book is a belief that entrepreneurship is at the heart of mass prosperity, mass democracy and global power.

The cynical Licence Raj view of the economy as a spreadsheet whose formulas could be dictated by the government bred poverty, scarcity and lowered our place in the world. It also created an adverse selection among entrepreneurs; most of the successful ones under the Licence Raj specialised in regulation arbitrage.

As we worked through DBG's life, we realised the recurring theme was not pharmaceuticals or manufacturing. It was entrepreneurship with stewardship: giving back to society by treating the company you founded as an amaanat—something that you hold in trust for the next generation and are obligated to hand over in better condition than you got it—rather than Jaagir, personal property.

If readers close this book remembering just one thing—not about Lupin but about India—what would you hope it is?

MS: Any cultural explanations for our poverty are at best racism and at worst racism. Poverty is about productivity and the lack of high-productivity entrepreneurship.

Every factory, school, hospital, technology company and pharmaceutical laboratory begins with someone choosing optimism and building over cynicism and breaking. DBG was such a builder. His story is remarkable, but it is not unique.

Across India there are thousands of entrepreneurs who did not reach their destiny because of an economic regime that controlled rather than governed. When well-regulated and productive markets and entrepreneurship flourish, jobs multiply. When jobs multiply, dignity expands. And when dignity expands, democracy becomes stronger.

And if Desh Bandhu Gupta could read Made in India today, what do you think he might make of it?

SK: He'd probably be uncomfortable with so much attention on himself. He seemed to prefer talking about ideas, science and other people. If he argued with the book, it would probably be because he thought we'd given him too much credit.

Want to know more? Check out an excerpt from the book

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