I'm a Master in India

Pfft ~! Sizzle ~!

The sharp sound slowly lengthened, and Ron's twisted face gradually relaxed.

Damn, this feeling of relaxation is truly both loved and hated.

Going to the toilet should be a happy thing, but if the frequency is too high, it becomes painful.

It's been three days, and Ron doesn't know how many times he's been in and out of the bathroom.

It's all the fault of the old servant Abi's request for that cup of holy water, that cup of holy water sent from Varanasi all the way to Mumbai.

Yes, holy water, authentic holy water from the Ganges.

Heaven above, Ron would never risk his life to gamble on the sanctity of the Ganges water.

That's all the fault of the unfortunate predecessor!

Thanks to him, after a cup of Ganges water, a young soul from the Celestial Dynasty descended upon India in 1992.

As for the original Ron, he had already gone to see the god Shiva with the Ganges water.

He left happily, but the one suffering is the current Ron.

For three whole days, the frustration of losing control of his sphincter made him unable to even muster the strength to get angry.

He wanted to curse the foolish Abi countless times, but considering that the other party's ashes were placed in the corner of the room, Ron sighed again.

The old servant Abi also went to see the god Shiva, he shared that pot of holy water with Ron.

As a devout Hindu, old Abi even rinsed the pot containing the holy water with clean water and drank it down, leaving not a drop.

The result was that Ron had diarrhea for three days, and Abi went to the Western Paradise.

After confirming that there was really nothing left in his stomach, Ron subconsciously stretched out his left hand to scoop water from the bucket beside him.

But just as he reached halfway, he shook his hand hatefully, this damned muscle memory.

He had already suffered once, that was the day he just woke up.

Details need not be said, Ron only remembered that along with the water flowing down his buttocks, he ended up getting both legs wet.

After that, the first thing he did was go to the market outside to buy some toilet paper.

Thanks to the paper-making technology of his ancestors, he, who was in India, was also blessed.

After cleaning himself up, Ron rubbed his numb legs and moved to the washstand.

Fortunately, the handsome and young face in the mirror gave his lonely soul a little comfort.

White skin, gray eyes, a high caste at a glance, and also a high caste inherited from Aryan descendants.

The fact is indeed so, Ron. Sur was originally from Uttar Pradesh, but only came to Mumbai in Maharashtra with his parents last year.

Sur, in Hindi, means servant of the sun.

In ancient India, only Brahmins were qualified to call themselves servants of the gods.

If he had the dark and short appearance of a Dravidian, then even if he was a high caste, Ron felt that it would be better to go to the Western Paradise with Abi.

High castes are not all white-skinned, it depends on the north and south.

After washing his face, Ron tidied up and prepared to go out.

He was going to pick up someone at the train station today, old Abi's youngest daughter, Nya.

Learning of her father's death, and with no one else by Ron's side, sixteen-year-old Nya bravely boarded the train south.

Their family has been servants for generations, their duty is to take care of Ron's family.

Now that Ron's parents have died in a religious conflict, and old Abi is also gone, then Nya must take on the responsibility of taking care of Ron.

Even if the surname Sur has long since declined into the dust, a Brahmin is still a Brahmin.

The caste system of more than 3,000 years, continuing to the Indian subcontinent in 1992, is still deeply rooted.

It's been more than a year since he last saw Nya, and Ron can hardly remember what she looks like now.

Counting the few remaining savings, Ron took out a few bills and prepared to go out.

But just as he took a step, he touched his stomach uneasily.

He really had no confidence in his sphincter, so he went back to the bathroom.

He took out a piece of toilet paper, crumpled it up, and gestured to check the size.

Well, that's about right, Ron stuffed it behind his butt.

Now it's settled, as long as he doesn't turn into a projectile warrior, the problem won't be too big.

Ron's Grant neighborhood is located in southwestern Mumbai, not far from the coastline.

Although it's only March, the weather is already as hot as summer in the Celestial Dynasty.

In the rolling heat, in addition to the salty smell of the sea breeze, there were also various mixed odors.

The first time Ron exposed himself to the air in Mumbai, he vomited for a full five minutes.

As expected of the Indians, this smell is very authentic ~

Carefully avoiding the black puddles along the alley, and stepping over a pile of unknown filth, Ron turned to the market outside.

It was even more lively here, with a bustling crowd and all kinds of vendors, lined up far along a dirt road.

Most people were dressed in brown or white robes, some wrapped in turbans, some wearing white hats, the only bright colors were the women's saris.

In addition, almost everyone was barefoot and liked to carry things on their heads.

Ron was first attracted by the dense stalls on both sides of the market, which were almost the source of all kinds of noise.

The coconut seller was holding a rusty machete, chopping the shells with a 'crack, crack' sound.

At the sugarcane stall, the hand-cranked juicer was shaking and rattling.

A dark-skinned man carrying yogurt was shouting as he walked.

The smoke from the milk tea stall permeated the entire street.

Quarrels, the snake charmer's flute, children's play, the shop owner's shouts chasing monkeys, and the slow 'moo, moo' sound of the old cow.

Too noisy! Too rowdy!

But it's just like the Ganges, after all, this is India.

Ignoring the messy greetings around him, Ron walked straight to a milk tea stall.

"Ganesh, the usual!"

A 20 paise coin was steadily thrown into the pottery jar on the table.

"Namaste!" The brown man behind the table greeted him with a smile.

Then came scooping milk, brewing black tea, and adding sugar. The whole process took only two minutes, and the warm milk tea in the pottery cup was handed to Ron.

He took a sip, tsk, so sweet!

This taste of the British legacy is unmistakable, the Indians have learned it perfectly.

However, just a cup of milk tea can't be considered breakfast.

Following the same method, Ron bought a flatbread from the flatbread stall next to him.

This thing is thin and crispy. In Hindi, it's called 'Tandoori'.

He declined the curry sauce handed over by the stall owner, and Ron drank milk tea with flatbread, which was considered today's breakfast.

He refused all other fried foods and meat dishes.

The buff that the cup of Ganges water gave him will last for at least a week.

Milk tea plus flatbread cost him a total of 70 paise, which is less than 1 rupee.

100 paise equals 1 rupee, and 1 US dollar is approximately equal to 18 rupees.

This is the price of goods in India, unbelievably cheap.

Of course, this does not mean that Ron is not short of money, on the contrary, he only has 60 rupees left, which is not even enough for next month's rent.

Although the apartment he lives in is old and dilapidated, the landlord will not reduce the rent of 200 rupees per month by a single penny.

This start is not very good, Ron thought nonsensically while drinking milk tea.

"Ron, where are you going for a walk today? I'll take you!"

A chubby Indian man came over with a smile, pedaling a tricycle.

Ron ignored him and walked towards the bus stop not far away.

"Really, this time I'll give you the cheapest price, so cheap that a sane person wouldn't dare to take it!"

"Anand, I will never trust you again! Last time, for a distance of less than 2 kilometers, you charged me 20 rupees!"

"But that day I also gave you a free tour, I am the best, the most first-class tour guide in Mumbai!"

Anand's round, fleshy face almost reached Ron's nose, he smiled very brightly, very simply, even making it impossible to get angry.

"First of all, I am an Indian, and I have lived in Mumbai for more than a year, can you tell me a reason why I need a tour guide?"

Facing Ron's outstretched hands, Anand muttered.

"You acted like an idiot that day, you didn't even know the way home. There is no reason not to rip off this kind of fat sheep."

"What did you say?!"

"I said Ron, you are kind and tolerant! You have great pity for poor people like me!" Anand said loudly.

"Besides, as a Brahmin master, how can you step on the road that Dalits have walked on?"

Ron paused, "How do you know I'm a Brahmin?"

Anand shook his neck without speaking, his smugness was overflowing, as if he had discovered a great secret.

"Okay, Anand, you don't need to pester me anymore, I'm taking the bus today."

Ron waved his hand and walked to the crooked bus stop sign, he was determined not to be fooled by the other party today.

"Bus? Are you sure you want to take this kind of bus?"

Anand pointed to a double-decker bus that was driving over crookedly.

Yes, crookedly. This bus, I don't know if it was because too many people were挤ed on one side of the door, the whole body was tilted to one side.

Not only that, but its roof was also dented in a large area.

How could the double-decker bus be dented like this in such a high place? This was the first reaction in Ron's mind.

However, the bus that drove over did not stop, it just slowed down, and then drove away with a door full of arms, heads, and butts.

"Haha, Ron, buses in India don't stop, don't you know?" Anand laughed gloatingly on the side.

"Okay," Ron sighed, "Anand, how much to Victoria Train Station?"

"100 rupees!"

"10 rupees!"

"Deal!" Anand clapped his hands excitedly.

What the hell... Ron's face was full of question marks.

"Get on quickly, the road to the train station is not easy to walk."

Anand patted the back seat of the rickshaw.

"I have a question, you know that 100 rupees is impossible, why do you still offer that price?"

"Ron, you don't understand the fun of bargaining. Besides, this is India, shrewdness is a noble quality that everyone should learn!"

Ha, Ron shook his head with a smile.

India, it really is a magical country.