I'm a Master in India

Victoria Station teems with idlers, crowded from morning till night.

Lying on the ground, squatting in corners, sprawled every which way. Straw mats, cups, luggage, scattered all around.

When Ron and his team were setting up the office, these people were reluctant to move, as it was one of the few shady spots inside the station.

This was when Rajesh came into play, wielding a wooden stick left and right, sending everyone wailing and screaming.

The crowd scrambled away, clearing a large area in no time.

The cries of children and the groans of adults caused a small commotion.

A month ago, Ron might have felt pity, but now he was numb.

There are too many Indians; Mumbai alone has over 13 million people. They come from all over, and over 60% can't even write their own names.

Add to that their natural laziness and previous habits, and reasoning with them is impossible.

This is why Indian police always carry a stick; it's easier to understand than reason.

After showing off his power for a while, Rajesh returned, content.

"The only way to deal with these untouchables is to beat them hard with a stick!"

"Thanks for your hard work." Ron handed him a bottle of local ice-cold cola.

This thing is called "Thums Up," a local alternative brand after Coca-Cola left India.

A 250ml bottle costs about 3 rupees, which is relatively affordable.

Of course, that's for him; ordinary people probably can't afford to waste so much money.

Taking the drink from Ron, Rajesh simply acted as a security guard nearby.

With him there, no one dared to come and freeload on Ron's territory.

This was good, saving them a lot of trouble.

Without being disturbed, Ron and Anand quickly set up the small reception area.

A desk, a sign, and a simple enclosure made of plastic cardboard.

It was simple, but clean and neat. Ron had paid for all these materials to be customized.

Like the sign hanging from two poles, which read "Bombay Tourist Information Center."

The English name for Mumbai was still "Bombay," not "Mumbai."

Ron had played a little trick here. When he submitted the materials to the station officials, the heading on the document was Mumbai.

But the sign that was hung up read "Bombay." When their clerk came to review it, he saw "Mumbai" at the top, no problem.

One is Marathi, and the other is English. The clerk, being a local from Maharashtra, saw the English but read the dialect in his mind.

The only minor flaw was that the sign didn't say "Mumbai Tourist Information Company" but "Information Center."

This was slightly different from the application materials, but after Ron quietly slipped him 50 rupees, the clerk immediately began to praise their reception area for being clean, formal, and clear at a glance.

Of course! Anyone who didn't know what it was would stop here and see "Bombay Tourist Information Center!"

Oh, that must be an official Indian office.

Yes, that's exactly what Ron wanted.

He neatly placed the pre-printed brochures on the desk, and that was it!

"Anand, have you contacted the friends I asked you to find?"

"No problem, Ron. They're active outside the train station, doing some small business on the side."

"Have you been practicing the English I taught you?"

"Nod yes, shake no! Come is come, go is go!"

"Alright, alright. Sentences! Sentences are the key."

"Go to the hotel, take a taxi, find Ron if you have problems! See, even kids can memorize these sentences."

"I'm not worried about you, but your friends."

After hanging out with Ron for a while, Anand's spoken English was good enough for basic communication.

But Ron estimated that his relatives and friends were in trouble. Fortunately, India itself has an English-speaking environment, so it shouldn't be too difficult to learn.

As he was speaking, the whistling sound of a train came from afar, and the first express train into Victoria Station arrived.

The crowd huddled in the shady area of the hall began to run towards the platform in twos and threes.

Don't misunderstand; they weren't rushing to get on the train. Most ordinary people couldn't afford the tickets for this express train.

These people were eager to solicit customers. Those who could afford to take the express train were either rich or foreigners.

"Ron, we need to grab a good spot quickly, or they'll take all the customers!"

Anand, anxious and impulsive, reflexively wanted to rush forward, as he used to do business.

But Ron, unhurried, pointed to the bench beside him, "Sit down."

"Huh?"

"Your bumpkin look doesn't look like a government official at all."

Anand touched the white shirt he was wearing, he was wearing clothes.

Ron waved impatiently, "Just sit here and wait."

After speaking, he looked at his position again. Hmm, it was directly opposite the platform, so it could be seen as soon as you got off the train.

On the other side, a sea of heads began to spill out of the train one by one.

For every one that came out, several other black heads squeezed in. Soon, the area near the train door was full of people.

"Hotel! Cheap!"

"Taxi! Taxi!"

Most of the passengers who just got off the train ignored the people surrounding them, and only a few, because they were thin-skinned, had to haggle back and forth with people.

Among them, several blond-haired and blue-eyed foreigners were the most surrounded, because everyone knew these were fat sheep.

Unfortunately, a tall white man seemed to be the leader. He seemed very experienced and didn't mince words with most of the local guides.

He didn't speak, and the others in the team didn't say much either.

The white man ignored the various vendors around him and quickly scanned around.

Soon his eyes lit up, "Let's go, let's go over there."

"Paul, do you know someone here?" A girl in the team asked curiously.

"No, but I found a reliable place that will keep us from being cheated."

Following his gaze, everyone saw a simple office located in the train station hall.

It was empty around it, and the local people who looked like refugees seemed to be avoiding it.

Oh, and most importantly, there were police patrolling beside this office!

That's right, this must be an official organization, and everyone was impressed by Paul's keen eyesight.

Watching a group of fierce-looking foreigners come over, Anand subconsciously tensed up, but Ron still sipped his milk tea calmly.

Paul, the leader, looked up and scanned the sign above, Bombay Tourist Information Center!

Sure enough, it was an official institution, and there was the young man in front of him who ignored him. Paul bet that the other party was the most basic official in India!

He had seen many such people in other parts of India. Indian officials are all the same.

"Excuse me, can I get some information about Mumbai here?"

As he asked this, Paul inconspicuously slipped a 10 rupee note over.

Yo, this white kid is so savvy? A look of surprise flashed in Ron's eyes.