I'm a Master in India

Yadav did not belong to the Indian National Congress or the Indian People's Party; he had his own party—the Socialist Party.

So Yadav's residence was not near the headquarters of those two parties; he lived on Ashoka Road.

It was a large house with a red wall, and next to the entrance was a metal kiosk where an armed guard sat, watching the slowly approaching Civic vigilantly.

Ratan rolled down the car window, and without needing to greet them, the guard let them in.

He was already a regular here and didn't need to report, apply, and wait for a reply like ordinary people.

As soon as they entered the courtyard, Ron saw two German Shepherds pacing in the garden, barking occasionally.

Honestly, Yadav's ministerial residence reminded Ron of a place, the Dube family's estate in Uttar Pradesh.

Compared to that, this place was not inferior at all; a peacock flew onto the wall and stayed there.

It was sunset, and the peacock's deep blue neck and its long tail turned golden yellow in the afterglow of the setting sun.

But in the blink of an eye, that peacock flew away without a trace.

In the depths of the garden, there were also sounds of other animals, lions, tigers, monkeys.

Ron had no doubt that this minister's home hid a zoo for him or his family to enjoy.

When they arrived in front of an office door, a tall, thin figure was waiting there.

"Ramal, is Mr. Yadav available now?" Ratan put his arm around his shoulder affectionately.

"The Minister had meetings until dawn last night; he needs to rest now." Ramal shrugged with a smile.

"This is my younger brother Ron, you've met him.

His cement factory was personally ordered to be built by Mr. Yadav, and he flew over specially from Mumbai, having just gotten off the plane."

"Oh, of course I know him, Sur Electrical Appliances is very famous." Assistant Ramal smiled and shook hands with Ron, "I heard there are many foreigners in Mumbai?"

"Yes, they travel to India, and the first city they go to is Mumbai."

"Wow, then you must have seen many foreign women." Ramal was very envious.

"You could say that." Ron's expression became strange.

"There are foreigners in New Delhi too, but they are too serious, including the foreign women, which makes them uninteresting."

Ron glanced at Ratan, who subtly spread his hands as if to say this guy was difficult to deal with.

"Don't worry, Ron.

As soon as the Minister wakes up, I will make sure he calls you."

"Thank you, we are very grateful for your help, but when will Mr. Yadav wake up?"

"Maybe one or two hours, maybe tomorrow, who knows."

"Well, it's still early, let's go have some fun."

"What?" Ramal didn't expect Ron to be so direct.

"Let's go find a place where foreign women aren't so serious."

Ron gave Ratan a look, and the brothers immediately ushered Ramal out the door and straight into the Civic.

"Ishan, is there any whiskey in the car?"

"Yes, young Mr." He pulled out the treasured bottle of Johnnie Walker from the storage box in the passenger seat.

"Oh, this car is really well-equipped." Ramal sat down comfortably, Indian men couldn't refuse whiskey.

Ishan had transformed from a driver into a bartender, and he poured drinks for the three people in the car.

After doing all this, he gave Anil next to him a provocative look, See how capable I am.

"Cheers!" Ron enthusiastically clinked glasses with Ramal.

The aroma of whiskey filled the car, and a comfortable expression appeared on Ramal's face.

"Your driver is very talented, some people would spill the drink everywhere." He was in a good mood.

"You'd never guess he belongs to a completely teetotal caste." Ratan joked on the side.

"So where are these not-so-serious foreign women?" Ron asked with a smile.

"Modern Hotel." Ramal blurted out.

"Okay, let's go there." Ron patted Ishan's shoulder.

"A car is a man's palace." Ramal patted the Civic he was sitting in enviously, "I've always dreamed of doing that thing in a car."

Ratan laughed, after drinking, their relationship suddenly became much closer.

"Not in Mumbai, there are too many people on the streets there." Ron agreed.

"That's the advantage of staying in New Delhi, my friend." Ramal took another sip of his drink, "How have you been lately, Ron?"

"The cement factory is my most important business, and Sur Electrical Appliances."

"Yes, yes." Ramal said, he sniffed his glass, "But when we Delhi people say 'how have you been', we don't mean that, my dear friend!"

He laughed, then pointed to a certain part below him, "I mean, who's taking care of you down here?"

"Oh, too many people come and go, I can't remember who it was."

The men in the car laughed heartily, Ramal's laugh was the most exaggerated and lewd.

Ron was also laughing, that kind of forced laugh.

Ratan was right, these rascals are all bastards.

"Oh, we're here." Ramal kept an eye on the window, afraid of missing the show he had long been looking forward to.

"Ishan, stop the car."

Ron and Ratan led the way towards the hotel entrance, muttering a few words to each other.

Ramal followed behind them, constantly looking left and right, like a child who knows he shouldn't do something bad but is still preparing to do it.

He had only recently become Yadav's assistant, and no one had invited him to a place like this before.

Ramal had hinted to Ratan before, but the latter just kept inviting him to drink or giving him tips.

Today, Ron took the lead and immediately understood the trick.

No wonder they say he's a businessman; he gets it right away.

Ramal liked Ron very much, especially after hearing his conversation with the hotel manager.

"I know there are foreign women here who provide special services, very high-class services."

Saying that, Ron handed over a few large rupee bills.

"Oh, there are indeed a few European girls.

They live nearby and are available on call."

"Great, do you have any recommendations?" Ron asked.

"Are you interested in United States Hollywood stars?

There's a girl who looks very much like one of them, 60,000 rupees."

"She's the one!"

Ron looked back at Ramal, "What do you think?"

"Good, good, good!", Ramal stuttered a bit.

60,000 rupees!

Wow, that was enough for him to sleep with Indian women for half a year, a different one every day.

The manager made a call, and soon a blonde girl hurried over from outside; she indeed looked very much like a certain actress Ron was familiar with.

Ramal's eyes almost went straight; he didn't expect the hotel manager to be serious.

This girl was tall and beautiful, and the most striking thing about her was her hair!

Her golden hair was smooth and bright, just like what you see in shampoo commercials!

This hit Ramal right in the heart; he had seen such blonde girls in American movies since he was a child, and he had remembered it until today.

The manager smiled and said to the girl, "Please greet the guests in Hindi."

"How are you, Mr."

She spoke very standard Hindi, and she extended her hand to shake Ramal's hand.

"See, India has progressed, hasn't it?

Even she can speak Hindi." Ron laughed.

"Yes, yes, yes, New Delhi is really great!" Ramal was flustered.

"Go on, go upstairs." Ron gave a wink.

The hotel manager enthusiastically took Ramal upstairs, and the European girl went with them.

"Does this work?"

After they left, Ratan asked quietly.

"Didn't you notice Ramal's Achilles' heel?"

"What?"

"Blonde!

He likes blonde girls."

"Wow, brother, you know a lot about women."

"It's just a common problem for Indian men."

Ratan laughed heartily; Indian men were like that, they couldn't walk past a poster without stopping.

"What do we do now, just wait here?"

"Let's go have some tea, Ramal won't be long."

"How do you know?"

"Achilles' heel!

A weakness that can break your defense instantly."

Indeed, after about ten minutes, Ramal came downstairs trembling, as if he had been seriously ill.

"The Minister should be awake now, let's go back."

His voice sounded weak.

"Ramal, are you okay?" Ron waved the car over.

"Very good!

Ron, that blonde was real, genuine, I touched it."

He had a strange perfume smell on him.

"Once the cement factory matter is settled, Ratan will bring you here again, and you can have fun as long as you want."

"Okay, let's go find the Minister now."

He got into the car, and the perfume smell he brought with him made Ishan sneeze repeatedly.

"Go quickly, Ishan, stop rubbing your nose." Ratan struck while the iron was hot, not wasting a moment.

The sun had completely set, and the birds in the city began to line up, returning to their nests.

New Delhi is a carefully planned city, very large, with many people.

But there are still many green spaces in the city, large parks, forest reserves, large areas of wasteland, and small animals often run out of the green spaces onto the road.

By the time the Civic arrived at the ministerial residence again, it was almost completely dark, and the German Shepherds in the courtyard were barking loudly.

With Ramal leading the way, Ron and the others went directly into Yadav's study.

The Minister had just finished dinner and was about to watch some television.

Looking at his leisurely appearance, he didn't look like he had just woken up.

Never mind, now is not the time to dwell on this.

After greeting him, Ron didn't waste any words and directly took out the loan certificate from the Mumbai bank, thirty million.

He was telling Yadav that he was serious about mining and setting up a cement factory.

As expected, with these guarantees, Yadav's interest was significantly higher.

"When can the cement factory start production?"

"No more than two years."

"I will give you a maximum of one and a half years."

"Okay."

It was almost '94, and in another two years, it would be time to prepare for the next general election.

Yadav hoped the cement factory could become his achievement, something he could genuinely boast about to the media.

"Uttar Pradesh State Bank, I'll call them tomorrow."

"The money, I will send separately." Ron was also straightforward.

"You don't need to come yourself, have someone send it to Ramal; he knows what to do."

"Okay."

This was also for safety reasons; too many people were watching New Delhi.

The two chatted for a few more sentences, and Ron tactfully took his leave.

Doing business in New Delhi, having money alone is not enough; you need to find the right intermediaries.

They have the ability to bring people into politicians' reception rooms, officials' offices piled high with documents, or a certain high-end salon.

Ron had just started dealing with intermediaries.