I'm a Master in India

The air in New Delhi is indeed terrible, even worse than in Mumbai.

What makes Mumbai uncomfortable is the stench of various things mixed together, which belongs to nature.

Mumbai also has the Arabian Sea, and when the monsoon blows, the air is decent for a few months.

But New Delhi is different; it is located inland, and the exhaust pollution from cars and motorcycles is very serious.

Most people living here are used to wearing masks, and they firmly believe what the newspapers say: breathing the air of New Delhi is enough to shorten your life by ten years!

Ron and the others were going to the Indian National Congress headquarters today, but they got stuck in traffic again halfway there.

The traffic was so dense that even motorcycles couldn't get through, and people were leaning on one foot, then one match after another was struck.

The flickering orange sparks added a bit of cigarette smoke pollution to the air already severely polluted by car exhaust.

A bullock cart was stopped right in front of Ron and the others, carrying a pile of empty barrels for car engine oil, tied to the bullock cart with ropes, about five meters high.

The buffalo in front was panting heavily, not knowing whether it was tired or choked by the air in New Delhi.

"Is New Delhi like this every day?" Ron frowned.

"If this damned place isn't stuck in traffic one day, it must be because Baba Sheep from the north has attacked, and people have fled to the south," Ratan complained.

"I see many places outside are under construction; it will get better and better, right?"

"Ha, that road has been stopped for a long time," Ratan sneered.

"Why?"

"The official in charge of that project was arrested, allegedly for embezzling the bribe the contractor gave to his superior.

That superior didn't get the money, and the contractor didn't want to give it again, so both sides are at a stalemate; now it depends on who has better self-control."

"No one is managing it?"

"They are managing it; wasn't that unreliable middleman arrested?" Ratan said strangely.

"No... I'm talking about that road." Ron was speechless; the two were completely on different wavelengths.

"Don't worry, someone will compromise.

At most, in half a year, the road will continue to be built.

But outsiders shouldn't interfere; this is business between that contractor and the official."

"This is Delhi," Ron sighed.

"That's right, people in this country are all half-baked.

The capital of a certain major Eastern country has three ring roads, while we only have one; no wonder we still can't catch up with them."

Ron gave a wry smile; what kind of beautiful dream is he having, catching up?

It would be good if New Delhi could continue to maintain its upward momentum today.

A rickshaw puller next to the Civic suddenly coughed violently, and he turned his head and spat three times in a row.

His phlegm splashed onto the side of Ron and the others' car, and Ishan glared at him and shook his fist at him.

The rickshaw puller nodded and bowed, putting his hands together in apology, and only then did Ishan spare him.

"It's a spitting convention!" The constant coughing outside made Ratan very disgusted.

"I don't know when we'll get to the Parliament House today?" Ron sighed.

Being stuck in traffic in New Delhi is like being in prison; you can't even open the window.

Fortunately, after half an hour, the car finally squeezed into the very center of the city.

To their left was the circular roof of the President's House, and to their right was the giant bronze statue of Gandhi.

The air was very bad, full of smoke, and it was impossible to see the full view of these iconic buildings.

The Indian National Congress headquarters is also nearby and easy to find; there are always two or three large propaganda boards outside with Sonia Gandhi's portrait.

However, it seemed they had come at the wrong time; a large group of farmers were blocking the entrance to the headquarters but were not allowed in.

They shouted slogans, their emotions running high, roughly about reducing land rent and taxes.

A TV station car drove over, honked a few times, and several guards came out to escort the car inside.

Some farmers wanted to follow the car and sneak into the headquarters, but they were beaten out by the guards with sticks.

"We didn't come at the right time," Ratan also became dejected.

Who would have thought they would encounter a farmer protest? Looking at them, they probably won't give up easily in a short time.

Ron had called the assistant of the Maharashtra Chief Minister in advance, and they had agreed on a time, but now they couldn't even get through the gate.

"Anil, go and inquire about the situation."

"Yes, Master."

Anil squeezed into the crowd, and Ron raised his wrist to look; it was two o'clock in the afternoon.

"You like this shiny stuff now too?" Ratan teased.

"When doing business, you have to make them believe you have enough strength," Ron shrugged.

What he was wearing on his wrist was a gold watch, literally a gold watch, from the strap to the dial, blinding people.

Indian businessmen are very ostentatious; they wish they could replace the mirrors in their homes with gold.

You can't do business discreetly here; the more you show off your wealth, the easier it is to get contracts.

Ron followed the local customs: watch, tie clip, ring, all made of pure 24K gold.

The value of that watch alone was hundreds of thousands of rupees, quite lavish.

"Looks good," Ratan also liked gold.

"You want one?"

"Yes, I want a gold handgun; that would be super cool!"

Ron gave a wry smile; this indeed fit Ratan's aesthetic.

While they were talking, Anil had already emerged from the crowd.

"Master, these are farmers from Haryana.

The landlords there take too high a cut, and the tenants can't afford the usurious loans; four or five hundred farmers have been forced to commit suicide."

"Hear that, brother.

Farming has no future; marijuana is the future of Indian farmers," Ratan turned his head.

"Yes, but we have a better option.

The mining business is much better than farming, whether it's growing sugarcane or growing marijuana."

"You've already gone astray.

If I were the master in the President's House, I would definitely allocate funds to encourage farmers to grow marijuana; that's the best cash crop."

"That would make the country fall into chaos," Ron couldn't help but laugh.

"India is already chaotic enough; it won't get worse.

What do we do now, go back?"

"That's all we can do; the farmers are very agitated."

Beep beep!

There was a horn outside.

Ron and the others turned their heads, and a Cadillac Fleetwood Generation Two extended sedan slowly pulled up.

The theatrical window was lowered, and a big head wrapped in a green turban was revealed.

"Is that someone from the Sur family?

Ah ha, Ron, right?

I've seen you in the newspaper."

"Hello, Mr. Chada," Ron had already heard Ratan's reminder in his ear.

"Are you also here for the headquarters?"

"Yes, but the timing isn't good."

"Let's have a drink together.

These Dalits have the patience to waste time here, but I don't.

Come, get in my car; I have good whiskey here."

Ponty Chada, the money bag of that Yadav Minister.

His Chada Wines almost monopolizes all the liquor business in Uttar Pradesh.

He also owns Tidal Construction Company; that's right, Ron's branch factory in Varanasi was contracted to him.

Chada was very enthusiastic and didn't seem to mind at all that the business had fallen through.

Ratan had also met him twice, and since they were both from Uttar Pradesh, the two brothers got into Chada's luxurious extended car.

A real luxury car, with various comfortable amenities inside, sound system, air conditioning, luxurious leather seats.

There was also a refrigerator, wine cabinet, and bar in the back, a VIP service comparable to that of a head of state.

"The newspaper says you are the Mumbai Hero! Haha, a Uttar Pradesh man becoming the Mumbai Hero, that's too interesting.

Come, we must have a good drink."

Chada ordered his servant to open the wine cabinet, which was filled with liquor produced by his own company.

Various kinds, different styles, mostly imitating the packaging of high-end foreign liquor.

One of his hands hung by his side, and the other hand was missing two fingers.

It is said that he was electrocuted by a high-voltage wire while flying a kite when he was a child.

"That was a long time ago.

The media in Mumbai just like to make a fuss," Ron smiled and shrugged, his gaze sweeping over without lingering on his arm.

"That's how it should be, brother; you have to show the people of Mumbai how powerful Uttar Pradesh is."

The three of them raised their glasses and clinked them together.

Chada Wines' whiskey could only be described as average.

The rich wouldn't look down on it, but the middle class or poor might like it.

"Excellent!" Ron said hypocritically, "Actually, I should apologize to Mr. Chada; the branch factory in Varanasi was an accident."

"We've already talked on the phone, haven't we?" Chada didn't mind, "Aditya Committee also helped me a lot."

The dam that Ron's second uncle was in charge of was built by Tidal Company, and there was much more profit in that than in his branch factory.

It was also because of this relationship that Chada took the initiative to invite Ron and the others into his car.

"I heard the Minister say that you are planning to build a cement factory.

This is very good; I need good cement, a lot, a lot of cement."

"As long as Mr. Chada needs it, we will certainly do our best to supply Tidal Company."

"When will the cement factory start production?"

"About a year and a half."

"Too slow.

If you spend some money, half a year is enough."

"Half a year?"

"Those Dalits are useless alive; it's better to throw them all into the mine.

If you are willing to spend people, you will have a continuous supply of cement."

"I will consider it," Ron sighed inwardly.

In Uttar Pradesh, Dalits were consumables.

"Let's go, let's find some fun," Chada patted the front seat, and the car started.

Chada's ancestors were Punjabi and believed in Sikhism.

He was tall, with a clear beer belly, and everything he wore was from international brands.

He was only in his mid-thirties, still very young.

What he called finding fun was taking Ron and the others to a wild party in New Delhi.

The rich people of India are keen on holding parties, and there are such parties every night near Connaught Place.

Chada was a regular here, and he showed off to Ron by introducing him to the blonde, blue-eyed foreign women.

It's strange, Indian men seem to be particularly fond of white women.

Yesterday, Yadav's assistant was like this, and Chada, who had become a rich man, was still like this.

At the party, it was either whiskey, women, or marijuana.

Ron didn't expand his network much, but he did fill his stomach with alcohol.

By the time they came down from upstairs, it was already midnight.

December was the coldest season in New Delhi.

"We should go back," Ron said goodbye to him.

"This damned weather is too cold; do you have air conditioning in your car?

Take my car!

Brother, don't drive that broken Civic anymore.

In New Delhi, when you ask someone to do something, the first thing they look at is your car.

If you drive an Ambassador or a Tata, you are guaranteed not to get any response.

Come, try this American product.

It's just like white women; it will make you feel amazing!"

Chada kicked the driver to the back seat, leaving the driver's seat empty.

"No, I've been drinking; I can't drive," Ron's head was dizzy.

"Oh, my God, all the drivers in New Delhi are drunkards.

Don't look at me with one hand, but I can race like crazy," Chada laughed, then got into the driver's seat himself.

Ron was invited to sit next to him, as Chada said, so he could feel the power.

The Cadillac roared off the street in the middle of the night, and Chada shifted to the highest gear, speeding all the way, running through red light after red light.

"How is it, Ron, isn't it f***ing cool!" He turned his head.

Suddenly, a small black shadow jumped into the middle of the road.

"Watch out!"

Bang!

The black shadow was hit and sent flying, then run over.