I'm a Master in India

"I've visited Mr. Thackeray's home a few times," Ron replied vaguely.

"I've heard all about it. He helped you handle factory disputes, and you also asked him to speak on behalf of Sanjay Dutt. In Mumbai, that's not some ordinary relationship," Pawar looked at him with a half-smile.

"Mr. Minister, I'm a businessman," Ron spread his hands helplessly. "No matter who manages Mumbai, we will give them full respect."

What he meant was subtle: businessmen wouldn't offend either the Shiv Sena or the Indian National Congress.

"Businessmen are cunning, and Brahmin businessmen are even more cunning," Pawar said flatly, a subtle jab.

"Mayor Shawan greatly appreciates Sur Electrical Appliances' contribution to Mumbai, and we also helped a member of the Indian National Congress secure a seat on the Mumbai Municipal Council."

"I heard," Pawar glanced at him. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be sitting in my study today."

Pawar is from the Indian National Congress, while the Shiv Sena and the Indian People's Party are allies. His relationship with Thackeray is very subtle.

Both are in Mumbai; two tigers cannot coexist on one mountain. It's hard not to wonder about their views on each other.

However, it's not necessarily complete hostility. Ultimately, the Shiv Sena is striving for the interests of Marathi people and Hindus.

Among the Indian National Congress members in Mumbai, there are many Marathi people and Hindus, making them natural allies.

Parties, the caste system, religion, and geopolitics are intertwined between the Indian National Congress and the Shiv Sena, with both convergence and opposition.

Complex, very complex.

"You tell Thackeray that the Shiv Sena has already controlled the municipal corporation, and their hands shouldn't stretch too far into other areas."

Ron's eyes moved, and he immediately understood the meaning. "I will call Mr. Thackeray. Everyone is for Mumbai, and we can definitely sit down and talk."

"A phone call will suffice," Navar replied.

Ron understood. He was being asked to be an intermediary for dialogue between the two parties.

He is a businessman, maintaining good relations with both the Shiv Sena and the Indian National Congress, making him a natural fit for this broker role.

Navar would not call Thackeray directly to avoid an unpleasant conversation between the two party leaders over the phone.

After the intermediary facilitates the meeting, there is room for maneuver.

Politics is also the art of communication.

"Alright, now let's talk about your Sur Industrial Park. Rahul and I have discussed it roughly," With the important matters concluded, Navar's mood relaxed.

"This plan is largely thanks to him," Ron quietly pulled out the blueprint.

That was Rahul's initial draft. The park had lawns, a pond, a fully equipped employee community, beautifully planned factory buildings, and a striking, tall office building.

"Are these factory buildings all for producing air coolers?" Navar asked, pointing to the specially marked areas on the blueprint.

"No, those are television production lines."

"Televisions?" Navar's voice rose slightly.

"Yes, Indians' own televisions."

It was almost '94, but India still didn't have a local television brand with independent technology.

If you ask where the televisions on the market come from now, 90% are imported from Japan and South Korea, and the remaining small portion comes from other assembly manufacturers within India.

The so-called local televisions are all assembled using foreign parts, or simply imported as complete units and then rebranded as domestic televisions.

There are two television factories in Maharashtra, all producing rebranded goods.

These rebranded goods have no quality assurance and are ridiculously expensive, unaffordable even for the middle class.

Ultimately, India has no television technology of its own; even assembly is considered a technical skill.

Now that Ron said Sur Electrical Appliances would produce televisions, Navar was directly shocked.

"How did you do it? I mean, can Sur Electrical Appliances really produce televisions? Not just buy them and put our Hindi logo on them?"

"We are currently in negotiations with several foreign television manufacturers for technology transfer, and the supporting production lines will all be located at Sur Electrical Appliances."

Production lines, that's the key!

Regardless of whether it's foreign technology, as long as it's manufactured in India, it's an Indian domestic product.

Navar can fully claim to the outside world that this is a true Indian brand.

If you take a few photos of the factory or take the media for a tour of the workshop, they will rush to bestow the halo of 'Light of Domestic Products' upon you.

Navar instantly thought of several ways to gain fame, provided this plan is reliable.

"Are you sure Sur Electrical Appliances' television production lines will truly be implemented?"

"Of course. Our negotiations with foreign parties are going very smoothly. Otherwise, why would I spend so much money building the Sur Industrial Park?"

Well, Ron had only sent a fax requesting a quote; the so-called negotiations were all fake.

But this doesn't stop him from boasting about Sur Electrical Appliances' grand plan. Getting land, that's not shameful.

"When is it expected to start production?"

"Two years."

"One year. I will help you with the permits and other approval procedures by making calls."

"Okay," Ron readily agreed.

During his time in New Delhi, he had figured out the style of Indian officials: they love grand achievements.

If you say one year, they'll dare to demand you shorten it to six months, completely disregarding whether it aligns with objective reality.

Indian businessmen will always agree as well, also completely disregarding whether they can achieve it.

For them, getting the permit is key. When it will be realized, who knows? That's not important.

Ron adapted to the local customs. He dared to agree to a mine and a cement factory; what's a television factory?

Get the land into his hands first; later, he'll have countless reasons to handle official inquiries.

"I approve this land," Navar immediately decided.

He took the money, the project is not only reliable but also has a buzz, so he, as the Chief Minister, is also decisive.

"That's really great!" Ron clapped his hands exaggeratedly. "Oh, Mr. Minister, the people of Mumbai will soon have their own televisions to watch."

"You must do a good job of this," Navar instructed with a commanding air.

"Of course, of course. It's just that for the television production line, we owe the bank too much money. This piece of land for the Sur Industrial Park..."

At this point, the chubby assistant stepped forward two paces and whispered a number in Navar's ear: three million.

That was the money Ron had just packed in his travel bag; the assistant had already counted it.

"The plan for the Sur Industrial Park concerns Mumbai, no, it concerns the industrial development of the entire Maharashtra. You only need to pay one-third of the stipulated price for the 200 acres of land, and this amount can be paid off over five years."

"Mr. Minister, you are truly farsighted!" Ron held Navar's hand, so excited he was incoherent.

Land worth seventy to eighty million rupees now costs less than thirty million, and it's spread over five years.

Ah, the Minister's kindness is endless!

Coming out of Navar's official residence, Ron felt refreshed. The air in New Delhi wasn't so bad after all.

"Ron, we gave away several million again this time," Ratan said gloomily.

"Do you feel like you lost out?"

"It's only 200 acres, and he dared to charge us three million rupees. In Uttar Pradesh, one million rupees would be enough, and the land itself is free."

"Mumbai, you know, is the Golden Bird in the hearts of many people. It's normal for it to be more expensive."

Ron gave away three million but saved even more money. That's forty to fifty million rupees, a difference of over tenfold.

In India, don't be stingy about giving money to officials. They will use state resources to compensate for your contribution.

For Navar, how much the government's land sells for is none of his business; he can't put it in his pocket anyway.

Three million rupees is real money. Whether Mumbai's land sells for one hundred million rupees or ten million rupees is entirely up to him.

This is a form of monetization, a win-win between businessmen and politicians.

Who lost out? My great India says, basic operation, don't six (a gaming term for don't show off or boast).

Back in the car, Ratan still seemed to regret the recent bribe.

"Brother, you even gave away your gold watch."

"It's easy to see the King of Hell, but difficult to deal with the little devils."

"We can't let them get into the habit."

"That's right, so we need to make connections with higher-level big shots."

"Then there's only the Prime Minister left," Ratan looked at the dome of the presidential palace, a mocking expression on his face.

"Look over there," Ron pointed out the window.

"What is it?"

"That statue."

To be precise, it was a group of statues. At the front was Mahatma Gandhi, holding a walking stick. Behind him were his people, following him out of the darkness towards the light.

Ratan squinted at the statue.

"What's wrong? I've seen it many times."

"We just finished giving a gift to a minister, and now we're driving past Gandhi's statue. It's too ironic, like a joke."

"He probably sees such jokes many times every day and perhaps no longer finds them funny."

"That's true, our system is just like this."

"Never mind all that. Things in India are just this complicated. What I'm more concerned about now is when we can return to Uttar Pradesh."

"Anytime, but it's best for the family to have someone permanently stationed in New Delhi."

"I don't want to come to this ghost place again. Let someone else come."

Ron has three uncles, each with several children, a large family of over a dozen people.

Plenty of people are willing to come to New Delhi. Young people like Ratan, who don't like the bustling world, are the exception.

"Oh, by the way, are you familiar with that Chada?" Ron asked.

"He is from Moradabad. His ancestors came from the north and only moved to Uttar Pradesh in the 1960s."

"The north?"

"Yes, Baba Sheep."

In that region, there is basically only one religion. Sikhs like Chada, or other Hindus, cannot survive there at all.

"He seems to have some gang background," Ron had seen his subordinates; they didn't look like good people.

"Brother, we are from Uttar Pradesh. Doing business in Uttar Pradesh is absolutely impossible without a gun."

"Alright, I should have thought of that. Liquor licenses are very difficult to obtain, even more difficult than mining."

"Don't look at that guy being disabled, but he has a strong personality and is decisive. His two younger brothers are no match for him at all."

"He certainly has methods," Ron nodded, just based on the demeanor he showed when he first met him.

"Don't talk about what happened last night. We don't need to offend the Chada family for a beggar," Ratan reminded him.

"Of course, I'm just inquiring about who in the north I need to pay special attention to in the future."

"Let's talk about this slowly when we get back," Ratan patted Ishan in the front, signaling him to speed up.

"By the way, his car is nice," Ron recalled the extended Cadillac.

"Are you interested?"

"You know, Indians pay a lot of attention to appearances."

"Wow, that would cost a lot of money."

"Forget it. Our focus next is the cement factory. Get rich first, then buy a car."

All the procedures were completed, and the Uttar Pradesh bank had also given a reply.

Now, Ron was about to start his mining business.