I'm a Master in India

The business at the train station was booming, thanks in no small part to the "Mumbai Tourist Information" sign.

Foreigners distrusted the overly enthusiastic hawkers but seemed to have a special fondness for the aloof Ron.

To arrange guides for them, Ron had gathered a group of younger men.

After a busy week, it was time to pay them their wages.

"Anand, is everyone here?"

"They're all here, Ron. They crawled out of their wives' beds at 5 AM, never been this diligent before."

Anand waggled his head comically, eliciting a chorus of uneven laughter from the room.

"Alright, everyone, sit down."

Ron, holding a stack of lists, walked to the front of the room.

He had rented a teahouse downstairs from his apartment this morning.

Because it was just past six o'clock, the market was sparsely populated, and the surroundings were very quiet.

Once everyone had settled down haphazardly, Ron glanced roughly at the group, numbering about a dozen.

Some were Anand's relatives and friends, others were helpers Ron had found along the way nearby.

Judging by their attire, they were from the lowest rungs of Mumbai society, their castes likely not much higher; they usually eked out a living doing odd jobs in the streets and alleys.

Now, meeting Ron's eyes, more than half of them fearfully looked away.

Because they had learned from Anand that Ron was a Brahmin.

In countless past experiences, the fear of Brahmins had been etched into their very bones.

Being whipped for a mere glance while walking down the street, being the first to be searched when something was stolen, having their Brahmin masters take out their frustrations on them—

Such things were too numerous, so much so that upon seeing a Brahmin like Ron, they would instinctively avoid eye contact.

Having lived in Mumbai for so long, Ron understood this to some extent, but that wasn't the focus of today's discussion.

"In the past week, Mumbai Tourist Information Company has received a total of 66 foreign tourists and signed 20 contracts!"

"Wow!" Anand, responsible for cheering, exclaimed excitedly.

Following his lead, scattered cheers finally echoed in the room.

"Anand!"

"Yes!" He stood up eagerly.

"You received four groups of customers last week, with a total spend of 52,000 rupees. According to the commission, this is your 1,000 rupee bonus."

Ron put down the bills in his hand, picked up a paper packet from the table, and handed it over.

The elated Anand almost danced his way to Ron.

1,000 rupees was no small sum in India in '92; it was enough for an ordinary family's living expenses for two or three months.

As the money was handed out, everyone below widened their eyes, seemingly forgetting to breathe.

Saints above, Master Ron is really giving money!

"Sanjay!"

"Here!" A brown-skinned man jumped up reflexively.

"You received three groups of customers last week, with a total spend of 38,000 rupees. This is your bonus, 400 rupees."

Looking at the paper packet in Ron's hand, Sanjay's head buzzed, and his legs wouldn't move.

"What's wrong, don't you want it?"

Ron's teasing seemed to flip a switch, and Sanjay's legs went weak as he scrambled over.

Upon reaching Ron, perhaps due to being too excited, he plopped down and knelt on the ground.

"Master Ron, is this... is this really for me?"

"I swear to Shiva, it's yours."

Holding the paper packet in his hands, Sanjay cried and laughed at the same time.

In all his years of working, his largest reward had been 20 rupees. 400 to 20, he couldn't even calculate how many times the difference was.

"Get up; if you want to thank me, then work hard later."

"I guarantee it, I swear to Shiva!" Sanjay touched the sole of Ron's shoe with his hand and kowtowed heavily on the ground.

After he returned to his seat, Ron glanced at the crowd again. Their eyes no longer darted around but were filled with longing.

"As I said, as long as you work hard, the rupees won't be few. But if you want to get a high commission like Anand and Sanjay, the customer must spend over 10,000 rupees."

The higher the spending, the higher the commission. 10,000 rupees was the lowest tier, with a commission of only about 80 rupees.

Ron wasn't running a charity; he was running a company to make money.

A spending amount of 10,000 rupees only yielded about 2,000 in profit for him. That amount of money was not worth giving a commission on.

Of course, he wouldn't let people work for nothing. If they didn't reach the commission benchmark, he would give them a hard-earned fee of 10 rupees per customer, with a guaranteed minimum of one customer per day.

That meant that even if these people couldn't scrape together a spending amount of 10,000 rupees in a month, he would still give them a base salary of 300 rupees.

No need to worry; he wouldn't lose money. Because foreigners were very rich, their expenses for staying in a hotel alone could easily reach thousands of rupees.

Add in eating, drinking, playing, and buying souvenirs, and 10,000 rupees was easily achievable. After all, converted, this was only about five or six hundred US dollars for foreigners.

If anyone really couldn't get this commission, Ron would still give the base salary that was due.

That's how running a company was; labor costs were an unavoidable issue. He couldn't just find someone to act as a guide temporarily when a customer came to the door.

Not to mention whether they were trained or capable, even if the other party was willing, Ron wouldn't feel comfortable using them.

Indian 'Ah Sans' were very cunning and might rip off customers in private, but Ron's company would take the blame.

So, he would rather keep one or two idle people than temporarily find someone on the street to fill in.

Of the dozen or so people in the room today, a small half wouldn't get a commission; their salary was only 70 rupees.

If you asked them if they were willing to continue working? They were more than willing!

The cheapest thing in India was people; if you didn't do it, someone else would.

Many people were even getting so much money for the first time that they couldn't believe it.

It was common for those Brahmin masters to not pay when working for them. Submissive, they didn't even dare to reason with them.

But who would have thought that Ron really paid!

The people in the teahouse chattered, no longer the stagnant pool they had been at the beginning.

"You guys work, Mumbai Tourist Information Company pays; we do things according to the rules. But to be clear, if anyone dares to have crooked thoughts about the customers, don't blame me for being rude."

Ron emphasized this to the other party every time he closed a deal. If anyone took the initiative to ask them for tips or changed the price privately, they could call to complain directly.

The guides here had no pricing power; Ron had long since reached agreements with all the hotels and restaurants according to their class.

Customers brought by Mumbai Tourist Information Company would follow the prices in the manual, and accounts would be settled once a week.

This one-stop service, where tourists don't have to haggle frequently, was the unique competitive advantage of his company.

But if anyone broke the rules, this advantage would disappear, so Ron attached great importance to this.

Everyone also knew that he had a good relationship with the police on the streets of Mumbai and had ways to deal with them. Hearing Ron's warning at this moment, no one dared to play tricks.

"Master Ron, you give us work and money; we can't thank you enough."

"Yes, we all understand the rules."

"Alright, get ready and start working. Oh, right, Anand, hand out the custom-made work cards."

Amid everyone's curious gazes, Anand took a string of red name tags and handed one to each person.

This thing was similar to the work cards of later generations; a strap passed through the shell and could be hung directly in front of the chest.

It had each person's portrait photo, as well as the company's logo and name.

Hanging it in front of them instantly made them look the part.

A company, of course, had to be standardized. Wasn't this much better than the disorganized rabble at the train station?

"Alright, dismissed!" Ron waved his hand, telling everyone to go to the train station to start work.

"Ron, I have something I want to discuss with you." Anand stayed behind as everyone else dispersed.

"Let's talk as we walk. Oh, right, there are some extra commissions; come find me tonight to get them."

Ron had to give him some off-the-books income separately.

The specific accounts hadn't been fully calculated yet; Ninya was at home, her fingers aching from pressing the calculator.

However, in just a few short days, Ron had realized one thing: the kickbacks within the tourist information company were truly substantial.