I'm a Master in India

Chapter 282: The Shabby Rich

Chandani was not only the founder of Onida, he was also the president of the Consumer Electronics and Television Manufacturers Association (CETMA).

He had been in this line of work for more than ten years, and he believed that he understood the consumption habits of Indians and had a full grasp of the market.

Under his leadership, Onida had a smooth journey, from initial agency sales, to assembly and OEM, and then to independent production, step by step.

Chandani was very proud, ten years ago India was a technological desert, and it was he who brought the Television into this vast subcontinent.

At that time, Videocon was not yet strong, and Onida truly enabled ordinary people to enjoy the right to watch Television.

Even the name “Onida” has a story; at that time, Chandani was racking his brains to come up with an impressive name for his newly established company.

He wanted to be original, not like the Indians who uniformly named their companies after their surnames, or had gods and Buddhas flying everywhere.

His wife pointed to a tableware brand called Oneida in a magazine and said, “This is good, I like it.”

Chandani also liked it, for no other reason than that the name sounded very Japanese.

In this era, Japanese and Korean brands represented advanced technology, especially in the Television market.

Even European and American families used Televisions produced by them, doesn't this say something?

Chandani knew that Indians who could afford Televisions would certainly look down on domestic products; they had a blind worship of foreign brands.

The name “Oneida” was very good, and most people immediately thought of Japan.

However, to avoid possible legal disputes, he removed the letter “E” from the name, making it “Onida”.

This trick worked, and for a considerable period, people thought “Onida” was a Japanese brand.

With this clever naming method, Chandani quickly gained a foothold and successfully passed the fragile initial period of his venture.

But OEM is still OEM, and most of Onida's profits were taken by JVC of Japan.

Their gross profit margin was less than 10%, and after deducting various costs, 5% was considered good.

Chandani was naturally unwilling, and with the eastward wind of India's economic liberalization, he also began negotiations with JVC for localized production.

Things went smoothly, and last year they finalized various details, and this year, the Anteri factory is already building a complete production line.

This was thanks to the extensive publicity when Sur Electric cooperated with NEC.

Perhaps sensing the pressure from the market, JVC also opened the door to in-depth cooperation with Onida.

However, what makes one, also breaks one.

The new 18-inch color Television launched by Sur Electric was priced ridiculously low.

Chandani had people estimate that even if Onida achieved complete independent production, it would be impossible to price it at fifteen thousand rupee.

Their costs were higher than that, and to be profitable, the lowest price would have to be above eighteen thousand rupee.

How can he play this game? His Anteri factory was already behind even before its localized transformation was complete.

If this continued, only death awaited Onida, and Chandani certainly would not sit idly by.

He was the industry president, and using his position, he filed an antitrust lawsuit with the Competition Commission of India (CCI) on the grounds of “low-price dumping destroying the market.”

He accused Su'er Television of unfair competition, demanding the factory be sealed and a hefty fine of one billion rupee.

To make the accusation sound well-founded, he also submitted a so-called cost analysis report.

Given the current market environment in India, 15,000 rupee simply could not produce a qualified color Television, let alone make a profit.

Especially the four thousand rupee black and white Television, which was probably only 70% of the manufacturing cost of its peers.

Such predatory pricing undoubtedly violated India's antitrust rules.

Chandani came aggressively, uniting a considerable portion of his peers in the association, preparing to force the Maharashtra government to take action against Sur Electric.

At the same time, some public opinion also began to exert pressure, questioning Sur Electric's ruthless methods of self-harm, plundering the market at all costs.

This clearly hindered the development of India's local industry and was not conducive to the upgrading of domestic technology.

In short, various big accusations were hurled at Sur Electric.

Chandani was not sure if this would work, but there was no other way, he couldn't use many tricky maneuvers.

Since the failure of the Firefly Project last time, and Videocon suffered heavy losses, no one dared to easily use tactics against Sur Electric anymore.

If he hadn't been pushed to a certain extent, Chandani wouldn't have wanted to be an enemy of Sur.

If it were an ordinary person, he would have already found a way to bribe officials to seal the opponent's factory, or directly send the competitor in on the grounds of colluding with foreign forces.

No matter how absurd the reason, it makes sense in India, provided you are willing to spend money.

Unfortunately, this trick is ineffective against the rich and powerful, because they also have proxy power.

For example, Sur Electric has tens of thousands of workers, which politician dares to offend?

Not to mention various bribes, just the votes alone are enough to make them bow down to Sur.

It's a joke, that's Mumbai's largest manufacturing factory, and also the biggest financial backer.

No official would be so blind as to look for trouble with Sur.

Chandani had been operating here for many years, and he had tested the waters; his old connections, upon hearing that it was Sur Electric they were dealing with, all avoided him or changed the subject.

This opponent grew too fast, like a rocket, catching people off guard.

Since ordinary methods didn't work, he could only find a way through the legal system.

Chandani looked at the top of Malabar Hill in silence; his residence was also in this famous wealthy area.

Outside the window was the Arabian Sea, and above his head was the vast blue sky. The room was clean and tidy, and the solid wood furniture was grand and elegant.

Standing by the window in the afternoon and looking out, there was no one in sight. This was India, and yet there was no sign of human habitation in the rich area!

Whenever an outsider, with a sense of reverence, “stumbled” into this place, they would luxuriously and greedily gaze at the distant view, leisurely contemplating the palm trees and the lazy seawater at low tide.

Nearby houses had towels drying on clotheslines; with no wind, the towels stood perfectly straight.

Ah! This kind of life is what too many people dream of.

However, Chandani was not very satisfied; the rich area of Malabar Hill also had different tiers.

His residence seemed high-end, but various facilities often broke down. The air conditioner frequently went on strike, and water would occasionally drip on his head while he was working in his study.

The entire street had its water supply cut off punctually from 9:30 AM, and it resumed at 8:30 PM.

This was the case throughout the summer, including the rainy season; heavy rain poured outside the window, yet the luxurious bathroom inside was completely dry.

This was still the rich area; ordinary households were unimaginable. They would place a row of colorful buckets under the faucet, waiting for the water supply to resume at night to fill them one by one, so they would have water available early the next morning and could prepare for distribution and storage in advance.

Even more cruel was that in Mumbai, even if the faucet worked, the water coming out could not be directly consumed.

Mumbai's water presented itself in its most primitive form and had to undergo complex processing.

The rich could command servants to work, while ordinary people had to do it themselves.

First, visible sand and dirt had to be filtered with a layer of fine gauze, then the water was put into a large white vessel, and a candle-shaped filter was inserted for further filtration.

Then people would boil the water, especially during the rainy season. Finally, the water had to be poured into empty whiskey bottles and refrigerated.

Or, as the older generation would do, put the water in a clay pot to cool, and when drunk, it would have a faint sweet taste.

From drawing water to drinking it, it took at least twenty-four hours, and most people in Mumbai grew up drinking overnight water.

Mumbai's water supply is entirely dependent on the interior. It is the only city in India that has to transport water from lakes hundreds of kilometers away.

Mumbai used to have well water and reservoirs available, but after a cholera outbreak, the city government had to stop drawing water from contaminated wells and reservoirs.

Currently, the Mumbai Municipal Corporation processes and supplies three billion liters of water daily, which can only meet 70% of the citizens' water demand.

Slum residents without water had to steal water from pipes flowing through their areas, which transported water to legal users.

Nearly one-third of the water supply from the water company was stolen in this way, ultimately leading to water shortages even in the rich area of Malabar Hill.

Some middle-class areas, such as Bhayandar and Mira Road, also occasionally experienced riots due to severe water shortages.

Of course, what bothered Chandani the most was Mumbai's public toilet problem; every morning, he would look out from his study window and always see people relieving themselves on the rocks by the sea.

Twice a day, with the ebb and flow of the tide, a terrible stench would rise from the rocks and spread eastward throughout the high-end apartment complex.

It is said that half of Mumbai's population has no access to public toilets, so they have to relieve themselves in the open.

Assuming there are five million such people, if each person defecates one catty of feces per day, there would be five million catties of feces piled up in the open.

Where do people go most often to relieve themselves? Of course, the beach.

The waves would directly wash all the “tools” clean.

However, no matter how vast the sea, it cannot withstand the pollution of millions of catties of feces every day.

Even the rich area where Chandani lived could not escape this nightmare.

Once, the World Bank sent a group of experts to try to solve Mumbai's sanitation problems.

The bank's solution was to suggest building 100,000 more public toilets in Mumbai, which was truly an absurd suggestion.

Chandani had seen what the public toilets in the Slum were like: none of them worked properly because the latrines were clogged year after year, forcing people to relieve themselves anywhere.

Building 100,000 more public toilets would only magnify this problem a hundredfold.

Indians and people from countries like the Nordics have very different understandings of civic consciousness.

Here, the only place you are expected to keep clean is your own small plot of land, and nothing more.

Every household in the building had a spotless interior, as servants swept and mopped the floor up to twice a day.

But common spaces, such as corridors, stairwells, lobbies, and courtyards, were full of betel nut stains, with wet garbage, plastic bags, human and animal saliva, urine, and feces on the ground.

The entire Mumbai, even the residences of the wealthy, was like this.

However, there was one exception: the top of Malabar Hill.

Most of the daily necessities there were specially supplied, and the infrastructure was maintained by dedicated personnel.

Ron lived there, and Chandani was preparing to pay him a visit.

Without the support of politicians, the antitrust case might drag on for several years.

At that time, it was uncertain whether Onida would still exist; if negotiations could solve the problem, that would be for the best.