I'm a Master in India

The narrow storefront wasn't large, but it was deep. The walls on both sides were piled high with various medicine packaging boxes, and the aisle in the middle was only wide enough for one person to stand.

"Sir, what medicine do you need? I have everything here," a man with a typical Indian mustache greeted them enthusiastically.

Ron didn't waste any time and directly handed him the list, "Do you have these medicines?"

"Yes, I have them all! How much do you need?" The pharmacy owner's shrewd eyes kept scanning Ron and Luca.

A local and a foreigner, this made him a little hesitant. It's easy to get caught fleecing a tourist, but it would be a pity not to.

"Let us see the medicine first."

"No problem!" The shop owner tilted his neck towards another assistant, who immediately walked into the back room.

After about five minutes, that person came back barefoot, pattering along, carrying a cloth bag.

"Look, it's all here."

The shop owner spread the cloth bag open on the counter, and a large pile of capsules and pills were exposed to the air.

"God!" Luca gasped, and Ron's expression was also very interesting.

These medicines had no packaging, and some of the capsule skins even showed signs of melting, and the surfaces of the white pills were covered in stains.

"Do you sell your medicines to people like this?"

"Of course not, we have packaging." The shop owner reached out and picked up a cardboard box from the ground, then gestured towards Ron and them.

Ron and Luca exchanged glances, and they both saw the shock and absurdity in each other's eyes.

"The packaging we're talking about is like the ones on your wall, with names, instructions, and brand of origin."

"OK, we can have that too, but it will be a little more expensive."

"What's the price?"

"For treating tumors, 800 rupees a bottle. For lowering cholesterol, 450 rupees a box."

"Ron, this price is so cheap that it makes me a little uneasy," Luca said quietly in English.

"How effective are they, are they exactly the same as the patented drugs?" Ron looked at the shop owner.

"The same, exactly the same, Indian medicine is definitely no problem!"

"Let's go." Ron grabbed Luca and left the pharmacy without looking back.

The shop owner kept lowering the price behind them, 700 rupees, 500 rupees.

"Damn it, it's too cheap! In Europe, they sell for thousands of dollars, why is that?"

"Because this is India, and the Indian government doesn't care about your capitalist patents."

Many people think that generic drugs are illegal plagiarized and knockoff products, but they are actually legal.

Not only are they legal in India, but also in the United States, and generic drugs were even first produced by American pharmaceutical companies.

The meaning of generic drugs is that after the patent protection period of genuine drugs has expired, similar drugs produced by other pharmaceutical companies.

They are almost identical in efficacy, quality, function, and indications, with a maximum similarity of up to 99.99%.

According to international practice, generic drug companies wait until the patent expires before starting to copy brand-name drugs.

But India is different. It's a divine country on earth, with a lot of crazy operations.

In the 1960s and 1970s, due to the harsh living environment, the average life expectancy of Indians was only forty years.

Most poor people could not afford any basic medical expenses, and the entire country couldn't even produce a single cold medicine.

There was no other way, people always have to live, and survival is the greatest human right, so that female leader Gandhi simply let herself go.

Since they couldn't afford imported medicines, they would just make generics, from the most basic anti-inflammatory drugs to high-end drugs for treating cancer, all copied.

Patent protection period of 20 years? Sorry, that's not how our Indian laws are.

India specifically stated in its "Patent Law" that it only protects the process patents of drugs, but not the product patents.

What does that mean? Simply put, it protects the process, but not the result.

The drug developed by a pharmaceutical company itself is not judged to have a patent, only the drug-making steps have a patent. Then India can skip the research and development steps, trace back to the source from the finished product, and legally produce low-cost generic drugs.

For example, for Pfizer's cholesterol-lowering drug Lipitor, Indian pharmaceutical companies only need to add so-called "active factors" to the same process flow, and this perfectly avoids Pfizer's patent protection.

After all, the process flow is different, which is clearly stipulated in our Indian law.

To put it bluntly, it's just being a rogue.

The Indian government not only favors its own pharmaceutical companies in law, but also provides various policy tilts.

So, after the 1970s, tens of thousands of generic drug factories sprang up on the land of India in just a few years.

Anti-cancer drugs and high blood pressure drugs are all dirt cheap in India.

However, because there are too many pharmaceutical factories, coupled with the ancestral skills of the Indian people, the quality of many generic drugs is worrying.

The pharmacy that Ron and they just went to probably got the stuff from some unknown small factory.

He wanted to make money, but he didn't come to kill people for money.

"The real drug market is not in the pharmacies on the street, that's where street vendors mess around."

"Ron, do you have a better channel?" Luca's eyes lit up.

"Remember how Mary evaluated me?"

"What?"

"Solving problems for people."

"Oh, that's right, foreigners turn to you when they encounter problems."

"Things that can be solved in pharmacies are not called problems, come with me."

Ron didn't wander around the pharmacy street, he led Luca into a certain alley, and after circling around, they came to an ordinary little building.

"Listen, the guy who lives inside is called Pant, and he is a drug dealer. He can get drugs from all the well-known pharmaceutical companies in India, but most of his customers are very special."

"Special?" Luca keenly caught the key word.

"Yes, he usually does very well in armed conflict zones."

"Ron, you... you mean..." Luca stammered.

"Arab regions, Africa, you know."

This was the person Johnny introduced, and those who can do this business are more or less related to the black market.

Ron knocked on the closed metal door, and soon a servant came to open the door.

"Introduced by Johnny." Ron handed a piece of paper to the other party.

The servant took the note, then turned around and closed the door.

"Ron, will this work?"

"Be patient, in India you sometimes have to learn to bow your head."

Just as Luca was nervously looking around, the metal door opened again.

"Master wants you to come in."

"Thank you."

Following behind the servant, Ron and Luca crossed the courtyard and walked towards the main room at the back.

It was bigger than expected. In the open space in the courtyard, there were also two security guards dozing under the tree.

All the way to the innermost part, Ron met the owner of this house, Pant. He had dark skin, a fat body, and a bulging belly more terrifying than a pregnant woman.

When Ron and Luca came in, he was chewing banana chips and drinking sweetened office black tea.

"Want some?" He pointed to the banana chips in front of him.

Ron didn't say a word, sat down and started eating. There was no way, Luca could only bite the bullet and sit down together.

When the two of them were gobbling up the chips, Pant finally smiled.

"Johnny said you saved him."

"He was unlucky that time." Ron wiped his mouth.

"I think he was very lucky." Pant laughed.

Ron also laughed, and finally the clueless Luca also laughed foolishly.

"I like you, Ron, I heard you are still a doctor?"

"If you're referring to that ugly scar on Johnny's shoulder, then I barely count as one."

Pant laughed again, "I now believe you are Johnny's friend, let's talk business."

Ron and Luca perked up, they knew they had passed the test.