I'm a Master in India

In the restaurant, Ron, Mary, and Lena had a mountain of food piled in front of them, their long legs swinging as they faced the sea.

"Meena's okay," Lena said, stuffing large mouthfuls of food into her mouth, speaking between swallows. "She can be sarcastic and ambitious, but she's loyal and speaks her mind. She won't stab you in the back."

"That's right. We think this actor thing has potential, and maybe... you could get something out of it too?" Mary nodded in agreement.

"I'm very interested," Ron said, his eyes meeting theirs in turn. "Thank you. About this... would you like to partner with me?"

"Yes!" they both agreed quickly. "That's exactly what we were hoping for."

"Then let's divide the work," Ron suggested. "Finding foreign actors for the movie, I'll take care of that. But honestly, I don't have the energy for the rest.

If you could, please help me with that part. Including coordinating transportation, taking care of them on set, paying them, and so on."

Mary and Lena smiled, a comfortable smile, the kind that made Ron want to protect them.

"We'd be happy to," Mary said, touched. "Foreigners in Bollywood can't be leading roles. We don't want to always be background scenery. We really need to do something, and I think we're ready now."

"Meena initially asked us if we wanted to take on finding actors, and we almost immediately said yes. But we can't do it alone. Ron, thank you," Lena said, not as quick-witted as usual, her expression sincere.

"You're welcome. You've done a great job, and I'm actually the one benefiting," Ron said, pleased with this collaboration. For him, it was all upside and no downside.

His company deals with all sorts of foreigners every day, and now he can use those resources to make another buck. Why not?

Mary and Lena were also happy. Although their relationship with Ron had long surpassed friendship, Ron respected them and didn't interfere with their lives.

He supported them, and he did so with full respect and while preserving their dignity. He was actually very gentle. Mary and Lena liked him.

"So, are you ready now?" Ron asked, the food on the table almost finished.

The two nodded. "Let's go to the set."

The three walked along the black electrical cables pulled out by the power truck outside the restaurant, through a side door, past a row of busy assistants, and arrived at the ballroom that served as the film set.

The room was packed with people, intense lighting, blinding reflectors, cameras, and equipment taking up a large part of the space.

They had barely entered when someone shouted, "Quiet!" and then a lively musical began.

The British students who had come with Ron were dancing wildly in the dance floor, enjoying the cameras and feeling very excited.

Many people don't like watching Indian movies, as some of the foreign tourists Ron had met had told him.

They couldn't stand the complex and ever-changing noise of the musical, couldn't stand that a song and dance would suddenly break out when mothers were crying, lovers were sighing, and villains were fighting.

It didn't make sense logically, and it was even a little idiotic. But behind every popular thing, there is a mass base supporting it.

Indians undoubtedly like to dance, dancing when they are happy, dancing during religious activities, and even dancing for rain.

Slum children also dance to beg, and continue to dance to thank those who give alms. Dancing is constantly active in the cells of Indians.

Ron couldn't say he liked it or hated it, and he watched it all with great interest.

The producer had rented two high-powered speakers, and the music was blasting at full volume. The intense sound waves bombarded the entire ballroom, shaking their bones.

The colors of the film set seemed to come from a tropical ocean, and countless lights shone directly on the lake, making people dizzy.

Everyone's faces were dimly lit under the lights, like statues in a temple. The Indian dancers in the dance floor were excited and fierce, doing their best to flirt. But they also showed a beautiful gesture or a charming look from time to time, delicate and elegant.

These songs and dances were surprisingly not boring, with a tight rhythm and full of drama. Ron and Mary watched the dance drama being choreographed, revised, and officially recorded for a full hour.

Then, during the break, Meena introduced Ron to Joseph and Chandra, two of the film's four producers.

Because it was their first meeting, they didn't talk too much, but overall it was a pleasant conversation.

After exchanging business cards, they were considered friends, and a fragile network of contacts was established.

The British students had finished their scenes, and Ron asked Mary and Lena if they wanted to ride back to the city with him.

But they said they had made plans with Meena to have dinner together that night and catch up.

Ron kissed them goodbye and prepared to take the students back. In one afternoon, he had not only connected with Bollywood, but also earned fifty or sixty thousand rupees, making the business fascinating.

As he walked out of the hall, he suddenly saw a familiar figure, Kavya.

After the last phone call, the two hadn't seen each other again, and they had both been very busy lately.

Ron was busy with the tour group, and Kavya was busy writing reports on criminal activity.

"Hey, Kavya!" Ron called after her. "Look who it is! The top reporter from Mumbai's biggest newspaper, hello! Oh... you... look very nice."

She was wearing an ivory silk pantsuit and carrying a matching linen tote bag. The single-breasted jacket opened into a deep V-neck, the scenery inside captivating.

"Don't even mention it!" Kavya's voice was sharp, a sheepish smile on her face. "This is what I wore to mesmerize men. I had to interview Lal, and I just left there."

"You're already moving in circles with powerful people?" Ron remembered the name. He was a populist politician.

You could still see posters of him on the streets, touting ethnic violence, inciting conflict, arson, and murder. He was on TV and in the newspapers, and he had attracted many extremist followers.

"I'm telling you, Ron, that private room upstairs was as scary as a snake pit. But I finished the interview. The deep V-neck was his weakness!" She quickly approached Ron and poked him in the face. "Don't say anything!"

"Of course," Ron assured her, raising his hands. "I'm not interested in politicians. But honestly, I really wish I had three eyes so I could look to my heart's content."

Kavya glanced down at her chest and quickly released his arm.

"You bastard!" she said softly, then laughed through gritted teeth. "Tsk! What's wrong with this world? A man who can call the shots in the city won't talk to you, but then he's mesmerized by a deep V-neck for two hours. Aren't men perverted?"

"You've hit the nail on the head," Ron sighed. He was one of those perverts.

"What a pig," she said, not sure who she was scolding.

"You're the boss, whatever you say."

She looked at Ron suspiciously. "What's making you so happy?"

"Where are you going?" Ron asked, evading the question.

"What?"

"Where are you going now? At this very moment."

"I'm taking a taxi back to the city. I live near Flora Fountain in the Fort area."

"That's on my way. Let's talk about what happened last time."