I am a master in India

Chapter 165 City of Deception
Sunil recently moved to a new home near Malabar Hill, finally realizing the ultimate dream of countless Indians: living in a wealthy area of ​​South Mumbai.

The apartment building was indeed a bit old, and there was an ugly pink building directly in front of it.

Apart from that, there is an endless sea to the left.

The sea belongs to him; he can open the window with peace of mind, and no more trash will drift in. Above him is a vast blue sky.

His new home is clean and tidy, with elegant solid wood furniture, and most importantly, plenty of natural light.

Throughout the afternoon, the light and shadow constantly shifted, each change pleasing to the eye, bright yet not glaring, providing gentle illumination even during the rainy season.

The kitchen was filled with the aroma of curry fish, and his new wife was stirring the pot, waiting for the steaming hot dish to be ready.

Sunday seemed to pass by exceptionally slowly, and Sunil, no, Bania, half-reclining on the sofa, couldn't help but think of the past.

Sunil was his middle name; his friends and business partners preferred to call him Bania.

But recently, Bania has been insisting that they change their tune, as it concerns his grand plan to make a fortune.

Yes, getting rich—this was the dream he had been pursuing for many years.

When Bania first arrived in Mumbai, he was penniless and a truly poor young man.

He was hardworking and saved up some money by doing manual labor and running errands.

He originally thought he could integrate into the city with his own hands, but that was not the case.

He was repeatedly turned away, and the most common answer he heard was "no".

"Could you please turn on my liquefied gas?"

"No."

"Can I book a train ticket?"

"No."

Bania discovered that India is a country that likes to say "no".

These "no"s are tests for you; they are India's Great Wall, keeping all foreign invaders out.

If you want to establish yourself here, you must never be discouraged. You must become more courageous and determined, charging towards it and conquering it with high morale.

Banja was truly enlightened by this city because of an encounter he had while dealing with liquefied gas.

India faces an energy shortage, and the government maintains an absolute monopoly on the supply of liquefied petroleum gas (LPG). Residential gas is delivered to every household in bulky red steel cylinders.

He went to the designated liquefied gas supply station in the area, but the staff told him that "there is no quota left".

The Mumbai government's much-touted "five-year plan" has failed to provide residents with enough gas.

When will the quotas be released?

"Perhaps it will be in August."

It was only May then. Did they expect the family of four to eat cold bread for three months?
So someone suggested that he try his luck on the black market.

He didn't know where the black market was, so he could only wander around the supply station, trying to stop the guys delivering liquefied gas.

Sure enough, he saw a porter riding his bicycle along Harkness Road. Bania stopped the man and asked him how much a canister of liquefied gas would cost.

The other party said that the liquefied gas wasn't a problem; getting it connected was the key. The colleague assured him that if they could find someone willing to install it on the black market, they should call him immediately.

It was still the black market; Bania quietly memorized the term.

But his family didn't have a phone, so he had to go to another supply station.

He walked into the supply station's office and said to the staff, "I need a canister of liquefied gas."

Then the issue of the previous supply station not having a quota was explained.

"Do you have connections in the Rajya Sabha?" the staff member asked him, referring to the upper house of the Indian Parliament.

"No, why?" Bania replied naively.

"If you know someone inside, things will be much easier. Each member of parliament has a quota of liquefied gas that they can allocate at their own discretion."

At this moment, an older woman nearby interjected, "He has two children!"

She looked at the female staff member and said with deep emotion, "Two babies are crying for milk. Without liquefied gas to heat the milk, the babies keep crying. What can he, as their father, do? His own children can't even have a sip of hot milk!"

The staff member, feeling sorry for Bania, eventually agreed to deliver a canister of liquefied gas to Bania's home the next day.

As he left the office, Bania thanked the kind woman profusely.

But the other party said something that Bania will never forget.

“There is no integrity in Mumbai, and sometimes you have to lie.”

Bania finally got the canister of liquefied gas. Instead of following the proper procedures and filling out forms, he took full advantage of the female employee's compassion. After all, every family has children.

Once he got past this hurdle, the staff stopped pressuring him and even told him about a loophole: if he bought commercial liquefied gas cylinders instead of civilian supplies from the station, he could immediately get the quota.

Commercial liquefied gas cylinders are certainly larger and more expensive than civilian ones, but they do not encounter the "quota" problem.

To put it bluntly, when you go to the supply station to buy cheap consumer goods, you will be deliberately harassed.

They force you to buy commercial liquefied gas on the black market, making up all sorts of excuses for it.

Even if you go through countless difficulties and finally obtain civilian liquefied gas with welfare benefits.

However, it was discovered that the dosage, which should have lasted for three months, could only last for a maximum of three weeks.

Bania found himself in this awkward situation; the canister of liquefied gas delivered from the supply station ran out in less than twenty days.

He was hosting a banquet for relatives and friends from his hometown at the time, but the banquet was abruptly ended halfway through, which made him feel extremely embarrassed.

Bania later learned through inquiries that a problem had occurred in a certain link of the supply station, resulting in most of the liquefied gas tanks being opened and emptied. This extracted liquefied gas was then sold at a high price on the black market, which is the origin of so-called commercial liquefied gas.

This taught Bania a valuable lesson: in Mumbai, there is no future in manual labor.

He began to embrace the black market, trying to find ways to operate within it, with the liquefied gas black market being his first target.

He discovered that the only way for ordinary households to ensure a continuous supply of liquefied gas was to order two canisters at the same time.

This naturally requires underhanded methods, either by registering one of the liquefied gas cylinders at a different address or by bribing officials to achieve the desired outcome.

Bania initially acted as a middleman, earning commissions by introducing clients to the black market. Later, he simply bribed officials and set up his own supply station.

He lied time and time again, resorted to any means necessary, and succeeded time and time again.

Bania rediscovered the city.

Mumbai is a city of deception, and everyone in it is an accomplice.

Those who work hard to earn their wages are far less respected than those who cheat and swindle for profit.

In Mumbai, "when one person attains enlightenment, even their chickens and dogs rise to heaven," and swindling and cheating are shortcuts to climbing the social ladder. Such people are quick-witted and adept at doing business.

Anyone can make money honestly, so what's so special about it?

But a well-designed white scam is an art!
Five years ago, Bania finally saved enough capital to become a factory owner.

The black market can only yield meager profits. To truly become a big shot and be treated like an honored guest by officials, you need to have your own business.

It turned out that he was right.

Despite numerous difficulties in its operations over the past few years, the quality of Fengshen electric fans has been lackluster.

But Indians aren't picky, nor do they have the right to be picky, and his products sell well.

Now he has not only moved into the Malabar Mountain apartment that most people dream of, but he has also found a more beautiful and younger wife.

Hmm, she looks much better than the previous haggard old woman.

Sooner or later, he will move to the Malabar Mountains and buy a villa there.

Then I'd find a new, younger model, and my life would be perfect.

And with the profits they made, Bania forged increasingly deeper relationships.

Recently, the official who frequently worked with him promised Bania that he would introduce him to "Tiger" Thackeray.

Bania was overjoyed and excited for a long time.

That's Thackeray, the man at the very top of Mumbai.

Bania was well aware of the hostility his factory's recent actions would provoke.

He had heard of Dr. Sue's reputation and was also aware of the rumors surrounding him and "Tiger" Thackeray.

However, Bania was not intimidated. As long as he could also get in touch with Sackley, everything would be easy.

He was also envious of the water-cooled air conditioner business, since the advertisements on ANA were running every day.

It's said that they even opened a branch factory in Uttar Pradesh, and it hasn't been that long.
It's only been half a year since water-cooled air conditioners first appeared, and their advertisements are running every day now.

The other party's expansion speed in half a year far exceeded Bania's accumulation in five years. How could he not be envious?
Coincidentally, Suer Electric recently began to venture into the traditional electric fan market, which gave Bania even more confidence to enter the market.

If you can steal my business, there's no reason why I can't take your profits.

Water-cooled air conditioners aren't complicated. The people at his factory took apart a few and roughly figured out how they worked.

He doesn't need to make it as exquisite as Suer appliances; as long as it works, that's fine. Anything more would be a waste.

Most importantly, it's cheap; Bania understands Indians' spending habits all too well.

Most people choose the cheapest restaurants even when eating out, let alone buying expensive home appliances.

With their price advantage, it's not difficult to get a share of the market.

He also figured out Suer Electric's supply channels, so he followed suit and also found a way to supply them through Singapore.

This kind of thing can't be hidden at all. After all, there are ships coming to customs every day, and you can find out with a little inquiry.

The move that Bania was most proud of was, of course, changing his name.

His middle name sounds very similar to "Sur," so he doesn't even need advertising.

ALL India TV broadcasts it every day; do you expect those people who can barely read to tell who's who?

The entire product, from its shape and color to its logo and name, is completely identical.

He even took the prototype to his neighbors, and none of the five people realized it was a fake.

Brilliant! This is it!
Bania looked out the window, eagerly anticipating the end of the rainy season.

The humid air prevented his water-cooled air conditioner from functioning properly, and he was waiting for the perfect opportunity.

The doorbell rang.

Bania waved for his twelve-year-old son to open the door; at this hour, it must be a newsboy.

Sure enough, the son soon brought in several newspapers.

Bania had long developed the habit of reading newspapers, which often contained business opportunities.

He casually opened one of the documents, and then froze.

(End of this chapter)