I am a master in India

Chapter 203 Chada
The air in New Delhi is indeed terrible, even worse than in Mumbai.

What's unpleasant about Mumbai is the stench of a mixture of various things, a stench that comes from nature.

Mumbai also has the Arabian Sea, and the air quality is quite good for several months when the monsoon blows.

But New Delhi is different; it is located inland, and the exhaust pollution from cars and motorcycles is very serious.

Most of the people living here are used to wearing masks, and they firmly believe what they read in the newspapers: breathing the air in New Delhi can shorten your life by ten years!

Ron and his friends were heading to the Congress Party headquarters today, but they got stuck in traffic on the way.

The traffic was so dense that even motorcycles couldn't get through, so people had to put one foot on the ground and then strike matches one by one.

The flickering orange-red sparks added a touch of cigarette smoke pollution to the already heavily polluted air, which was already choked with car exhaust.

A bullock cart was parked in front of Ron and his men, carrying a pile of empty barrels of engine oil, tied to the cart with ropes, about five meters high.

The buffalo in front was panting heavily, whether from exhaustion or from being choked by the air in New Delhi, I couldn't tell.

“Is it like this every day in New Delhi?” Ron frowned.

"If there's ever a day when this godforsaken place isn't congested, it must be because the Baba sheep from the north are attacking and everyone's fleeing south," Ratan complained.

"I see a lot of roads being repaired outside, things will get better eventually, right?"

“Ha, that road construction stopped a long time ago,” Ratan scoffed.

"why?"

"The official in charge of that project was arrested, reportedly for taking a bribe from the contractor to his superior. The superior didn't get the money, and the contractor doesn't want to give it to him again, so they're at an impasse. Now it's a matter of who has the better resolve."

"No one cares?"

"They've taken care of it, haven't they? Wasn't that unreliable middleman arrested?" Ratan asked curiously.

“No… I meant that road.” Ron was speechless; the two were completely on different wavelengths.

"Don't worry, someone will compromise. The road will be repaired again in six months at most. But outsiders shouldn't interfere; this is a business between the contractor and the official."

“This is Delhi,” Ron lamented.

"That's true, the people in this country are all half-baked. The capital of a certain major Eastern country has three ring roads, while we only have one. No wonder we still can't catch up with them."

Ron smiled wryly. What a pipe dream! He thought he'd catch up? New Delhi would be lucky to maintain its upward momentum.

A rickshaw driver next to the Civic suddenly coughed violently, turning his head and spitting three mouthfuls of phlegm. His phlegm splattered onto the side of Ron and his car. Ishan glared at him and then shook his fist at him.

The rickshaw driver bowed and kowtowed, clasped his hands together in apology, and only then did Yishan forgive him.

"It's practically a spitting contest!" The constant coughing outside disgusted Ratan.

"I wonder when we'll get to the Capitol today?" Ron sighed.

Traffic jams in New Delhi are like being in prison; you can't even open the windows.

Fortunately, half an hour later, the car finally squeezed into the very center of the city.

To their left was the dome of the Prime Minister's residence, and to their right was a huge bronze statue of Gandhi.

The air quality was poor, filled with smog, making it impossible to see the full view of these iconic buildings.

The Congress Party headquarters is also nearby and easy to find; there are always two or three large billboards outside with Sonia Gandhi's image on them.

However, their timing seemed to be off; a large group of farmers blocked the headquarters but were not allowed to enter.

They shouted slogans, their emotions running high, the gist of which was to reduce land rent and taxes.

A TV station car drove up, honked its horn a few times, and several guards emerged to escort the car inside.

Some farmers tried to follow the car into the headquarters, but were beaten out by the guards with sticks.

“We’ve come at the wrong time today,” Ratan said, his face also looking worried.

Who would have thought that this would turn into a farmer protest? Judging from their demeanor, they probably won't give up anytime soon.

Ron had called the assistant to the chief minister of Mabang in advance and they arranged a time, but now they couldn't even get through the gate.

"Anil, go and find out some information."

"Yes, Master."

Anil squeezed through the crowd, and Ron raised his wrist to check the time: 2 p.m.

"You like shiny things now too?" Ratan joked.

“When you’re doing business, you have to convince them that you have the capability,” Ron shrugged.

He was wearing a gold watch on his wrist, a gold watch in the truest sense of the word, so bright that it was dazzling from the wristband to the dial.

Indian businessmen are extremely extravagant; they would replace even the mirrors in their homes with gold.

You can't do business here by keeping a low profile; the more you flaunt your wealth, the easier it is to secure contracts.

Ron adapted to local customs, wearing a watch, tie pin, and ring all made of pure 24K gold.

That watch alone is worth hundreds of thousands of rupees, which is quite extravagant.

“Looks good.” Ratan also likes gold.

"you want?"

"Yes, I want a golden pistol, that would be so cool!"

Ron smiled wryly; this certainly suited Ratan's aesthetic.

As they were talking, Anil had already emerged from the crowd.

“Master, these are farmers from Haryana. The landlords there take too much of the profits, and the tenants can’t repay the high-interest loans. Four or five hundred farmers have been driven to suicide.”

“Did you hear that, brother? Farming is a dead end; hemp is the future for Indian farmers.” Ratan turned his head.

"Yes, but we have better options. The mining business is much better than farming, whether it's growing sugarcane or hemp."

“You’ve gone astray. If I were the master of the mansion, I would definitely allocate funds to encourage farmers to grow hemp, which is the best cash crop.”

“That would throw the country into chaos,” Ron couldn’t help but laugh.

"India is already chaotic enough; it can't get any worse. What can we do now? Go back?" "That's the only option; the farmers are furious."

Beep beep! There's a horn blaring outside.

Ron and his group turned their heads, and a Cadillac Cwood 2nd generation extended limousine slowly pulled up.

The theater-style car windows were rolled down, revealing a large head wrapped in a green headscarf.

"You're from the Sue family? Aha, Ron, right? I've seen you in the newspaper."

“Hello, Mr. Chada.” Ron had already heard Ratan’s reminder in his ear.

"You're here at headquarters too?"

"Yes, but the timing was not right."

"Let's have a drink together. These lowly people have the patience to waste here, but I don't. Come on, get in my car, I have some fine whiskey."

Ponti Chadda, the moneybags of Minister Yadav. His Chadda Liquor Company virtually monopolizes the liquor business in Uttar Pradesh.

He also owns Wave Construction Company, which is the company that Ron contracted to build his branch factory in Varanasi.

Chada was very enthusiastic and showed no sign of being bothered by the failed business deal.

Ratan had met him twice before; they were both from Uttar Pradesh, so the two brothers got into Chadda's luxurious limousine.

A true luxury car has a variety of comfortable features, such as a sound system, air conditioning, and luxurious leather seats.

The back row also features a refrigerator, wine cabinet, and bar, offering VIP service comparable to that of a head of state.

"The newspaper says you're a Mumbai hero! Haha, a Uttar Pradesh man becoming a Mumbai hero, that's hilarious. Come on, let's have a good drink."

Chadda ordered his servant to open the wine cabinet, which was filled with wines produced by his own company. They were of various shapes and styles, mostly imitating the packaging of high-end foreign wines.

One of his hands hung down at his side, while the other was missing two fingers. It's said that he was electrocuted by a high-voltage power line while flying a kite as a child.

“That was a long time ago. The Mumbai media just love to make a big fuss.” Ron chuckled and shrugged, his gaze sweeping over the man’s arm without lingering there.

"That's how it should be, man. We need to show the people of Mumbai what Uttar Pradesh is all about."

The three of them raised their wine glasses and clinked them together.

Chadda whisky is just average. The rich won't appreciate it, but the middle class or poor might like it.

“Fantastic!” Ron said insincerely. “Actually, I should apologize to Mr. Chadda. The branch factory in Varanasi was an accident.”

“We’ve already spoken, haven’t we?” Standard Chartered said dismissively. “Commissioner Aditya has also helped me a lot.”

The dam that Ron's second uncle was in charge of was built by Wave Company, and the profits from that were much greater than from his branch factory.

It was because of this relationship that Chada took the initiative to invite Ron and the others to get in the car.

“I heard from the minister that you are planning to set up a cement plant. That’s great, I need a lot of high-quality cement.”

"As long as Mr. Chada needs it, we will certainly do our best to supply Langchao Company."

When will the cement plant start production?

"About a year and a half."

"That's too slow. If you spend some money, it will only take half a year."

"Half a year?"

"Those lowly people are useless alive, so we might as well throw them all into the mines. If you're willing to spend people, you'll have a continuous supply of cement."

“I’ll consider it.” Ron sighed inwardly. In the Northern State, the untouchables were just commodities.

"Let's go find some fun." Chada patted the front seat, and the car started.

Chadda's ancestors were Punjabis who practiced Sikhism. He was tall, had a noticeable beer belly, and was dressed entirely in high-end international brands.

He was only thirty-five or thirty-six years old, still very young. His idea of ​​having fun was to take Ron and the others to a wild party in New Delhi.

India's wealthy are keen on throwing parties, and such revelry takes place every night near Connaught Place.

Chada was a regular here, and he proudly introduced Ron to the blonde, blue-eyed foreign women.

Strangely, Indian men seem to have a particular fondness for white women.

Yesterday, Yadav's assistant acted this way, and now that Chada has become a wealthy man, he still acts this way.

The party was all whiskey, women, and marijuana. Ron didn't make many connections, but he certainly drank his fill of alcohol.

It was already midnight when they came downstairs. December is the coldest month in New Delhi.

“We should go back now,” Ron said goodbye.

"This weather is so cold! Do you guys have air conditioning in your cars? Come ride in mine! Bro, don't drive that beat-up Civic."

In New Delhi, when you need someone to do you a favor, the first thing they look at is your car. If you drive an Ambassador or Tata, you're guaranteed not to get a response.

Come on, try this American-made car. Just like a white woman, it'll give you an amazing experience!

Chada moved the driver to the back seat, freeing up the driver's seat.

"No, I've been drinking, I can't drive." Ron's head was spinning.

“Oh my god, all the drivers in New Delhi are drunks. Don’t let my one hand fool you, I can still race like a pro.” Chadda laughed, then got into the driver’s seat.

Ron was invited to sit next to him, because, in Chada's words, that way he could experience the power.

The Cadillac roared to life on the streets late at night, Chada shifted into top gear, and sped off, running red lights one after another.

"How about that, Ron? Isn't that fucking awesome!" He turned his head.

Suddenly, a small dark figure jumped into the middle of the road.

"careful!"

boom!
The dark figure was knocked away and then run over.

(End of this chapter)