I am a master in India

Chapter 339 Chicken Coop
In addition to visiting various ministers in New Delhi, Ron also hosted parties and salons at his villa.

Just as he and Muna said, those who should be seen should be seen, and those who shouldn't be seen should also be seen.

Those political brokers and middlemen, who may not hold any official positions, are often the key to solving certain problems.

Anyone who frequents the power corridors of New Delhi knows that certain politicians' associates can act as intermediaries, and getting favors or requests for assistance from politicians is always done through these intermediaries.

They could be party staff or assistants to the party leader, relatives of senior politicians, or confidants from the same hometown or caste.

They are pure power brokers who can help entrepreneurs bypass cumbersome procedures and connect directly with those in power.

This intermediary role exists not only in the political arena, but also permeates every corner of Indian society; their predecessor was called an agent.

In the past, especially in India after independence when resources were scarce, you had to find an agent to buy anything.

Without them, whether you can buy it or not is another matter, and the final price is often vastly different.

People grew up under this economic system, and even today, they still feel safer buying things through a middleman who says "I've got your back."

For example, when SunTV launched its cable TV business in New Delhi, they couldn't find any installers on the street. Even if they found an experienced worker, he would make SunTV contact someone else first.

That person was an agent who specialized in this kind of work, just like the brokers in ancient China.

In India, these agents are even more active; they seem to be able to handle everything, from getting goods through customs smoothly to passing a driver's license test.

It is said that three-quarters of people learning to drive in New Delhi use intermediaries, and the vast majority of them successfully obtain their driver's licenses.

In contrast, those who try to pass the test on their own are very likely to fail to get a driver's license, even if they are good drivers.

Furthermore, the middlemen would try to transfer a portion of the service fee to the person in charge of the exam, and the examiners would often arbitrarily fail candidates who did not hire a middleman during the exam.

That way, they'll know what to do next time.

The middleman business even has a hidden price list.

For example, applying for an ID card usually costs 200 rupees. The progressive portion of personal income tax is exempt, up to 10,000 rupees.

The more complex the matter, the higher the price; something like registering land naturally requires a large sum of money to complete.

Sometimes, once the money is in place, all the formalities can be waived.

Even the arms trade in India relies on intermediaries to facilitate transactions.

While Ron may be able to knock directly on the office door of a minister in New Delhi, it doesn't mean he can ignore the middleman.

When you're stuck on a problem and have no clue what to do, you might find something unexpected by going through a middleman.

Most importantly, he cannot be stationed in New Delhi permanently, and therefore cannot obtain political intelligence there in a timely manner.

Intermediary networks can fill this gap, and they can also act as lobbying teams.

To put it bluntly, Ron wanted to cultivate his own network of relationships in New Delhi, and his substantial financial resources were sufficient to support such political lobbying activities.

Throughout June, he mostly hosted banquets for various agents at his villa.

During his time in New Delhi, Ron was very relaxed, often playing golf on the lawn in his backyard while wearing a polo shirt and casual trousers.

The automatic sprinkler system makes the weather less unbearably hot, and the lush greenery isolates the noise of Delhi's streets.

He had just met with a lawyer from a top law firm here. He had no shortage of resources in this area, and more importantly, the man knew a Supreme Court judge.

After swinging twice, Ron threw down his club, picked up an iced drink from under the parasol, and started chugging it down.

Delhi's weather is terrible; it's really not suitable for exercise.

"Sir, are these people you associate with important to your business?" Muna asked from the side.

He hasn't done anything lately, except chat with Ron when he's meeting guests.

They didn't talk about anything serious; it was all gossip, which was completely pointless.

Muna didn't quite understand; he felt that the gentleman's time should be precious.

Ron took the towel from the servant and casually wiped his sweat.

"Their role is only played when needed."

"But they are also greedy."

"Yes, but they only take what they're entitled to."

Muna recalled another business deal her husband had made a few days earlier.

That was about the license; the two sides had already reached an agreement over the phone.

Half an hour later, someone knocked on the door, and then the gentleman had someone hand over the prepared travel bag.

It was filled with money; the colorful scene was dazzling.

The gentleman had prepared an extra envelope, which the man took and left with his bag without a word. A stranger had brazenly taken away that huge sum of money, and Muna even worried that the man might abscond with the money.

With so much money, you can escape anywhere and live a carefree life.

Are you wondering why he didn't embezzle the money?

“Yes, sir.” Muna nodded.

"This kind of thing almost never happens in India."

"Why, sir?"

“Go out and walk the streets of Delhi, especially Old Delhi, and you’ll find the answer.”

Muna not only went to the streets of Delhi, but he also went to shopping malls.

However, since the gentleman said so, he decided to go and take a look.

Old Delhi is connected to New Delhi, so you can treat it as the old city.

If New Delhi represents the bright and modern side of the city, then Old Delhi represents its other side.

This place is full of things that modern society has long forgotten: rickshaws, ancient stone buildings, and herdsmen.

However, there will be one more thing here on Sundays.

If you keep pushing through the crowds that gather here all the time, past the men who clean other people's ears with rusty iron rods, past the men who sell small fish in green bottles, and past the cheap shoe market and cheap shirt market, you will arrive at the famous Daliaganji used book market.

Muna liked it here, but he knew he wouldn't find the answer in the used book market.

So he continued on his way until he passed behind the Gamma Qingzheng Temple, where he stopped.

It was a market, a market for selling poultry.

Hundreds of grey and white hens and brightly colored roosters were crammed tightly into wire cages, huddled together like parasites, pecking at each other, defecating on one another, and fighting for every bit of breathing space.

The chicken coop reeked of a foul stench, the kind of stench emanating from feathered, terrified bodies.

A young butcher sat on a wooden table above the chicken coop, smiling as he showed customers the freshly chopped chicken meat and innards, which were greasy and covered with a layer of dark red blood.

The roosters in the coop smelled the blood coming from above and saw the entrails of their brothers scattered around them. They knew it would be their turn next, but they offered no resistance and made no attempt to escape the coop.

Muna suddenly understood that the country was like a chicken coop, trapping the fate of those people.

Look at the streets of Delhi behind him; a man is riding by in a rickshaw. He's pedaling hard, and a large bed or a dining table is strapped to the back of the rickshaw.

This is a deliveryman who delivers furniture to people's homes every day. A bed can cost as much as five thousand or even six thousand rupees. If you add chairs and coffee tables, the contents of the truck can be worth between ten thousand and fifteen thousand rupees.

A man comes to your house on a tricycle and delivers this bed, dining table, and chairs to you. This poor fellow only earns five hundred rupees a month.

He unloaded all the furniture for you, and you paid him in cash—a thick wad of banknotes, as thick as a brick.

He put the money in his pocket or shirt, or even stuffed it into his underwear, and then rode his bike all the way back to his boss without touching a single penny, handing the money over to his boss in full!

The amount of money he handled was equivalent to his salary for a year or even two years, yet he wouldn't pocket a single rupee.

Every day on the streets of Delhi, you can see a private car driver with no one else in the car except for a black briefcase in the back seat containing one or two million rupees.

This driver may never have seen so much money in his life. If he takes this money, he can go to America, Europe, or anywhere else and start a new life there.

He could frequent those five-star hotels he dreamed of but could only admire from the outside; he could take his family to Goa or England.

Nevertheless, he delivered the black suitcase to the place his master had instructed him to take it, placing it in the designated spot without ever touching a single rupee inside.

why?
Because Indians are compassionate, honest, and trustworthy?

No, it's because 99.9 percent of Indians are trapped in chicken coops, just like those poor chickens in the poultry market.

If it's a small amount of money, then this chicken coop theory would probably have to be reconsidered.

Never test your driver or servant with a one- or two-rupee coin; they will likely try to keep the money for themselves.

But if you put a million dollars in front of a servant, he won't touch a single penny.

If a black bag containing a million dollars were left in a taxi in Mumbai, the taxi driver would definitely call the police before dark and take the money to the police station.

Because this money is not his to take, and he cannot take it away.

Of course, whether the police will return the money to the owner after the report is reported is another matter entirely.

In this country, a master can confidently entrust diamonds to his servant!
Surat is the world’s largest diamond cutting and polishing center. Every evening, you can see many servants of diamond merchants on the trains that depart from here, carrying suitcases filled with cut diamonds to be delivered to someone in Mumbai.

Why didn't these servants steal the suitcase full of diamonds? They weren't Gandhi; they were just ordinary people. Yet they were trapped in a chicken coop, and the loyalty of servants is the foundation of the entire Indian economy.

Amazing Indian chicken coops!

(End of this chapter)