I am a master in India

Chapter 422 Visit
Ron was not only meeting with Gary Reddy, but also with his brother Tim Reddy.

The steel plant at the highway exit is his business. Ron wants to take over the entire industrial chain at once, so he can't avoid this person.

“Mr. Sull, what are your impressions of the steel mill?” Tim Reddy asked.

"It's very mature, it's just a pity that the market is not good right now."

"Yes," he nodded with a sigh, "business in China isn't as good as it used to be."

"So, does the Reddy family intend to sell it? As far as I know, the factory is currently losing money, losing tens of millions of dollars every year," Ron asked, seizing the opportunity.

"What price are you willing to pay? We spent a lot of money to build this steel plant, this is the amount." He gestured with his fingers, $4 million.

"Given the sluggish international steel market, I can only offer half the price."

“That number doesn’t really reflect our true intentions,” Tim Reddy laughed.

"The difficulty is that it is losing money and there are no signs of a market recovery."

"Reddy Steel will not be sold."

“What?” Ron frowned.

“This is the core business of the family; without it, there would be no Reddy. However, we can help you connect with another seller.”

"Huh?" Ron looked over in surprise.

"There's more than just this one steel mill in the industrial park there. Someone just doesn't want to do this business anymore and wants to sell it off. It's that simple."

How's the factory?

"It was built almost at the same time as the Reddy Steel Plant, only slightly behind in terms of technological updates."

"About the same size?"

“Yes.” Tim Reddy nodded.

What price do they want?

"The number you just mentioned might even be lowered further; it depends on how the deal is negotiated."

“I’d like to go and see it in person again,” Ron said cautiously.

"no problem."

So Ron went to the industrial park at the highway exit, only to find that the steel mill they wanted to sell was just across an old road from Reddy's.

As expected of a factory built at the same time, its layout and workshops are almost identical.

Ron even suspected that the two steel mills were built by the same construction team and that apart from the names and minor layout differences, they were not much different.

Even the extremely rudimentary staff dormitories were just as dirty, messy, and remote.

Ron planned to have a talk with the factory owner and also have a professional team come and take a look.

Goa is indeed a great vacation destination; its beaches, fruits, and scenery are all absolutely stunning.

After leaving the steel mill inland, Ron returned to the seaside.

This place not only features colonial-style resorts, but also square log cabins nestled among palm trees.

If Ron gets tired of living in the villa, he will occasionally bring Urmira here in the evening to enjoy the cool breeze.

The house is made of bamboo, coconut trees and palm leaves, and you can see the dark sea through the windows.

The room was lit with lights and candles. There was only one room. The floor was sand, and there was a table, two chairs, a bed, and a wooden clothes rack.

The furnishings are simple and the place is very clean, giving it a seaside fisherman's feel.

"Hmm? You don't want to improve your skills in Bollywood anymore?"

"Indian women of this age should be thinking about their future careers. They either need to get married and start a family, or be prepared to endure gossip. I just think it's time to have a child."

“No problem, this is my specialty!” Ron said, taking full responsibility.

He turned her over so he could continue giving her the injection, but Urmila quickly begged for mercy, saying she really couldn't fit any more.

Tsk, in a place like Goa, especially after seeing so many foreign girls in bikinis on the beach, you can get a little obsessed.

What could he do? He was just a typical Indian.

After making another house call, Ron lay shirtless in a hammock outside, while Urmira rambled on about the terrible infrastructure in Goa.

Despite the resort's glamorous appearance, once you leave, it's no different from most other parts of India.

Urmira hated the toilets in Goa, which were just squat toilets with keyholes and smooth, steep slopes underneath, from which excrement would slide down into narrow alleys.

Hairy black wild Goa pigs roam the alleyways, eating the excrement.

If you just go outside and look, you'll find a group of black pigs running around in the alley.

Regardless of whether it's clean or not, just seeing how happily they devour their excrement would make you want to give up meat and go vegetarian.

No wonder Hindus and herders consider pigs to be unclean creatures; it turns out they've seen this kind of scene too often.

Ron was on the beach making a phone call. He was in Goa, but he couldn't shirk his business responsibilities and needed to keep an eye on things.

As night fell, the number of tourists on the beach gradually thinned out. The nearly full moon resembled a medal pinned to the chest of the sky.

The moonlight rolled to the shore with each surging wave, as if the moonlight was pushing the waves, or as if the moon had cast a silvery net, scooping up the entire coastline and dragging it ashore wave after wave. After saying a few words, Ron waved to Urmira.

"gone back!"

Mumbai?

"It'll be quick. This deal will be done soon, and then we'll head back to Mumbai."

Leave the professional work to the professionals. In order to understand the situation of the steel plant that was intended for sale, not only did an audit team come, but even a reporter from Sun TV was prepared to sneak into the workers' group.

Ron was worried that these workers were too deeply involved with the factory owners' families, and that if they took over the factory, they would become an uncontrollable group.

At first, the reporter thought the factory would refuse his request, because factory owners strongly resisted scrutiny from outsiders.

The manager turned out to be very easy to talk to, and he gave the reporter complete freedom to interview the factory workers.

He said he wasn't the factory owner; he was just an employee, only earning a higher salary.

Furthermore, he frankly admitted that he was unable to improve the workers' working and living conditions, and the factory owner would not allow him to do so. However, he was very aware of the hardships the workers endured.

Initially, the Sun TV reporter was very grateful to the manager for giving him so much freedom to interview the workers.

However, when he went to the workers' quarters to try and integrate himself into their community, he changed his mind.

Because no one was willing to tell him any details, the reporter fully understood why the workers were wary of him.

Although he told them he had received permission from the general manager, the workers remained suspicious of the reporter's presence, fearing he was a government-appointed labor inspector there to check on their living conditions.

This is not a good thing. If government inspectors determine that the conditions here are not up to standard, they may order the factory to be shut down.

If that happens, they will lose their jobs and have nothing.

Therefore, they decided to refuse any discussion with reporters that might cost them their jobs, in the manner of migrant workers.

Some of the workers were teenagers, which clearly violated laws prohibiting the employment of child labor.

They were the ones who most wanted to avoid reporters, even though he had gone undercover and changed into slightly worn clothes.

When reporters asked them questions, they either kept repeating monosyllabic words or smiled and walked away.

However, there are other reasons besides their caution that led them to refuse to contact reporters.

Compared to them, the people at SunTV, though ordinary in appearance, were pampered and seemed to come from another world.

They encounter similar people every day, such as engineers or accountants in the factory, but the factory has a very strict hierarchical system, and the managers can never cross over to their living quarters.

This is their territory; outside of their class, the only people who would come here are the foremen.

Those contractors were the link between respectable, materially-minded middle-class managers and their desperate, miserable workers.

The workers kept avoiding reporters, so he sat in an empty hammock and watched them stroll in the afternoon glow.

Most of them were bare-chested, wrapped in faded striped towels or wearing dirty underwear.

These workers looked ragged, their bodies seemingly drained by hard work, with no excess muscle.

Some people were carrying jugs full of water to the back of their dwellings to use the toilet, while others were lighting stoves to cook dinner.

Their food preparation lacked any sense of home, let alone any sense of pleasure.

They mechanically chopped vegetables, had cigarettes or homemade cigarettes in their mouths, and urinated into the drains.

Despite the unbearable heat and lack of a fan in the dormitory, they still closed the door.

Some rooms have televisions, so when a door is opened occasionally, a little light and sound can be heard coming through.

Through this gap, you can see a group of workers sitting around a television set, watching a Bollywood movie.

You might think that this place, though tough, offers a rhythmic and stable life, but you'll soon discover the uncertainty within that stability.

As the reporter sat in the empty hammock, five workers from Orissa had just arrived at the factory. They had gotten off the train in Goa that morning and taken a bus to the village of Kusser.

These were all boys around thirteen or fourteen years old, their bodies just beginning to develop. They were carrying rough woolen bags, and if it weren't for their mature and cautious faces, they would have looked like truant students.

When reporters approached them and asked them questions, they only nervously told them where they were from, without saying their names.

They had worked in this factory before, but this time, they didn't know what kind of work they would be assigned.

Afterward, the five boys headed toward an empty room. Most of the workers came from Odisha or Bihar, although some came from West Bengal, Uttar Pradesh, Central Bengal, and Assam.

The workers' quarters were divided according to race, and the reporter happened to be sitting on the dividing line between the Bihar and Orissa people.

A worker named Rabind near him had just finished preparing dinner. The workers start preparing dinner very early, around four or five o'clock, so that those working the night shift can eat before going to work.

The reporter tried to talk to him. Rabind was from Orissa. He was short and stocky and had a mustache.

His eyes looked very cunning as he answered the questions. He used to be the village tailor, and he said he would go back to his old trade once he had saved enough money.

Through this window, the reporter learned that almost none of the factory's workers were locals; most were migrants.

This is good. There's no need to worry about the workers' families being controlled by the factory owner, and therefore no need to worry about them causing trouble.

Yes, this deal is feasible.

(End of this chapter)