I'm a Master in India

"Ron, are you leaving now?" Vanessa was so tired, her whole body felt like limp noodles, devoid of strength.

Last night, she was forced to call him "Baba" all night, and now she couldn't even change how she addressed him.

"There's a lot to do today, they might be looking for me at the factory." Ron casually picked up a piece of clothing from the floor, looked up, and saw it wasn't his.

"Ah! Give that back!" she shrieked, then quickly snatched it and shoved it under the sheet.

"Darling, we've been more than honest with each other," Ron said with a chuckle, poking her.

"No, I'm too tired." Vanessa buried her face in the bed, like an ostrich, a featherless ostrich.

She shouldn't have drunk so much alcohol yesterday, nor should she have just fallen asleep like that.

The price was steep; she woke up this morning completely drained of energy.

Ron rustled as he dressed; he had to get back to Sur Electronics and couldn't stay here long.

"Alright, get up and make some breakfast." Ron patted her shoulder.

Vanessa was still a novice after all.

She came from a prominent family and was jokingly referred to as the "Princess of Nepal."

Although far away in Mumbai, she was still somewhat protected.

However, while external harassment could be blocked, there was no stopping her from willingly throwing herself into someone's arms.

That uncultivated Nepalese national highway was now full of Ron's tire tracks.

There wasn't much to eat in Vanessa's apartment, just some cheese and vegetables.

Spicy baby potatoes, spinach dal, and chapati flatbread – this was the breakfast she prepared for Ron.

What did it matter if she was the Princess of Nepal? She still had to cook herself and take care of a man's daily needs.

It was just that the breakfast portion was too small, and Ron wasn't full.

Unfortunately, there wasn't enough time, otherwise, he would have used Manisha to compensate.

Next time he'd have to inform her in advance to at least prepare some food or something; Ron never shortchanged himself.

"Baba, when will you be finished?" Vanessa paced cautiously, looking at him with hopeful eyes.

"What's wrong?" Ron smoothed his pant leg, looking at her amusedly.

"Missing me already?"

"No," Vanessa shook her head in panic.

"I just meant you can come back in a couple of days, I'm free lately."

Her voice grew smaller and smaller, and in the end, she closed her mouth, embarrassed.

Well, this little womanly gesture, it was clear she had fallen in love.

"I'll call Director Lal and ask if he has any suitable roles.

Also, Chandra and Joseph are planning a new movie lately, there might be an opportunity."

"You mean Mr. Mehta and Mr. De Souza?" Vanessa's eyes lit up.

These were the surnames of those two producers; clearly, they were not nobodies in Bollywood.

"An agency I'm affiliated with works with them.

I met them a few days ago, and I can recommend you."

"Ron..." Vanessa's eyes welled up with emotion.

"Come here," Ron beckoned.

Vanessa leaned in.

Ron whispered a couple of sentences in her ear, and her face immediately turned so red it looked like it was about to drip blood.

"No... No..."

"Good girl, I'll come find you in a couple of days."

Ron patted his backside and left, leaving only Vanessa standing there, conflicted.

The Sur Electronics factory became lively again.

Long queues formed at the factory gate, and the offices inside were also packed with people.

Ever since the advertisement aired on All India Television, such scenes played out almost daily.

Those queuing at the entrance were workers applying for jobs.

Sur Electronics factory's third production line was already in place and now needed manpower.

Once the news got out, it quickly attracted a large number of migrant workers.

Who didn't know the reputation of Sur Electronics factory?

Among Mumbai's working class, it was almost universally known.

The rumors of high wages went without saying, but the mere fact that it treated workers like human beings was enough to make many workers employed by other companies defect.

Their original working conditions were terrible, and many of them came from Bihar or Uttar Pradesh.

They might have started working in factories at the age of eight but would be laid off before they turned twenty because years of labor made them unable to be as sharp and quick as they were initially.

They had no friends, no social circle, no hope, and no future.

These laborers would be content if they could watch a late-night movie at the Maratha Mandir cinema on Sunday, or catch a glimpse of the vast sea amidst the crowds at Juhu Beach.

Every afternoon they would squat on the ground, eating directly from the pot.

After finishing a day's work, they would lie down on the small patch of ground where they had sat for fourteen hours, trying to look at the night sky outside from the low factory building, and at the tall buildings rising in the distance.

They were mechanical and numb, never holding any expectations for Mumbai.

But if there was a chance to break free, they would rush forward without hesitation, like moths to a flame.

The slums behind the Sur Electronics factory became their luxury; compared to the small patch of ground at their original factories, it was no different from a mansion.

They heard that piece of land was actively sought by Dr. Sur, who didn't charge the workers a single penny in rent.

Dr. Sur was indeed a good person; everyone in Mumbai knew it.

Faced with the surging influx of migrant workers, the newly recruited HR university students were flustered.

In the end, it was the Production Supervisor Anish who stepped forward and maintained order.

He listed several recruitment conditions: those who could read, those with experience, and those who were obedient were roughly screened and most people were sent away.

Mumbai had too many people, too many poor people.

You couldn't sympathize; you could only drive them away like chasing mice.

As for those in the office, they were dealers from other states.

The effect of the television advertisement was immediate; Sur Electronics' reputation was no longer limited to areas like Maharashtra and Gujarat.

It began to penetrate into inland states, and those sharp-nosed businessmen were the first to come knocking.

"Mr. Sur, your factory shouldn't be built in Mumbai, but in Chandigarh," a Punjabi businessman said, looking quite regretful.

"Mumbai is the commercial center of India," Ron said with a smile, signaling Raju to serve tea.

"But such a great product like the water cooler can only really shine in Punjab.

The climate there is dry, with large areas of desert."

Many people even get nosebleeds from the dryness when they sleep at night.

They would go crazy for water coolers; they would definitely rush to buy them."

Ron knew this Punjabi businessman was telling the truth; water coolers were very suitable for dry inland areas.

Mumbai has a monsoon season starting in June that lasts for three or four months, during which the weather becomes muggy and hot.

Water coolers are completely useless then and can even become accomplices to the humid air.

But there was no way around it; as he said, Mumbai was the commercial center of India.

It had the most open atmosphere, the best policies, the most stable power supply, and the cheapest labor.

In other states in North India, let alone market issues, you couldn't even open a factory.

There were power outages most of the day, and power only came back for two hours at night.

For a factory, this was simply a nightmare.

"Mumbai is too far from Punjab; the shipping costs alone would be a huge amount," the businessman complained repeatedly.

"I can ship the goods by sea to a port in Gujarat; you can handle the rest of the journey yourselves."

"No problem! That would be great!" The businessman was overjoyed; this saved him several hundred kilometers of shipping costs.

After seeing off another guest, Ron sighed wearily; he was now experiencing the troubles of success.

Before the advertisement aired, Sur Electronics' orders were only enough to keep the factory running for a little over half a month.

Just one week later, the situation reversed, and his desk was once again piled high with orders.

The exact number hadn't been sorted out yet, but one thing was certain: Sur Electronics factory was completely on the right track.

As long as production, sales, and technology kept up, it would slowly grow and become a major "player" in the appliance industry.

Raju thoughtfully held his head and slowly massaged it.

She knew Ron liked this; it helped him relax.

"Raju..."

"Hmm?"

"Do you think Sur Electronics should build another factory in North India?"

"That would cost a lot of money, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah," Ron sighed.

Last month's 6 million rupees had just come in, and now the fourth production line was starting construction; building another factory would be too strenuous.

Equipment, personnel, and raw materials later would require at least 3 million rupees in investment, and after deductions, the money would be cut in half again.

"Raju, what should we do about the heat during the monsoon season?" Ron closed his eyes, thinking.

"Use electric fans."

"Electric fans?" Ron opened his eyes.

"Most people can afford them; it's better than just enduring the heat."

She was right; affordability was king.

Since Mumbai's monsoon season wasn't suitable for water coolers, it would be better to just make ordinary electric fans.

Sur Electronics currently had three production lines, with a daily capacity of nearly two thousand units, and there was no urgent need to increase production in the short term.

The fourth line currently under construction could be used to produce ordinary fans first, which would perfectly fill the gap for Sur Electronics during the monsoon season.

His cooperation with Singapore was getting closer, and with the price advantage, he could completely enter the ordinary fan market.

Dropping from the "high-tech" water cooler to the unremarkable ordinary fan seemed a bit of a downgrade in terms of prestige.

Making money, there's no shame in it.

If he could even dabble in smuggling medicine, what business couldn't he do?

"Raju, your idea is good, ordinary fans it is." Ron turned his head and highly praised her idea.

"As long as I can help Baba," Raju was a little happy.

"Have you moved into the apartment I rented for you?" Ron continued to enjoy with his eyes closed.

"Mhm," Raju replied softly.

"Then how about a massage together later?"

"Ah?" she exclaimed.

"What about the Indian aphrodisiac you promised? I remember," Ron said, looking at her amusedly.

"Boss!" Ashish rushed in impulsively, he even forgot to knock beforehand.

Then he saw a scene of confusion, his sister Raju's face was bright red.

Ron also subconsciously straightened his back, his eyes showing displeasure.

"What is it?"

"Uh, we caught two scammers, they tried to buy our products with counterfeit money."

"Hmm?" Ron's face was full of question marks.

What the hell was going on?