I'm a Master in India

Kaviya worked as a social reporter for The Times of India, mainly covering local news in Mumbai or social news from other states.

The events covered by this type of reporter were usually not that important, just minor incidents like wives being burned to death over insufficient dowry, child prostitution, people being sold into slavery, or female infanticide.

In India, they were too common to stand out.

They were usually handled by rookie reporters like Kaviya, as no one would pay attention no matter how they were written.

When she said she wanted to write a report about Soor Electronics, Ron was a little surprised, but far from pleasantly surprised.

"How are you planning to write it?" he asked.

"Look, this is the material I've gathered." She handed over a stack of papers.

This was Kaviya's apartment, and the curved long table was piled high with messy manuscript paper. The already cramped living room became even more strained with two people in it.

Ron sat on the faded sofa, casually flipping through the material, while Kaviya explained it to him orally.

"There's an old man with poor eyesight who, after using a water cooler for two months, miraculously regained his vision.

Now he's living well, without a cane or needing care. His whole family is convinced that this is your divine power, that created everything.

They've enshrined that water cooler and pray to it every morning and evening, without fail.

After the news spread, the slum dwelling where the old man lived has become some kind of sacred place.

People come from all over the city to see this miraculous old man who can see again. For those doing business in the slum, they've never encountered anything this good in their lives.

The influx of pilgrims has made their businesses flourish. That old man has become very wealthy, unimaginably wealthy.

Pilgrims throw money at them, one or two rupees at a time, and it keeps growing.

It's said they are even planning to set up a charity foundation specifically to treat the poor in the slum."

"That sounds absolutely like a mythical story." Ron's expression was quite something.

"Yaar, you also think it has the potential to be on the front page, right?" Kaviya shrieked happily.

"Isn't it a bit too exaggerated?" Ron blushed, which was rare for him. "What if people actually believe the water cooler can cure illness? And my divine power..."

"Hey!" Kaviya reached out and poked his chest. "Brother, this is India. People are willing to believe these things. The order of this country is drawn from myths."

"Alright." Ron stopped dwelling on it. There were too many abstract things in India, and this was just one more.

He just couldn't understand why Kaviya, a student who had returned from abroad, should be disgusted by this kind of news in India.

Facing Ron's question, Kaviya gave a contemptuous smile.

"Who do you think I'm doing this for, huh?" She extended her foot, painted with red nail polish, and lightly tapped his leg.

"Oh, you're wearing saffron color today." Ron averted his gaze.

"Brother, your weak spot is exposed again, isn't it?" She looked smug.

"You're finished, no one can save you. You have no idea what you've provoked, just wait!"

Five minutes later, the folding bed in Kaviya's bedroom collapsed with a crash.

"Damn it, you need to get a new apartment."

"That landlord bastard swore to me that this folding bed could handle two people."

"What should we do?" Ron stood there, helpless.

"Go to the bathroom, there's a balcony you can hold onto."

There was a glass window on the balcony, and Kaviya became a gecko for a moment.

Doing business in India, sometimes the path you're walking on gets crooked.

Ron clearly wanted Soor Electronics to become a technology company, but in some slums, its name was no different from the gods and Buddhas in the Ramayana.

At the construction site of the fourth row of workshops being built by Soor Electronics, there were even slum residents sneaking in to pray.

Hearing this news, Ron didn't know what to say.

This damn place, India, was indeed outrageous.

Most of the public lacked basic critical thinking skills; their understanding seemed to be stuck centuries ago.

But there were benefits too; sales of the standard model water cooler in Mumbai skyrocketed.

It was only mid-May, and Soor Electronics had already shipped 30,000 water coolers, much higher than the figures for the previous two months.

Ron was really looking forward to how much money would be collected in June. He thought if the funds were sufficient, he would go back to Uttar Pradesh.

Although the Soor family had fallen on hard times, they still had some influence locally. As long as the conditions were more or less the same, establishing a branch factory for Soor Electronics in Uttar Pradesh was not impossible.

Inland areas were indeed more suitable for products like water coolers. Moving the factory there for production could save a lot of costs.

Mumbai's monsoon season was coming soon, a little earlier than last year, and sales at the Soor Electronics factory would inevitably be affected then.

Taking advantage of this time to go back home and also arrange for his parents' ashes would also give little Niya some closure.

"Boss!" Ashish was like Sandy, always appearing with bad news.

"What is it? Speak." Ron inspected the construction site for a bit, then turned to leave.

"The municipal committee people are here."

"Huh? What are they here for?" Ron didn't understand what Soor Electronics had to do with the municipality.

"The slum, did you forget?" Ashish looked a little anxious.

Ron thought for a while before suddenly remembering. Ashish had said that once the size of the slum got out of control, the municipal committee people would get serious.

"Did a lot more people come to the slum?" he asked.

"They were all attracted by the recruitment last time. I don't know the exact number either."

Ron followed Ashish towards the slum to the north. This matter, in the end, had to be seen on-site, since he had the representative rights here.

"The one who came this time is Kelner, Mumbai's King of Demolition." Ashish was very nervous about this name.

Kelner was a commissioner in the municipal hall's demolition office, and because of his consistently impartial style, he had made countless enemies among the Shiv Sena and other political parties.

He had worked for nearly twenty years and had demolished a total of 285,000 illegal structures.

Let alone Shiv Sena's properties, he even demolished the hotel of the Dawood gang's boss.

Thackeray had no way to deal with him, and Dawood even sent people to shoot him. But it was useless; Kelner was the kind of person who grew stronger with setbacks.

He and Ajay were both anomalies among Mumbai officials, and were also praised by newspapers as heroes saving the city.

When Ron and the others arrived, they saw five or six dark blue police trucks driving into a piece of open land, similar to unclaimed land.

Surrounding it was a crescent-shaped row of slum buildings, which seemed to have been built not long ago.

The large trucks were covered with tarps, and according to Ashish, there were police inside, at least twenty police officers per truck.

An uncovered flatbed truck, carrying workers and equipment from the municipal committee, slowly drove through the parked police vehicles and stopped near the shacks.

Several officials got out of the police trucks and deployed their personnel into two rows.

The municipal committee workers jumped off the flatbed truck; each of them was equipped with a rope, with a grappling hook at one end.

They threw the grappling hook onto the roof, hooked it firmly, and then pulled the rope. The fragile thatched huts immediately disintegrated, the whole process taking no more than ten seconds.

The residents inside only had time to pack the most basic things: infants, money, and documents.

Everything else was buried in the ruins of the house: kerosene stoves, woks, bags, mattresses, clothes, and children's toys.

The crowd scattered in panic, running and shouting.

The demolition was very efficient because these thatched huts were so fragile.

It wasn't that no one resisted; most people living in thatched huts were destitute, and they would often resort to desperate measures, violently resisting enforcement.

Some people threw stones at the demolition workers, calling them traitors, because most of these workers came from other surrounding slums.

Sometimes they even set their own thatched huts on fire; since they had nothing left anyway, they might as well destroy it.

When the orange flames appeared, the police finally panicked, and Ron also panicked.

This large area of slum stretched for several kilometers and had tens of thousands of people; once a fire broke out, the consequences would be unimaginable.

Fortunately, the police were well prepared; they had firefighting equipment on their trucks. With the fire extinguishers and hoses turned on, they put out the fire quickly.

Ron, who had rushed over, found the leader, Kelner, and said, "Shouldn't you give them some time?"

"The notice was issued seven days ago," Kelner pointed to a notice on the wall of a thatched hut, "but no one paid attention."

"This won't do, they are too agitated." Ron was a little worried.

"Dr. Soor, I know you are a good person. But this doesn't work in Mumbai; there are too many people who need sympathy, enough to consume all your conscience."

Kelner kindly reminded him that if they were to really investigate, Ron was somewhat responsible for the slum. He wasn't deliberately making things difficult, just doing his job.

What could Ron say? He himself didn't want the slum to expand endlessly; that would lead to trouble.

The demolition work was still ongoing, but to avoid a repeat of what just happened, the workers specifically allowed the people in the thatched huts to move out their cooking utensils and other items first.

The scene Ashish had described vividly appeared before his eyes: women and children were covered in dirt, they were destitute, without even water.

The demolition workers rushed over aggressively, wanting to take away the little they had left.

Many people around were watching silently. Some were from legal slums, some were residents from slums further away from this area.

Everyone was silent, some filled with sympathy, some filled with fear, and some with pent-up shame.

Shame that the municipal committee's authority forced them to have thoughts like, "Thank God, it's not me, it's not my house."

"So lucky, my house is fine! I'm from a legal slum!" Ashish's body trembled slightly, his face flushed.

A baby's cry pierced the silent stillness, and a woman rushed in front of Kelner.

She held a bundle in her hands, and the baby's crying came from it.

To everyone's shocked gaze, the woman grabbed the baby's legs and swung it in the air like that.

The next second, she was about to smash the child violently onto the ground. They had no way to live, so they might as well die now.

"Holy shit!" Both Ron and Kelner jumped up in shock.