I'm a Master in India

Seeing the baby about to be thrown to the ground, Ron and Kaelner rushed over in unison.

One snatched the baby, and the other held onto the woman.

She was right in front of them, just a step away.

The entire crowd was stunned by this sudden turn of events, and it wasn't until the baby cried out with a "wah" that everyone finally snapped back to reality, then they scrambled to pull the woman away from the child.

Ron held the swaddled baby, still shaken, and carefully checked the child's condition.

Fortunately, there was only a purple mark on the ankle, and nothing else was seriously wrong.

The woman knelt on the ground, wailing, making it impossible for anyone to blame her.

If she hadn't been driven to despair, how could she have been so cruel as to kill her own child?

The dilapidated thatched hut behind her was her lifeline, and if it was torn down today, her child would die a month later.

Because the rainy season was coming, and without shelter from the wind and rain, such a small infant simply wouldn't survive.

She would die of typhoid, dysentery, or starvation.

The onlookers felt a pang of sympathy, and Ron was no better off.

A helpless woman having to use the death of her child to resist demolition, what the hell kind of situation was this?

Kaelner sighed with a grim expression, knowing that today would be another fruitless trip.

He was selfless and hated evil, but he wouldn't joke with human lives.

Besides, if something really happened, he would be in trouble too.

The Shiva Sena party was already looking for an excuse, and the Dawood gang would also incite the public to storm his office.

The demolition work had stopped, and the workers stood there in a daze, not knowing what to do.

Kaelner waved his hand, telling them to retreat.

They couldn't demolish any more; who knew what other problems would arise if they continued.

Ron looked at the chaotic slum, where about sixty households, at least two hundred people, had their homes reduced to rubble, and the entire demolition operation took less than twenty minutes.

"Mumbai's slums can never be completely demolished," Kaelner lamented.

"Unless the housing problem is solved, the slums will not disappear," Ron knew the crux of the issue.

"But to build new housing, you must first demolish the slums," Kaelner smiled bitterly.

Perhaps because of what had just happened, or perhaps needing someone to complain to, Kaelner explained to Ron how difficult it was to demolish slums in Mumbai.

Mumbai City has twenty-three administrative districts, and each district has a specialized demolition team.

But in reality, Mumbai's illegal buildings were built with the connivance of the government and the police.

The standard procedure for demolition is to issue a notice seven days in advance, requiring residents to provide relevant documents.

If valid property certificates cannot be provided after seven days, demolition is inevitable.

"But our staff are hesitant; they are afraid of violent resistance, and there are also some factors of sympathy.

But the most serious problem is internal corruption; once the notice is issued, people will use money to smooth things over."

Ron understood Kaelner's meaning; the staff of the demolition office were taking bribes to resolve problems for people.

The bribes received for an illegal hotel might be more than what they would earn in a lifetime working in the department.

"These places that have been demolished," Kaelner pointed to the rubble, "will be rebuilt in a few hours; they will keep building and building."

"Why don't they go somewhere else?" Ron didn't understand the meaning of these people sticking to this place.

"Because other places are full," Kaelner chuckled, with a hint of sarcasm, "Slums also have quotas; those who can't squeeze in can only live on the sidewalks."

Ron understood; the people in the slums also had proxy rights.

Their proxy rights were tied to the small thatched huts, and once lost, they would be replaced by newcomers.

"I once swore to demolish an illegal building in the Mahim area, but every time we demolished it and left, people would rebuild the houses a few hours later.

Sometimes we would go twice or three times a day, and they would rebuild twice or three times.

When we were demolishing, they would hide behind the railway tracks, and as soon as we left, they would come back.

It's endless; you can't keep wasting time with them."

It cost the city hall one thousand rupees to demolish each illegal building.

And there were nearly two thousand illegal buildings in the Mahim area alone, so Kaelner could only sigh in despair.

This was a deadlock; the Mumbai government could not allow the slums to expand indefinitely, as that would destroy the city.

Yet, they couldn't come up with a reliable solution, so they could only keep demolishing and rebuilding, rebuilding and demolishing.

"Why not expand the city, for example, develop the suburbs of Mumbai?" Ron asked.

"Because some people are unwilling; it harms their interests," Kaelner pointed to the ground, meaning that the vested interests in South Mumbai were blocking it.

Someone once suggested moving New Mumbai eastward, where there was a large area of land, and the ownership was all in the government's hands.

The urban planners' blueprint was to build New Mumbai in an east-west layout, not just confined to the current Mumbai Island.

But the real estate developers and government officials colluded and ruined this plan.

Mumbai's construction could only be planned within an island, and no matter how much they tossed and turned, it would only become more and more crowded.

Over there, the demolition work stopped, and the police and municipal council workers climbed onto the trucks, preparing to leave.

"When will your factory expansion be completed?" Kaelner looked at the factory area to the south, where the sound of hammering from laying the foundation could be heard.

"When those hundred acres of land are fully built up," Ron shrugged.

"Then the slums here won't be demolished for several years."

Facing Kaelner's complaints, Ron could only pretend to be ignorant.

Anyway, there were already over two thousand slums in Mumbai, and one more wouldn't make a difference.

"At least Sur Electronics provides a living for a large number of workers; Mumbai needs stability the most right now."

This was his confidence.

"I'll come back next week," Kaelner waved and left.

On the edge of the slum, the area of rubble that had just been demolished.

Now, people were returning in twos and threes, starting to pack up their belongings and prepare to rebuild.

The trucks carrying the demolition workers started up and hadn't gone far, but everyone was oblivious to it.

They couldn't change anything, Kaelner couldn't change anything, and Ron couldn't change anything either.

This city would continue to be like this, broken and dilapidated, unless a tsunami or earthquake came and shattered everything.

...

The matter of the slums didn't take up too much of Ron's energy; there were its own rules, no need for outsiders to interfere.

His duty was to ensure the safety of the legal slums; as long as it existed, the illegal slums, no matter how many times they were destroyed, would quickly be rebuilt.

There was a top-down hierarchical relationship involved; Ron controlled the workers, and the legal slums where the workers lived, in turn, constrained the illegal slums.

This was one of the underlying logics of Mumbai, and Ron only needed to grasp the most crucial part.

After appeasing the workers at the Sur Electronics factory, Luca quickly came knocking.

"Ron, did you get that American passport I told you about last time?"

"That thing is more troublesome than forging banknotes; after all, we have to fool the eyes of US customs."

"But we can't wait now; that fellow countryman of mine has already arrived at the pier."

"Which pier?"

"Mumbai pier."

"What?" Ron's eyes widened.

"Things changed a bit; he's wanted in Brazil and can't stay there anymore," Luca spread his hands.

"How did he get here?" Ron's brain was a bit frozen.

"Following our ship, my brother brought him to the Arabian Sea.

Anand sent people to pick him up at the pier and hid him in a pile of salted fish."

You guys are truly a bunch of geniuses, Ron was a bit speechless.

"Your brother is here to pick up goods again?"

"Brother, I've told you for a long time, South America is a huge market.

You should invest in this business..."

"Alright, arrange for me to meet that fellow countryman of yours," Ron interrupted him.

Whether to change from a broker to a participant was something Ron was still considering.

Let's get the passport matter settled first; it was obvious that Luca was very enthusiastic about this matter.

Ron guessed that the corrupt official had also given him some benefits, otherwise, he wouldn't be running around so much just based on acquaintance relationships.

In the evening, the two arrived at the pier fishing village, where Anand was waiting.

"Ron," he sent Luca away and crept over suspiciously.

"When did you get so bold, daring to do this kind of smuggling?"

"He's different; he's a big fish!" Anand said excitedly.

"How so?" Ron became interested.

"This Brazilian guy embezzled over a million dollars, and he's carrying at least half of it with him this time, a whole box full!"

Ron blinked, momentarily forgetting to breathe.

Damn, making money is not as fast as embezzling money.

Over a million dollars, even with all his assets combined, he didn't have that much.

Anand had gotten wind of it on the ship; this Brazilian corrupt official had embezzled a large sum of charitable funds.

That was funding allocated by international monetary institutions for building basic public facilities, including the construction of a children's hospital.

As a result, he didn't build that hospital and even transported sick, injured, and dying children to a remote camp, leaving them to fend for themselves.

After the incident, even the Brazilian mafia couldn't stand it and were preparing to offer a bounty to capture him.

If Luca's brother hadn't had some influence in the local area, this corrupt official wouldn't have been able to escape.

"This bad guy is clamoring to go to the United States; he's not even willing to stay in Mumbai.

My goodness, there are actually people in this world who don't like Mumbai.

Ron, is he stupid?"

"Where is he?"

"Right in this warehouse," Anand pointed to the wooden hut in front of him.

This was where the fishermen usually stored their fishing tools, and the wooden boards were covered in mildew due to the erosion of the sea breeze.

From a distance, Ron could smell a fishy odor.

He pushed open the wooden door and stepped onto the salt-stained ground.

The Brazilian corrupt official was sitting on a pile of dried fishing nets.

He was in his forties, obese, and had only a few strands of hair left on his bald head.

Seeing Ron enter, he nervously hid his suitcase behind him.

Luca and another Brazilian man spoke up to comfort him, which prevented him from being scared into shouting.

"Ask him how urgent he needs the American passport?" Ron didn't understand Portuguese and had Luca translate.

"As soon as possible, but before going to the United States, I need to go to Canada first."

Unexpectedly, this Brazilian corrupt official could speak English.

And after hearing the answer, Ron smiled.

There was an unwritten rule in the passport business; they didn't care about the client's skin color, faith, race, or stance.

No matter how pure or evil the other party was, they only had one question.

How urgent do you need it?

The answer determines the price!

PS: I'm preparing the plot for the Northern State, I've researched a lot of information, some of which I really don't dare to write.

The author is considering whether to start with the shallow and gradually go deeper, slowly telling the story there, worried about dropping heavy material right away, which has risks.