I'm a Master in India

Ron originally planned to return to the city early, but his uncle's family was so enthusiastic that they insisted he stay for a few days.

There was already Ron's family's old courtyard here, and although they had moved away, the place was still there.

Ron didn't refuse, deciding to stay for one night first. He had also lived here for a long time when he was a child.

By the evening, his other two uncles had also arrived with their families. One was in the city, and the other was in the neighboring village, neither of which was far away.

The Sur family's dining room was very large, with a high ceiling, some heavy old-fashioned furniture, and a large chandelier.

Even with the entire family of over twenty people seated, the dining room still seemed very spacious.

The lively scene goes without saying; Ron had over ten cousins, and each of them treated him very well.

Actually, Ron was not an only child; he had brothers before, but they unfortunately died young, leaving him as the only one.

Being the youngest, he was naturally well taken care of in the family.

After dinner ended and everyone had left, he finally had time to rest and take a hot bath.

There was a marble private bath in the manor, and without Ron even needing to say anything, a team of maids came in to change his clothes, shave him, and trim his hair.

What made him uncomfortable was that these maids were only wearing a layer of gauze, which was equivalent to wearing nothing by the misty poolside.

Yet, they were all quite attractive and excellent at massaging, making Ron feel distracted.

Finally, he still called Nia in; he wasn't at ease using the others.

After thoroughly enjoying the treatment of a master, he decided to visit Nia's home before returning to the city the next day.

Ron still needed a few truly trusted subordinates, and servants and playmates he had grown up with were undoubtedly the most reliable.

He had only seen Nia's house from a distance yesterday, but after entering the courtyard, he found that it was not much better than the slums of Mumbai.

The mud walls and thatched roof house also had only one room. Before her sister got married, the entire family of eight squeezed into this small space.

After Ron came in, he was invited to sit on the only portable bed in the house, similar to the one in Anand's house back then, crudely woven with ropes.

The room was both a bedroom and a kitchen, and the walls and ceiling were as black as charcoal from the soot of the hearth.

No wonder the newspaper said that in the villages of northern India, the dry cough of people suffering from tuberculosis was as common as the lowing of cattle and the ringing of temple bells.

Ron found it hard to imagine that the Vaishyas in the north lived even worse than the Dalits in the south.

But Nia's brother, Anil, told him that it was like this in every household in the village, and their family's situation was even slightly better.

At least a few of his brothers had work, and apart from the cramped living space, the family had enough to eat and wear.

"Where are Shiva and Ram?" Ron asked, referring to Nia's other two brothers.

"They are patrolling the fields; those hemp plants are very important," Anil said, bringing him warmed milk.

There were six water buffaloes in the courtyard, so getting some milk wasn't difficult.

"Do you all know how to use guns?" Ron gestured with his hand.

"Yes!" Anil shook his head. "We've fired live ammunition."

"Come with me to Mumbai. You can bring your family too."

"Okay!" Anil agreed without hesitation; he was originally a servant of Ron's family.

"Just you is not enough. Go find some more in the village, only young and strong people, no one with bad habits."

Ron's line of servants was not limited to Nia's family; it was just that because his parents left early, many had lost contact.

But as long as he needed them, he could rally a group of people at any time. The Brahmins' authority was deeply rooted, like law.

Anil nodded and made a mental note; his two brothers would handle this matter. While they were chatting, Nia was also busy inside and out.

She was skilled at boiling water and cooking, and from a rural perspective, she was a very virtuous girl.

The luxurious life in Mumbai had not blinded her.

Seeing her fair and tender little face covered in soot, Ron couldn't help but reach out and pinch it.

She giggled, and her family also laughed, laughing very happily, with a certain longing in their smiles.

Unfortunately, Nia's belly wasn't big, which made everyone, including Anil, feel a little disappointed.

Ron didn't know their thoughts; he took some money out of his bag. Not much, a few tens of thousands of rupees.

This was for Anil and the others who were willing to follow him to Mumbai, for their moving expenses.

Ron was a Brahmin; a master ordering his servants to do something required no reason.

But looking at this dilapidated house, they couldn't even raise the money for the journey to Mumbai. Without some moving expenses, they wouldn't be able to leave.

Nia's family accepted it with profuse thanks, and Ron calmly accepted their touch of the feet ritual; the master-servant relationship could not be disrupted.

After sitting here for only a few minutes, Ron left with Nia and Anil. The former was his personal maid, and the latter was his personal bodyguard.

There was nothing good to see in the rural areas of Uttar Pradesh; apart from various tragedies, life here would not change significantly for ten years.

Returning to Varanasi city, Ratan still drove them in that Civic. He swore that he had connections there and could help Ron sort out all the procedures the film crew needed.

"Why didn't you let the driver Ishan drive?" Ron asked curiously; the family clearly had a dedicated driver.

"He's going to buy alcohol today," Ratan replied without looking back as he sharply turned the steering wheel.

"What?"

"Foreign liquor, it's very hard to buy."

Indian men all like to drink alcohol. If you classify them this way, there are only two types of people in India: those who drink "Indian liquor" and those who drink "British liquor."

"Indian liquor" is for the poor and rural people, including palm wine, arrack, and self-brewed inferior liquor.

"British liquor" is naturally for the rich, including rum, whiskey, beer, gin, and various other liquors left behind by the British.

The Sur family consumed at least one bottle of high-end whiskey, the real British kind, every week.

But in Uttar Pradesh, foreign liquor was very difficult to buy, and someone had to be specifically assigned to wait at the store.

Every day, the shops selling foreign liquor were packed with at least fifty people, all servants buying alcohol for their masters.

The Sur family's driver had gone to queue up early in the morning, and since no one else could drive, Ratan had to do it himself.

Life in Uttar Pradesh was indeed completely different from Mumbai, and Ron hadn't even experienced the tip of the iceberg yet.

Upon arriving at the hotel, Ron introduced Ratan to Mary and the others. The latter, who had been bossy in the countryside, instead appeared apprehensive.

In his eyes, these were all Bollywood filmmakers, capable of creating all sorts of magical and incredible images.

Indians, including many Brahmins, had a fondness for Bollywood filmmakers.

Because filmmakers are great dreamers, and in India, their dreams are bound to be bigger than those of ordinary people.

They are dreaming a collective dream, a dream of nearly a billion people.

Ron said he needed a guesthouse to accommodate the film crew. Ratan didn't say a word and excitedly ran off to make arrangements.

"Are you really planning to have Shiv and the others stay in a guesthouse?" Mary couldn't help but ask.

"The budget is tight," Ron said, spreading his hands, indicating he had no money.

"I can't imagine how many people will be able to keep their stomachs intact," Mary sighed.

"Is there a problem?" Ron asked curiously.

"Urmila has been having an upset stomach for the past two days, and I'm very worried about her condition."

Ron was startled and looked up at the lobby. "If I remember correctly, this is the best hotel in the city."

"It's my responsibility; I should have stopped her."

Mary explained that after Ron left yesterday, a few of them went shopping in the city and couldn't resist being attracted by the local snacks.

Fortunately, Mary had received Ron's warning and didn't dare to try them easily.

But Urmila, relying on her native Indian constitution, couldn't control her mouth and ate a lot.

As a result, she had to rush back to the hotel to use the restroom after only half of the street tour and hadn't recovered until today.

The fact proved that Indian street food was universally lethal, regardless of nationality.

"I'll go up and take a look," Ron said, turning around.

"You?" Mary looked at him with some doubt.

"I'm a doctor!" Ron said righteously, puffing out his chest.

In the room, Leena was taking care of the bedridden Urmila. The young girl's face was pale, and her eyes were listless.

When Ron came in, she didn't even have the strength to get up.

"Have you taken any medicine?" he asked.

"I brought some myself, but the effect isn't very good," Urmila said, looking at the bedside.

Ron took the medicine bottle and looked at it, shaking his head. "Bring the medicine I brought."

Nia quickly took out a first-aid kit from her luggage bag, which contained Ron's top-notch special medicines prepared for various difficult and complex diseases.

He hadn't been a doctor for nothing; in over a year, he had treated countless people around him and was no less capable than a real attending physician.

With the addition of various drug channels, diarrhea and the like were easily dealt with.

After feeding Urmila the medicine, Ron asked Nia to prepare hot water.

"I'll give you a physical therapy session; this will help you recover faster."

"Physical therapy?" Urmila was confused.

"It's an abdominal massage," Ron said directly and clearly.

"Ah?" Urmila let out a small gasp.

She looked at Mary and Leena, who both gave her reassuring looks.

Okay, Urmila comforted herself, there was certainly no problem with what Dr. Sur said.

Moreover, she was an actress and had to overcome various situations, not be as conservative as ordinary Indian women.

"If it's inconvenient, an injection is also fine," Ron suggested.

"No, let's do physical therapy!" Nineteen-year-old Urmila couldn't imagine herself being injected.

Nia brought hot water, Ron washed his hands, and then gently pressed on Urmila's lower abdomen through her clothes.

It was very soft and warm.

Urmila's fair and tender face immediately turned red.

Her eyes darted around in a panic, but Mary and the others had already quietly withdrawn.

Ron's hand slowly applied force, massaging her muscles according to the meridian directions.

Oh, it was a tingly, warm sensation rising; it really seemed to be very comfortable.

Urmila's panicked emotions slowly calmed down, and her chest no longer pounded like a drum.

"Are you feeling any better?" Ron asked.

"Mm," she nodded with a blush on her face.

"You're not allowed to be greedy during filming, otherwise we'll be in big trouble."

"Yes, Dr. Sur," Urmila said obediently.

"Call me Ron."

"Ro-Ro-Ron Baba."

Hiss, Ron's hand faltered, almost breaking the rhythm.

This was his weak spot, especially when a woman called him that.

Oh dear, it seemed he had quite a few weak spots.

Bah, he just wanted to have sex, he was just lusting after her body.

"Urmila, Uttar Pradesh is different from South India; don't apply the experience from there here."

"Why?" she asked.

"The languages in the two places are different, so it's normal for the ideas to be different. Similarly, the understanding of Durga also varies. I'll talk to you about it separately later."

"Okay, Ron Baba, thank you for your hard work."

Why be polite? He loved injections the most. Ron wanted to say something else, but there was a knock on the door outside.

It was Mary; she said Shiv had arrived with the crew, and they needed to discuss the upcoming filming plan.