I'm a Master in India

Sunil had recently moved into a new home near Malabar Hill, finally achieving the ultimate dream of countless Indians: living in the affluent South Mumbai.

While the apartment building was a bit old and had an ugly pink building directly in front of it, that was the only drawback.

To the left, there was an endless expanse of the sea.

His sea. He could open the windows without worry, no longer bothered by flying garbage, and above him stretched a vast blue sky.

His new home was clean and tidy, with solid wood furniture that was grand and elegant. More importantly, the interior was filled with light.

Throughout the afternoon, the light and shadows constantly shifted, always pleasant, bright but not harsh. Even during the monsoon season, there was a gentle glow.

The aroma of fish curry filled the kitchen, where his new wife was stirring the pot, waiting for the steaming hot meal to be ready.

Sunday seemed to flow particularly slowly. Sunil, or rather, Bania, half-reclining on the sofa, couldn't help but reminisce about the past.

Sunil was his middle name. His friends and business partners were more accustomed to calling him Bania.

But recently, Bania stubbornly insisted they change their address, as it was crucial to his grand plan for getting rich.

Yes, getting rich. This was the dream he had been relentlessly pursuing for years.

When Bania first came to Mumbai, he was penniless, a genuine poor boy.

He was diligent and hardworking, saving up a little money by doing odd jobs and running errands.

He originally thought he could integrate into the city with his own two hands, but that was not the case.

He was turned away time and time again, the most frequent answer he heard was "No."

"Can you help me connect the LPG?"

"No."

"Can I book a train ticket?"

"No."

Bania discovered that India was a country that liked to say "No."

Each of these "No"s was a test for you. They were India's Great Wall, keeping all foreign invaders out.

If you wanted to gain a foothold here, you absolutely couldn't be discouraged. You had to become more courageous with each setback, charging towards it with high spirits and conquering it.

Bania's true enlightenment in this city came from an encounter while trying to get LPG.

India faced energy shortages, and the government held an absolute monopoly on the supply of liquefied petroleum gas. Domestic gas was delivered to each household in heavy red cylinders.

He went to the designated LPG supply station for his area, but the staff told him there was "no quota left."

The Mumbai government's much-touted "Five-Year Plan" couldn't even provide enough gas for its residents.

"When will the quota be released?"

"Maybe in August."

It was only May then. Were his family of four supposed to eat cold bread for three months?

So someone suggested he try his luck in the black market.

He didn't know where the black market was, so he could only loiter around the supply station, trying to intercept the delivery guys carrying LPG.

He indeed saw a porter riding along Harkness Road. Bania stopped the guy and asked him how much a cylinder of LPG cost.

The other person said the LPG wasn't the problem; connecting it was the key. The guy assured him that if he could find someone in the black market willing to install it, he should call him immediately.

Still the black market. Bania quietly remembered this word.

But his home had no phone, so he could only go to another supply station.

He walked into the supply station's office and told the staff, "I want a cylinder of LPG."

Then he explained the problem with the previous supply station having no quota.

"Do you have any connections in the Rajya Sabha?" the staff member asked him, referring to the upper house of the Indian Parliament.

"No, why?" Bania answered foolishly.

"If you know someone in there, things will be much easier. Each Member of Parliament has a quota of LPG that they can allocate themselves."

At this point, an elderly woman nearby chimed in, "He has two children!"

She looked at the female staff member and said sincerely, "Two hungry children. Without LPG to heat milk, the children keep crying. What can you expect from him as a father? His own children can't even drink a drop of hot milk!"

The staff member's heart softened, and she finally agreed to send a cylinder of LPG to Bania's home the next day.

Walking out of the office, Bania thanked the kind elderly woman profusely.

However, the other party said something that Bania would remember to this day.

"There is no integrity in this city of Mumbai. Sometimes you have to lie."

Bania finally got that cylinder of LPG. He didn't follow the proper procedures and fill out forms, but instead fully utilized the female employee's compassion. After all, who doesn't have young children at home?

Once he broke through this barrier, the staff member no longer made things difficult and even proactively told him about a loophole: if he bought a commercial LPG cylinder instead of a domestic one from the supply station, he could get a quota immediately.

Commercial LPG cylinders were naturally larger and more expensive than domestic ones, but they didn't encounter the "quota" problem.

To put it bluntly, when you went to the supply station to buy the cheaper domestic product, you would be deliberately made things difficult for.

They forced you to buy commercial LPG on the black market, fabricating all sorts of reasons to do so.

Even if you went through countless difficulties and finally got the subsidized domestic LPG.

You would find that the amount that should have lasted for three months would actually only last for three weeks at most.

Bania found himself in this awkward situation. The cylinder of LPG delivered from the supply station was used up in less than twenty days.

At that time, he was hosting relatives and friends from his hometown, and the half-prepared banquet had to be hastily concluded, which made him feel extremely embarrassed.

Afterward, Bania found out through inquiries that there was a problem in a certain part of the supply station, which led to most of the LPG cylinders being opened and some gas extracted.

This extracted LPG would be sold at a high price on the black market, which was the origin of the so-called commercial LPG.

This gave Bania a solid lesson: in the city of Mumbai, hard work alone would never lead to success.

He began to embrace the black market, trying every possible way to exploit its loopholes. The first thing he tried was the LPG black market.

He found that the only way for ordinary families to ensure a continuous supply of LPG at home was to order two cylinders at once.

This naturally required under-the-table operations, either registering one of the LPG cylinders under a different address or bribing officials to achieve the goal.

Bania initially acted as a middleman, earning a commission by introducing customers to the black market. Later, he simply bribed officials and set up his own supply station.

He lied time and time again, used unscrupulous means time and time again, and succeeded time and time again.

Bania had a new understanding of this city.

Mumbai was a city of deception, and everyone in the city was an accomplice.

Those who earned a living through honest work were far less respected than those who gained benefits through deceit and trickery.

Because in Mumbai, "when one person attains enlightenment, even their chickens and dogs ascend to heaven," and deceit and trickery were shortcuts to climbing up. Such people were quick-witted and good at doing business.

Who couldn't earn money honestly? What was so great about that?

But a well-designed, well-intentioned scam, that was an art!

Finally, five years ago, Bania saved up enough capital and became a factory owner.

The black market could only earn petty profits in the end. To truly become a big shot and have those officials treat you as an honored guest, you had to have your own business.

Facts proved that he was right.

Although there were many difficulties in operating in recent years, the quality of Fengshen electric fans was also mediocre.

But Indians were not picky, and they had no right to be picky. His products sold well.

Now he had not only moved into a Malabar Hill apartment that most people only dreamed of, but also married a more beautiful and younger wife.

Hmm, she looked much more pleasing to the eye than his previous shrew.

One day, sooner or later, he would move up to Malabar Hill and buy a villa there.

Then he would get a younger model, and then his life would be perfect.

And with the profits he earned, Bania's connections became deeper and deeper.

Recently, the official he often collaborated with promised Bania that he would introduce him to "Tiger" Thackeray.

Bania was ecstatic about this and was excited for a long time.

That was Thackeray, the man at the very top of Mumbai.

Bania was well aware of the animosity his factory's recent actions would attract.

He had heard of Dr. Sur's name, and of course, he also knew the rumors between him and "Tiger" Thackeray.

However, Bania was not intimidated. As long as he also connected with Thackeray, everything would be easy.

He was also envious of the evaporative cooler business, after all, the advertisements were shown on All India Television every day.

It was said that the other party had even opened a branch factory in Uttar Pradesh. How long had it been?

From the appearance of the evaporative cooler to the daily advertisements, it had only been half a year.

The other party's expansion speed in half a year far exceeded Bania's five years of accumulation. How could he not be envious?

Coincidentally, Sur Appliances had recently started to venture into the traditional electric fan market, which gave Bania more confidence to enter the fray.

You can come and steal my business, there's no reason I can't go and take your profits.

This evaporative cooler thing wasn't complicated. His factory workers disassembled a few units and roughly understood the principle.

He didn't need to make it as exquisite as Sur Appliances. As long as it worked, that was enough; anything more was pure waste.

The most important thing was that it was cheap. Bania knew the consumption habits of Indians too well.

Most people even chose the cheapest restaurants to eat, let alone buying expensive household appliances.

Relying on the price advantage, it wasn't difficult to get a piece of the pie.

He also figured out Sur Appliances' supply channels, so he followed suit and found a route through Singapore.

This kind of thing couldn't be kept a secret at all. After all, ships arrived at customs every day, and a little inquiry would reveal everything.

The move that Bania was most proud of, of course, was changing his name.

His middle name was very close to Sur in pronunciation, which even saved him the trouble of advertising.

All India Television broadcasts it every day. Do you expect those who are illiterate to distinguish who is who?

The entire product, from the shape, color, logo, name... everything was identical.

He even took a sample unit to ask his neighbors. Not a single one of the five people realized that it was a fake imitation.

Excellent, this is a sure thing!

Bania looked out the window. He eagerly awaited the end of the monsoon season.

The humid air prevented his evaporative cooler from showing its advantage. He was waiting for the optimal time.

Ding-dong, the doorbell rang.

Bania waved his twelve-year-old son to open the door. At this hour, it must be the newspaper boy.

Indeed, his son quickly brought in a few newspapers.

Bania had long developed the habit of reading newspapers, as they often contained business opportunities.

He comfortably opened one, and then he froze.