I'm a Master in India

“Wait, Ron, did you guys reach some agreement behind my back?” Anand's shrewd eyes darted around his round face.

“This gentleman hired me to be his guide during his time in Mumbai.”

“What?!” Anand shrieked, “You can’t do that! I touched his luggage first! He’s my customer!”

“Don’t get excited,” Ron calmly patted him on the shoulder, “Mr. Smith offered it himself. You can ask him.”

Seeing Anand turning red, Smith subconsciously hid a step behind Ron, while resolving to stay away from this manic.

The poor Anand, after being broken by this, still had to put on his brightest smile to try to win over the customer, but Smith completely ignored him.

“Ron…” Anand said with a mournful face, “I’ll never lie to you again. I’ll even return half of the 20 rupees from last time. Can you let this fat sheep go to me, please?”

“It’s not a question of letting or not letting. This Mr. Smith needs a guide who is proficient in English and familiar with the local situation in Mumbai.”

“I’m the most familiar with Mumbai! I know every corner of this place like the back of my hand! What should be seen, what shouldn't be seen, I know it all. I can even take you to see some extra exciting things.”

“Tell me more about these exciting things.” Ron's curiosity was piqued.

“Like Wanji Street, Leopold Cafe… Those who patronize there are all very successful people. Prostitution, smoking weed, loan sharking, black market trading, smuggling, forging passports, and…”

“Stop!” Ron had to reach out to interrupt him, “Mr. Smith is already retired. He probably can't do anything with women.”

“Then…”

“Alright, I got it.”

Ron waved his hand, then turned to face Smith.

“This fellow is called Anand. He's my friend. He doesn’t have bad intentions, it’s just that there’s a bit of a misunderstanding due to the language barrier.

However, this guy has a rickshaw. He can take us to see the most charming scenery of Mumbai without reservation: the Gateway of India, the Gandhi Museum, the Mahalaxmi Temple, the Elephanta Caves…”

“Oh, that sounds good.” Smith nodded repeatedly. This was exactly why he came to Mumbai.

He had seen enough of those big cities in Europe. The unique cultural style of India fascinated him. As an art practitioner, he needed to see these places.

“So, I thought it would be more interesting to sit in a rickshaw and slowly savor Mumbai?”

“Good idea.” Smith approved of his suggestion.

Ron nodded politely, then turned back with a smile, “Do I need you, Anand?”

“One hundred percent need!” Anand shouted, “You need me very much! I’m almost crying for your situation! Without an excellent me by your side, who knows what terrible things you’ll encounter!”

“Then where is your rickshaw?”

“Coming right up!” Anand shouted, immediately rushing out of the platform and towards the outside of the train station.

When Ron helped Smith carry his luggage out, Anand’s rickshaw was already parked at the entrance, cleaned very neatly.

Without Ron having to call him, he diligently busied himself. Arranging luggage, setting up the sunshade, very efficient.

“Mr. Smith, back to the hotel first?” As a guide, Ron also brazenly got into the back seat.

“Are there any worthwhile places along the way? I prefer to browse the craft market.” Smith was very excited; he couldn’t wait.

“Then go to Colaba Market. From clothing and accessories to souvenirs and handicrafts, everything is available. The most important thing is that there is a Mondegar Cafe there, with authentic Indian flavors.”

“Haha, I can’t wait.”

After coaxing Smith with a few words, Ron switched from English to Marathi.

“Anand, go to Colaba Market.”

“Wait, what were you guys just talking about?” Not understanding, Anand scratched his head while pedaling.

His English vocabulary only consisted of “Yes, No, OK, No Problem.”

“That’s not important. You answer me one question first.”

“What?”

“Do you know anyone at Colaba Market?”

“Of course! I know every shop, every boss there!”

“Very good!” Ron nodded in satisfaction, “When we get there, you go find reliable people first, and then tell them. For every purchase my guest makes in their shop today, I want a 20% commission!”

“That’s impossible! Ron, it’s too crazy!” Anand was shocked by his appetite, even forgetting to continue pedaling with his short legs.

“Nothing is impossible, or I can take Mr. Smith to other people’s shops to browse. The choice is ours. You can tell them my original words.”

“But this commission is really too high…” Anand looked conflicted.

“Don’t think I don’t know the exorbitant profits of those handicrafts. They’re all handmade, with almost no cost. And don’t mention labor to me. The cheapest thing in India is people.”

Anand opened his mouth, finally nodding dejectedly. “Okay, I’ll try.”

Ron directly raised the commission to 20%, so how should he, as the middleman, quote a price?

23%, or 25%? It couldn't be 30%, could it? Those old buddies would spit in his face.

Ignoring Anand, whose eyes were darting around, Ron started to introduce the scenery along the way to Smith with care.

Although he wasn't very familiar with Mumbai either, he remembered a lot. It was more than enough to fool a foreigner.

And sure enough, Smith recognized the scholarly aura on Ron. In his opinion, this was a noble quality, while the mercenary and cunning Anand was what he hated.

Arriving at Colaba Market, Ron began to introduce the handicrafts here: amulets, sculptures, masks, temple models, each with detailed explanations.

Anand, who had quietly disappeared during this time, had already colluded with acquaintances to prepare for the next routine.

They were clear about these tricks. After all, as the largest fraud country in later generations, the talent of the Indians in this aspect was exceptionally good.

Ron first elicited from Smith what he might be interested in, and then selected suitable shops based on the list Anand passed over.

Precise targeting, hitting the mark every time.

Smith didn't disappoint them. This wealthy London gentleman had great interest in the dazzling array of handicrafts.

To put him at ease, Ron also helped to bargain, often arguing with the shopkeepers until their faces were red.

He could cut something that others quoted 2000 rupees down to 500 rupees.

Worry-free, too worry-free, this guide was worth hiring!

Smith waved his hand and bought it!

1 pound could be exchanged for 36 rupees. This little bit of money was nothing to him.

Smith even felt that the prices in India were too cheap, wanting to buy everything he saw.

As a result, two hours later, Ron and Anand were carrying a large bag full of things in their hands.

The Smith, who had become addicted to shopping, even collected a uniquely Indian lunch box.

Fortunately, the old man was tired after wandering around for half a day and prepared to return to the hotel to rest.

“Ron, I just want to take a shower now and then have a good sleep, so let’s take a taxi to the hotel.”

“No problem.” Ron, who readily agreed, pulled Anand aside while hailing a taxi.

“This is the bill I just recorded. You go collect the money now. I’ll come to your place this afternoon to pick it up.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve also kept a copy.” Anand was even more concerned about this matter than Ron.

Saints above, Anand was full of excitement at this moment. This deal today was enough to eat for half a year!

“OK, I’ll go send Mr. Smith now.”

With a taxi, the next trip was faster. At the hotel, Smith even invited Ron to lunch.

“I’m very happy today. I hope we have a more pleasant journey tomorrow.”

While saying this, Smith also handed him a 20-pound note as a tip.

Damn, the British are really rich. They give hundreds of rupees at a time. This is more than the money he gets for being a guide.

After receiving the tip, Ron hurriedly bid farewell to Smith and rushed to Victoria Station.

He timed it. Four hours shouldn’t have passed yet.

When he stood on the platform again, a呜呜鸣笛声 came from afar.

Mumbai was very hot after two in the afternoon. After rushing all the way, Ron extravagantly bought two bottles of Indian iced cola.

This time he learned to be good, directly holding up a sign and hiding in the shade to wait.

He didn't want to experience the sweaty thing again. That lingering curry smell was awful.

But when the crowd dispersed, it seemed that the train still didn't have the person he was waiting for.

Could it be delayed again? Ron looked blank.

It couldn't be delayed twice in a row, could it? He prepared to ask again.

Just as Ron turned around, a figure wrapped in a light cyan sari from head to toe was standing there prettily.

She was veiled, slender, with black hair to her shoulders. Judging from her exposed wrists, her skin was fair.

“You are…?” Ron seemed to realize something.

The girl took off her veil, her delicate face coexisting with tenderness and charm, her bright and captivating blue eyes full of smiles.

“Baba~”

“Wh-what?!” Ron, who was immersed in it, suddenly shuddered.

“What’s wrong?” Nya looked at him in confusion.

“What did you just call me?”

“Baba, a special honorific in Hindi. Respect for teachers, saints, and very powerful people, and of course, also includes sir.”

Nya didn't know why Ron asked this. He should understand these things.

“If sir doesn’t like it, should I change the address?”

“No! You should still call me Daddy~”

Ron righteously refused, but the smile on his face became even more perverted.