I'm a Master in India

The noises from the market downstairs and the faint sounds from the living room outside roused Ron early in the morning.

He opened the door to find Niya, barefoot, busily preparing breakfast for him.

With each movement and every step she took, the metal bells on her ankles jingled incessantly.

Indian women are very conservative, but also know how to dress, especially in their own homes.

Little Niya had shaken off the fatigue of yesterday; she had not only combed her hair but also applied rose-red nail polish.

The startling red between her fair toes, flashing intermittently, always made Ron unconsciously swallow.

"Baba, breakfast is ready," Niya said happily, putting down the plate and starting to prepare his washing things as soon as she saw Ron get up.

"Niya, I can do it myself."

"This is my job, Baba."

Niya stubbornly prepared the water, moistened the towel, and wrung it out before handing it to him.

Being served like this for the first time, Ron felt both awkward and a little pleased.

Who wouldn't enjoy having a delicate and beautiful young girl constantly fussing around them?

After washing his face and brushing his teeth, Ron sat down at the table, but Niya still stood aside, hands clasped.

"Come and sit down."

"That's not how it's supposed to be~", Niya refused charmingly.

Ron ignored her, walked straight over, took her hand, and pressed her down to sit opposite him.

"In our house, I make the rules."

Niya was first a little at a loss, but after hearing this sentence, she nodded, suppressing the joy in her heart.

Next, without Ron having to lift a finger, Niya carefully divided the food on the plate for him, making sure it was just the right amount for one bite.

Looking at her pair of fair, bare hands flying back and forth, Ron suddenly thought of something that spoiled the mood.

"Niya, from now on, when you go to the bathroom, don't use water, you must use toilet paper."

"Ah?!" Niya, caught off guard, was immediately stunned.

"This is also a rule in our house, hmm!"

"Got it..." Niya whispered, her face flushed with shame.

Breakfast was in the usual Indian style, milk tea with naan bread.

Because Ron had already told her, Niya prepared vegetarian food.

The naive girl still thought Ron was maintaining the habits of a high caste, after all, Hinduism's staple food is vegetarian.

In fact, that was not the case at all; Ron was purely thinking about his sphincter.

"I might not be home for lunch today, buy something for yourself, the market is downstairs."

As he spoke, Ron counted out 200 rupees for her, a rather generous gesture.

"That's too much, Baba," Niya quickly waved her hand, refusing to accept it no matter what.

She knew that Ron currently had no job and was completely living off his savings. Now that there was another mouth to feed, the pressure would inevitably be greater.

"We have money now, take it," Ron said, shaking a wad of banknotes in his hand.

Yesterday, he received a commission of 4600 rupees, plus the 20-pound tip Smith gave him, Ron's savings had exceeded 5000 rupees.

The rent he had been worrying about before was no longer a problem.

Seeing this large sum of money, Niya finally carefully accepted the 200 rupees.

"I will spend it sparingly, Baba."

Ron smiled and pinched her smooth chin, then wiped his mouth and prepared to go out.

"Oh, right, apart from the vicinity of the market, don't run around to other places."

Tsk, he would have to find time to familiarize Little Niya with the surrounding environment.

Downstairs, Anand, pedaling his tricycle, was waiting at the alley entrance with a strange smile on his face.

"I heard that a little maid came looking for you yesterday. I thought you wouldn't be able to get out of bed this morning."

"I can take on ten of you!" Ron glared at him unhappily.

Anand laughed heartily, "Usually, the people who can't do it are the ones who emphasize it the most."

"You'll see it in the future," Ron said, getting into the back seat with the air of a master.

"Seriously, want a mouthful of paan to perk you up? It must be tiring getting up from a woman's body in the morning."

The paan Anand spoke of was a type of chewing tobacco, usually wrapped in leaves with betel nuts and various spices mixed together.

With one bite, bright red juice splattered in the mouth, which the local natives liked very much.

But Ron couldn't stand this strong taste; he had always kept his distance from betel nuts.

"Hurry up and leave, don't keep Mr. Smith waiting."

Fleecing the fat sheep was the priority; enjoying himself could be put off until later.

It was still a distance from where they lived to the Taj Mahal Hotel.

Anand's short legs were thick and strong, and he pedaled the tricycle quickly and steadily, arriving at the hotel in just a quarter of an hour.

"We're here," he parked the car far away from the hotel.

"Why not get a little closer?" Getting out here meant walking a distance to reach the entrance.

"Tricycles are not allowed to park near the hotel entrance, not even close. You know, people like us who are trying to make a living are usually untouchables."

Although such differential treatment was somewhat inhumane, there was no resentment on Anand's face.

Perhaps this was the normal attitude of the high caste towards the untouchables; Ron was just an exception.

"Okay, I'll go in and ask. By the way, do you know any taxi drivers?"

"My cousin drives a taxi. If you need one, I can borrow it. I can drive too."

"Wait a moment, I'll go and inquire."

Straightening his collar, Ron walked into the hotel with composure.

The security guard at the door just glanced at him and let him through.

Anand was not surprised by this; if it had been him, he would have been kicked out long ago.

Whether it was Ron's appearance, skin color, or his words and deeds, Dalits could never learn it.

The difference between the high and low castes, in addition to appearance, also lies in different living habits, language habits, and physical movements.

That's why no low caste person has ever dared to impersonate a high caste person, because it's too easy to be exposed.

The splendor of the lobby did not distract Ron's attention.

After he came to the front desk and told them his intentions, the waiter told him that the hotel had already made a wake-up call to Smith.

Since he was awake, it was easy to handle. With the help of a 10-rupee tip, Ron dialed Smith's room number.

After saying a few words into the receiver, he hung up the phone and came outside.

"Anand, go and borrow a taxi. Mr. Smith is going to the temple and the Elephanta Caves today."

These two places are very far away, and relying on pedaling a tricycle would not get them there by noon.

As soon as work was mentioned, Anand didn't say anything, and immediately rode away.

Twenty minutes later, when a dressed-up Smith came out of the hotel door, a yellow taxi was also parked right at the entrance.

"Ron, you did a great job! You are the most attentive guide I have ever met."

"I said I would give you value for money full service," Ron bent down to open the car door for him, "Should we go to the temple in the north first, or the Elephanta Caves in the south?"

"Let's go to the temple first, but before that, there is one more thing to do?"

"Please speak."

"I don't have many rupees on me anymore, I want to go to the Foreign Exchange Management Bureau or the bank to exchange some rupees."

Yesterday's big shopping spree had drained all the foreign currency that Smith had exchanged before.

He would have to spend money in the two places he was going to today, so he had to prepare in advance.

After hearing Smith's explanation, Ron's mind 'dinged'.

"Anand, do you know where there is a place to exchange foreign currency? Not a bank or the Foreign Exchange Management Bureau, but that kind of..."

"Of course!" Anand exclaimed excitedly, "The black market! The exchange rate on the black market is much higher than the bank, and we can get a commission!"

Privately exchanging foreign currency has always been a lucrative business. Just like yesterday's touting, it is another major source of gray income for guides.

It's just that this kind of good thing doesn't happen often. Most foreign tourists are more cautious and don't want to cause trouble.

Now seeing the fat sheep overflowing with oil, Anand's mouth watered.

The two whispered a few words, and Ron turned around with a smile.

"Mr. Smith, according to the official exchange rate, 1 pound can only be exchanged for 36 rupees. But I know a place where I can increase the ratio to 45."

"What?" Smith opened his mouth in surprise, "Is it safe? I don't want to get into trouble."

"Of course, I wouldn't tell ordinary guests, after all, I also bear the risk."

At this time, Ron had already put on a sincere expression, as if he had made a great determination.