I'm a Master in India

In India, exchanging foreign currency for the local currency is very troublesome, whether it's at a bank or the Foreign Exchange Management Bureau.

They will first ask you to fill out a complicated form, where you must clearly write everything from your personal information to the purpose of exchanging the money.

Then, they will use various instruments to verify the authenticity of the currency. If the amount is large, they will inevitably have to report to higher levels for approval.

If all of the above is okay, you still have to transcribe the serial numbers on the foreign currency one by one!

Yes, you have to write clearly the long string of codes on each banknote.

Back at the airport, when Smith exchanged foreign currency for the first time, he painstakingly copied numbers for more than an hour.

As a retired elderly man with bad joints, he had difficulty holding a pen after that experience.

Originally, he thought it would take Ron some time to get it done, since even the black market would have to go through a process.

But from the time he got out of the car to the time he came back with the money, it didn't even take ten minutes.

This was too fast, so fast that it didn't seem like the style of India as a country.

After opening the paper bag and carefully counting the money, Smith believed it wasn't counterfeit.

"Ron, to be honest, this process went a little too smoothly."

"Mr. Smith, I told you my service would be worth more than its price."

"Yes, you delivered on your promise."

As he said this, Smith took out a few rupees from the paper bag and handed them to Ron in the front seat.

"Here, this is what you deserve; I understand the rules."

Ron glanced at it, about 1000 rupees or so. He didn't stand on ceremony; this was indeed a customary practice.

Usually, if foreign tourists find a local guide to exchange rupees on the black market, they will give a 3% to 5% commission.

After all, the money tourists receive is far higher than the amount settled at the official exchange rate.

Smith was very satisfied with Ron, so he gave a higher commission.

"Thank you for your generosity, sir." Ron gave a respectful Añjali Mudrā.

Anand, who was driving on the side, witnessed the whole process; his round eyes never left those banknotes.

"Ron, this old fat sheep is too tender! I can already smell the aroma of roasted mutton!"

"Shut up, Anand; we've already taken enough."

Ron took a commission from the black market side, and he also took a commission from Smith's side.

Eating from both ends, they had already earned 5500 rupees in this one trip.

But the greedy Anand, seeing that Smith was so easy to fool, was not satisfied.

He had his eyes on the remaining twenty thousand rupees. Foreign tourists, after all, you fleece them once if you can.

Anand's idea wasn't strange; many Indians treat foreign tourists even more ruthlessly than he did.

However, Ron didn't plan to do that; he had his own ideas.

"I've said it before, Anand, I want to treat this as a business."

"Yeah, we're doing the business of fleecing fat sheep right now."

"No, not a one-time deal, but the kind of business that can be done long-term."

Anand blinked. "Ron, I've been in the business of fleecing fat sheep for many years, and unless something unexpected happens, I'll continue to do it long-term in the future."

This idiot! Ron was so angry that he almost slapped his round, fleshy face.

"I want to open a company! Do you know what a company is? A company has to pay attention to its reputation when doing business."

"Open a company?!" Anand stepped on the brakes in surprise.

"Hey, guys, stop arguing!" Smith, who was in the back listening as if to a heavenly book, was almost bumped into the front seat by this sudden stop.

"This is a tip for you; now drive properly!" Smith angrily stuffed 100 rupees into Anand's hand.

He thought the two of them were arguing over the uneven distribution of the commission, and it must have been that short, stout guy who made excessive demands first.

He had already witnessed the other party's venality and obnoxiousness at the train station yesterday.

"Sorry, Mr. Smith; this guy was just distracted." Ron glared at Anand, signaling him to concentrate on driving.

Anand, who had received an extra tip for nothing, flattered with a mouthful of curry-flavored English, "Thank you, sir!"

For the rest of the journey, the two of them quieted down, and Ron occasionally introduced the scenery outside.

The Indian temple they were going to this time was located near the coastline; the temple enshrined an elephant-headed god.

As soon as the taxi stopped in front of the temple gate, a group of children swarmed to the car window.

They stretched out their dark, skinny little hands, shouting, "One rupee! One rupee! Master, give me one rupee!"

"Go away! Go away!" Anand, who got out of the car first, waved his hand to drive them away; he had seen this scene many times.

After finally making room for Smith to get out, the latter felt pity for these children with tattered clothes and dark, emaciated faces.

"You can't be so rude; they're all children!"

Anand couldn't understand English and could only look at Ron.

"Ahem, he's asking you to be a gentleman; these are all pitiful children."

Anand seemed to have heard a great joke and mocked in his native Marathi language.

"This old man doesn't understand India at all. If we weren't here, he would be scammed until he didn't even have a loincloth left!"

Ron pretended not to hear and gestured to lead the way. "Mr. Smith, this way, please."

However, things didn't go so smoothly. When the begging children saw that the people getting out of the car were foreigners, they all surrounded them again.

They had their own way of survival. Those who take taxis are all rich people, and foreigners are the top priority.

Surrounded by the crowd, Smith, facing the outstretched little hands, was very embarrassed.

Claiming to be from the civilized world, he finally took out a few coins.

And this action seemed to stir up a hornet's nest, and more and more children gathered around.

Some sang, some started twisting their bodies and dancing, trying to attract Smith's attention, while shouting loudly, "Give me too! Give me too!"

"Oh! God!" Smith, who was stuck there, couldn't move forward or backward; he had never seen such a scene.

"See, I told you this old man doesn't understand India." Anand still had the mind to make sarcastic remarks.

"Stop watching the show and get to work!" Ron, who was prepared, took out a handful of coins from his pocket and stuffed them into Anand's hand.

These were the small change he had exchanged in advance, all very small denominations of paise.

After receiving the money, Anand shouted a few words to the children and then threw a large handful of coins onto the open space in the distance with a whoosh.

With a whoosh, the black mass of children dispersed in an instant. They ran over to grab the coins, some even fighting each other.

Smith, who had been having a headache from the noise, found that there was no one in front of him, and the quietness was almost like a dream.

"Mr. Smith, let's go quickly!" Ron pulled him straight to the ticket booth.

Mumbai has millions of people living in slums; there are countless such children.

"God! Thank goodness I have you, Ron, otherwise I'm worried about whether I could have gotten out."

"Although I don't want to admit it, this is India. Some of those children come from slums, and some are organized."

"You mean there are organizations behind them?!"

"You're a foreigner; you won't have trouble in the short term, but don't let your guard down."

Mumbai's waters are very deep, and Ron only learned some of it from Anand.

Actually, thinking about it, more than 2000 slums are a natural breeding ground for the gray economy.

Ron could already foresee that he would inevitably deal with some of them in the future.

Because in India, many meetings, promotions, and contracts are facilitated by bribery and protection.