I am a master in India

Chapter 421 Sense of Oppression

The steel plant is located near an intersection and is surrounded by a high wall.

In front of it is a muddy open space where trucks covered with tarpaulins slowly drive by every day.

Although it has nothing in common with the Goa resort in other respects, the Reddy Steelworks’ brochures are just as exquisite as those of the resort.

Ron had received a copy of the document two days earlier when he asked to visit the steel plant.

The cover features a flower made of steel bars, whose rough texture can be clearly felt when touched, creating a stark contrast with the smooth paper.

The brochure depicts a skyscraper made of concrete and glass towering into the clouds.

This is an advertising agency's idea to show that steel bars produced in factories are used to build apartments and office buildings.

In this picture, you can't see any symbols representing the workers who made these steel bars.

But it still serves as a reminder of the connection between this ordinary, unassuming steel mill and the international metropolis.

This steel plant is just one of countless unassuming nodes in India’s modernization process, attracting large numbers of people from remote areas to work and produce building materials for cities in another faraway place.

Perhaps the workers who built these materials into a modern metropolis were the very people who left the village of Kussel.

Ron came to this factory filled with the sharp, piercing noise of metal clanging, with the sole purpose of touring the production process and, incidentally, to learn about the workers' lives.

The factory yard was filled with thick smoke and the smell of grease. The material conveyor chute that cut through the sky on the roof suddenly started creaking and groaning as it operated, and then suddenly stopped.

At first glance, the factory is a very confusing place. Apart from the noise coming from all directions, the entire factory appears unusually empty.

The factory entrance was quite lively, with security guards constantly searching and checking the workers leaving the factory and recording the license plate numbers of the trucks entering the factory.

But when Ron entered the factory, he didn't see many people.

The factory's administrative building is a two-story, white-painted concrete building, but it looks abandoned.

Through its small window, you can't see the office staff sitting inside at all.

There was also a temple in the factory, which, although very clean and well-maintained, was also deserted.

The factory is dotted with workshops of all sizes, each covered with a thick layer of coal ash.

Here, pig iron ore is processed into heat-treated finished products through a complex process.

When Ron glanced casually at the workers in the workshop, they seemed so small compared to the equipment they were operating.

He could only barely make out their humble figures through the firelight and the thick smoke billowing from the furnace.

"How many people are in the factory?" Ron asked.

"More than a thousand people, all obedient and trouble-free migrant workers," the factory manager said with a smile.

"How come I can't see so many people? There don't seem to be many in the workshop either." Ron looked around.

"Some are in the dormitory, some are at work. Would Mr. Suer like to go into the workshop to take a look?" Manager Rao didn't seem to care much.

"Okay, let's go in and take a look."

Inside the factory, rolling mills are continuously processing steel ingots into heat-treated steel bars.

It wasn't until Ron walked in that he began to understand, albeit slightly, what was happening inside the factory.

This is the heart of the entire factory, a huge, open workshop emitting deafening noise and hot air blasting from furnaces reaching 1200 degrees Celsius.

Through the smoke and noise, the workers he saw looked as if they had just crawled out of hell.

Their faces were wrapped in tattered strips of cloth to prevent them from being burned by the heat.

In this huge, noisy, and hot workshop, they all became dwarfs without exception.

Here, the workers seemed to have become like steel bars being processed by machines. At the head of the rolling mill, Ron saw a worker using long metal tongs to fill steel ingots into the furnace.

On the other side of the massive factory, there were two more workers. Just like before, their faces were also wrapped in tattered rags, and they were using the same metal pliers to pick steel bars from the fast-moving conveyor belt.

The freshly forged steel bars were still glowing red-hot. The two of them, like drunken dancers, carefully picked up one end of the steel bars and worked together to move them to the side of the factory.

They only rest when they are so exhausted they can't breathe. Among the workers wielding metal clamps is the main character of the entire factory—steel.

Modern engineering and proprietary technology licensed from a German company melted them into a red liquid.

Ron watched them twist and deform on the conveyor belt, hissing as they passed through the water pipes.

Water in pipes is used to cool the surface of liquids and give them toughness and hardness, which is important for steel as a building material.

At that moment, the conveyor belt seemed to transform into a fiery serpent from hell, its long tongue flicking out, and the workers became its slaves.

If the rolling mill is the heart of the entire factory, then this bright red, pulsating fire serpent is its soul.

Wearing a hard hat, Ron was awestruck by the massive steel workshop.

He does own factories larger than this one, but those machines are usually small and sophisticated.

The rolling mill in front of you looks like a monster; its heavy, oppressive presence makes it hard to breathe.

"Where do all the steel bars produced here go?" Ron scanned the bright red workshop.

“Some of the major cities that are being developed will also go out to sea.”

"How's the production?"

"It depends on market conditions. At its peak, it could produce a million tons of steel bars every year."

The factory manager, Rao, didn't mention the current output, but he was clearly less optimistic than at the peak.

Ron didn't dwell on it too much; the workshop was too hot, and his shirt was soaked with sweat after only a few minutes inside. After a quick look around, he came out of the workshop. For a moment, he felt that even the sun outside had a bit more coolness in it.

"I heard the steel business is tough these days?" Ron walked toward the administration building.

"Yes, the overall market is not good right now."

"This steel mill must have had a tough year, right? The international market price for steel is only $200 a ton, which is more than a third lower than last year."

"This is all America's problem; they're the ones who caused the financial crisis," Rao said confidently.

"USA?"

"Yes, all financial crises are the work of the United States!"

"Ha, why do you say that?" Ron asked with interest.

"Finance is a demon; it will eventually devour real industry. This is a Western conspiracy."

Ron almost burst out laughing. Regardless of Rao's financial acumen, he was certainly very vigilant.

Rao's office was on the second floor, and it was very old-fashioned, just like his views on finance.

Inside were several metal boxes, a few tables and chairs, an old-fashioned computer, and an inkjet printer.

There was a calendar on the wall, and a picture of Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth.

In addition, there is a photograph on the wall of an elderly couple, who are said to be the deceased parents of factory owner Tim Reddy.

There is a coconut on the filing cabinet, with six dried palm leaves on top; it is a variant of palm and coconut.

Here, Ron also learned some details about the steel mill's operations, such as its profitability.

The steel plant under our feet will only produce about 500,000 tons this year, with half of the products exported and the other half sold domestically.

The price of domestic steel is currently fluctuating around $180, slightly lower than that of exported products.

The total sales figure is roughly over 90 million US dollars, but not quite 100 million.

Based on this information, and with the help of his assistant, Ron was able to roughly guess the steel mill's profits.

The factory's main costs are ore, electricity, coke, as well as labor and equipment depreciation.

The Reddy family mines the iron ore themselves, which is relatively inexpensive. However, they have to provide their own electricity and coke, which adds up to a significant expense.

India's power grid is unstable, necessitating the construction of a 100-megawatt coal-fired power plant. Coal and coke must also be purchased from abroad, as Goa lacks these resources.

Adding all these miscellaneous costs together, the total cost is approximately $1.2 million.

According to this calculation, not only did we not make a profit, but we actually suffered a loss.

Yes, we lost a lot.

Ron knew that the Reddy family was indeed in considerable trouble.

"Can we visit the workers' dormitories?" he asked on a whim.

"Are you sure you want to go to that kind of place?" Rao was very surprised.

"Just looking, not going in."

Ron knew that most of the factory workers were from the lower classes, and that there were many Dalits among them.

As elite individuals, they shouldn't be interested in those places.

“Alright, if you insist.” Rao wasn’t very enthusiastic.

For those who came to Kussel village and found work at Reddy Steel, the factory was their whole world.

Here, they work in 12-hour shifts, day and night.

Their daily lives were all closely tied to this factory. They either worked hard in the workshop or rested in simple lodgings between the coal warehouse and the factory wall.

The factory does not charge workers for accommodation. Most of the factory's 1000 workers are concentrated in two rows of concrete cubicles with roofs made of asbestos tiles.

Because the workers' residences are located in the most remote part of the entire factory area, you might not be able to reach them even if you wander around the entire factory.

Most importantly, no one except workers would go to that place.

There was a reason why he didn't go there: the workers' quarters were the dirtiest and most miserable places Ron had ever seen in his life, even worse than the worst slums he had ever been to.

Two rows of simple employee dormitories are separated by a low cement wall, with drainage ditches on both sides of the cement wall.

The corridors between dormitories were littered with trash, and even the connecting corridor in front of the rooms was piled with all sorts of messy items.

Dilapidated chairs and fans, discarded clothes, vegetable peels, leftover food, empty bottles, and cheap liquor.

The air was always filled with the smell of feces, and the whole place seemed shrouded in a gray shadow.

To be honest, just standing outside made Ron want to back out.

Even the slums of Mumbai aren't this chaotic. They're poor too, but they're full of laughter and joy.

There was only a deathly stillness here, and figures like walking corpses.

Just as he was about to take a step, someone came to inform him that Gary Reddy wanted to talk to him.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief; this godforsaken place was truly unbearable to step into.

(End of this chapter)