I am a master in India

Chapter 77 Self-redemption in the slums
The slums were still the same, with small, flimsy huts made of reed mats, built in a haphazard manner, crooked and trying their best to occupy every available corner.

There is no planning here, and no alley is straight. If a stranger comes here without a guide, he will probably get lost after turning two corners.

Anand took Ron through the maze-like alleys, and the surrounding residents smiled and greeted them warmly when they saw them.

A group of young men were working together to clear the dirt in the drains that was blocking the flow of water, while others were helping widows, orphans and the unemployed to repair their huts.

They helped each other and had a clear division of labor. Ron guessed that someone was planning and deciding all this behind the scenes, and that person was most likely the target of their trip.

Taji Ali's hut is not much bigger than others, with the same bamboo poles, plastic sheets and reed mats. The only difference is that there is a small area next to his hut.

The place was packed now, Anand told Ron. Taj Ali's oldest son, Farooq, had just returned from working in Kuwait, where he had been for six months.

The young men in the slums loved to hear his stories about his adventures outside. Farouk was tall and strong, with a straightforward look and a shy smile.

Many young men came to him for advice on working abroad: what are the best jobs, who are the best employers, who has the worst reputation, and how to make extra money in the bustling black markets of the Persian Gulf countries and Mumbai?
Following his father Ali's request, Farouk teaches here every afternoon for a week, imparting his experience to everyone who comes here.

There were so many people who came to listen to him impart his valuable knowledge that the room was full and they had to squeeze into the small area outside.

Anand pushed through the crowd and struggled to squeeze into the room with Ron. When Taj Ali saw them, he waved his copper-clad wooden stick, and Farooq tacitly led the group outside the hut.

"Mr. Soul, please take a seat."

"Just call me Ron."

The two parties were already familiar with each other, so Ron didn't care about the formalities.

Seeing him sitting casually on a wooden block, the smile in Taji Ali's eyes became more gentle.

"Young men out there now most want to work in two places: Kuwait and your travel company. Half a year ago, their only choice was the first."

"They're all very good guys." Ron glanced outside. "They can endure hardships and never complain."

Honestly, Ron really enjoyed hiring people from this slum. Perhaps it was because of Taj Ali's restraint, or perhaps it was the guidance of Anand and the others, but no one who came from this area to work for his company had ever gotten into trouble.

They never took money from tourists or asked for tips. Instead, they would find ways to save money for Ron. For example, they would carefully pick up the brochures discarded by tourists, clean them, and then use them again.

Although it wasn't much money, which employer wouldn't like such an employee, and Ron was no exception.

"You gave them jobs and paid them well, and that's how dozens of families in the slums are able to survive. That's hundreds of people. They should be thanking you, not complaining."

"They did it, and I'm very grateful to them." Ron was just following common sense and giving them the rewards they deserved.

But what he considered common sense was already a big deal to Tej Ali and Anand.

This involves the consistent discrimination of caste, the nature of capital, and the strong secular barriers built by it. In short, Ron's common sense approach is rare and precious.

In fact, he really didn't give preferential treatment to anyone, but India is too magical.
"Ron, Anand said you're a very good doctor."

"Well, I'm not a real doctor. I just know a little bit." Ron turned to look at Anand beside him, who shook his neck happily.

In the past, if there were any conflicts among the people in his company, Ron would usually handle it personally.

He could treat everything from common injuries to common diarrhea and colds. With plenty of medicines and a full range of medical tools, there was nothing he couldn't handle.

The reason why Ron dared to treat others boldly was because he knew that if he didn't care, Anand and the others would never go to the hospital.

What hospitals do people in slums go to? Do you really think India can achieve universal free healthcare? That's a fantasy!
"You're a good doctor," Taj Ali said, ignoring Ron's modesty. "There are over 20,000 residents in the slums here, and dozens or even hundreds of people suffer from various illnesses every day."

"Why don't you go to the hospital? St. George's Hospital is not far from here." Ron asked.

St. George's Hospital is a charitable medical institution funded by a charitable trust. It has luxury wards for the wealthy and a free medical center for the poor.

"There are always too many people there. I've asked. They see over 600 patients a day, sometimes over 1,000. They do their best.

Even for emergencies, they recommended that I first get a referral from a licensed medical practitioner. In other words, having a referral meant I could jump the queue.

The problem is that people here look down on licensed doctors and can't get referrals to jump the queue at a major hospital. They're so poor they can't even guarantee tomorrow's meal.

I'm not blaming the hospitals, I know they have their own problems: understaffed and overcrowded with patients. People from several nearby slums go there, and they do the best they can.

But some emergencies, like diarrhea, can be solved with just a few pills. There's no need to pay exorbitant fees or get a referral from a reputable doctor."

Taj Ali spoke slowly and calmly about the medical situation in the slums. His tone was calm and there was no sign of complaint in his eyes.

This was how it should be, this was how things were supposed to be in the slums, and no one made a fuss about it.

"So what do you want me to do for you? Again, I'm not a trained doctor, so I'm not really a doctor."

Ron sighed. This was a dead end. Poor people had to wait in line to see a doctor, but often they couldn't wait. If a child with diarrhea didn't get prompt treatment, they could die.

Every year in India, as many as two to three million children die from diarrhea. These are children of the poor. They cannot jump the queue, cannot afford to get a certificate, and the so-called free medical care is out of reach.

Ron knew it was time to return the favor. Without Taj Ali's intervention, they wouldn't have been able to handle the cargo Luca had shipped.

“I wish you could come teach in the slums like Farouk did.”

"Teaching?"

"Once a week for two months, come here to treat patients. I will select a few young people to learn from you. They don't need to be proficient in the medicine, you just need to tell them the general effects and usage of the medicine.

We will provide all the medical care, we will take care of everything, and no one will bother you."

Ron looked at the slum leader in surprise. He was once again shocked by the rules here.

(End of this chapter)