I'm a Master in India

Ashish was in his early twenties, not very tall, but strongly built. Like most young people in Mumbai, he grew up in a slum.

The slum in the Jogeshwari area, not far from where the Indian girl was burned to death, Ashish had even visited her house before.

Now that area has been cordoned off by the government, and neither Hindus nor Muslims are allowed to approach.

The reason given is to prevent further conflicts between the two religious groups, but many public interest organizations don't buy it. They believe that the case should be thoroughly investigated and the atrocities of the Shiva Sena should not be let go unpunished.

But who cares? At least Ashish doesn't care. He is also a Hindu and naturally leans towards the Shiva Sena.

Rather than investigating the riots, he cares more about where to find work tomorrow and when he can move out of this wretched place.

When he was in the second grade, his parents became seriously ill. His father worked the night shift at a car repair shop, earning meager wages. First, he developed intestinal ulcers, which later developed into appendicitis.

His mother had a tumor in her stomach, and she would rub her belly and moan after every meal. This is how the poor live. Because of the poor diet and environment, the digestive system is the first to suffer.

For three years, Ashish's parents frequently went in and out of the hospital, and his father was once diagnosed as having "not much time left."

Besides Ashish, there was only an older sister in the family. The siblings depended on each other, while the relatives were indifferent.

They couldn't wait for Ashish's parents to die, so they could inherit an estate of 30,000 rupees.

Ashish's parents stayed at Cooper Hospital, which was known for its terrible food, so most patients had their families bring them meals.

The school had a lunch break at 12:30, and Ashish would run out and take the 42 bus home. His sister would pack the food in a thermos and wait for him. She attended a girls' school and would go home before him to cook.

Ashish would then take the thermos and rush to the hospital before the end of visiting hours at 2:00 PM. But he was always a little late and was stopped by the gatekeeper, who told him to wait until the next visiting time, which was 4:00 PM.

He pleaded bitterly, saying that his parents were in the ward on the second floor, hungry and waiting eagerly, but the gatekeeper was unmoved. Ashish was a penniless child and had to sit by the hospital gate and wait for two hours, watching the food cool down quickly.

He watched other patients' families slip money to the gatekeeper, and they would let them in without saying a word. It only took 10 rupees to bribe the gatekeeper, but Ashish couldn't even afford that.

At that time, Ashish was thinking, if he couldn't even bring food to his parents, what was the point of living?

If a person wants to live, they have to live with dignity. In Mumbai, you have to know how to make money. And as long as you can make money, he would do anything, even murder and arson.

The books say that three-quarters of India's population has a lifespan of less than twenty-five years. Ashish didn't want his parents to be among them.

He desperately wanted his parents to live a better life, and he wanted to surpass them in the future.

Once this expectation is dashed, the desperate anger has nowhere to vent, and no family can withstand this fire.

In India, unemployed young people live in purgatory. Before the age of eighteen, you are raised as a son, and your family does everything they can to give you the best.

You are always the first to eat, then your father, mother, and finally your sister.

The family is not well-off, so your father has to smoke a few fewer packs of cigarettes, your mother can't bear to buy new saris, and your sister doesn't go to school, all to save money for you to study.

So when you turn eighteen, you bear the earnest hope of the whole family.

You don't dare to turn around and look back. You know what your family's dreams are. You have seen them humble themselves for so many years, enduring hardship after hardship, just hoping that you will become someone great.

You have enjoyed blessings since you were a child, and you feel guilty for it. Now it's time for you to repay them. Your sister is getting married, your mother is ill again, and your father is about to retire. It's time for you to take over the burden of the family.

This is the true picture of Ashish's life for the past twenty years, and now he has graduated.

He took his graduation certificate and a bachelor's degree to find a job, but found that large companies were either not hiring or had withdrawn from the Indian market due to the riots.

Small companies only hire relatives of existing employees, and Ashish, a poor boy who grew up in a slum, has no connections in Mumbai.

Ashish has almost no choice. He even plans to take a risk and join a gang or join the Shiva Sena as a thug.

At the same time, Ashish must also reassure his family, telling them that the investment in him has not been in vain.

He can be beaten, he can be rejected, but he cannot fail to fulfill his obligations as a son, and he cannot face the disappointed faces of his family.

It doesn't matter if he goes out early and returns late, or goes out late and returns early, as long as he can earn money to support his family.

This is what he owes them, this is his fate.

There are many young people like this in Mumbai, and Ashish is just one of them.

Ashish walked along the path, stepping deep and shallow, to the depths of the alley, where his home was located. If outsiders came in, they would definitely get lost in the maze-like alleys without someone to lead the way.

His house was dilapidated, and the house was supported by bamboo and mud. Over the years, they have continuously renovated it, laid a tin roof, and slightly reinforced the walls.

The family of four lived happily together, and there was only one room in the house, just like most standard slums.

The room had only one "VIP" metal folding chair, a short stool for regular customers to take turns sitting on, a cot, a simple wardrobe, a gas stove, a small dining table, and several shelves.

This is all of Ashish's family property, and he sleeps on the cot most of the time. His parents sleep in the kitchen, which is just a few steps further into the room where they cook, and his sister sleeps under the table.

The furniture in the room is constantly changing its function according to different needs: the bed used for sleeping at night serves as a sofa during the day, and the dining table is a writing desk when not eating.

Ashish's family are also all masters of disguise. Hiding behind the curtains or wrapped in towels, they take off their pajamas and put on formal clothes in an instant.

Their movements are as fast as lightning. If outsiders see it for the first time, they will almost think they are invisible. However, they can't really be invisible after all. The people in the room have learned to look away when the other person is changing clothes.

Ashish fantasized about having his own room one day. He walked into the house and his father was sitting on the ground shelling peas. Plastic clotheslines hung overhead, and wet clothes hung down from the ropes.

The family was chatting and laughing with a young man, and there was deliberate enthusiasm and flattery in their words.

Ashish's eyes focused, and the young man on the "VIP chair" looked a little familiar.

"Ashish, are you interested in a job? A legitimate job, probably using your major," Adi asked him with a smile.

Ron met Ashish at the textile factory. His home in the Jogeshwari slum was not far from here, after all, they were both in the central suburbs of Mumbai.

"What is your major?"

"Mechanical Engineering."

"Do you understand fluid mechanics?"

"No problem!" Ashish said without thinking.

"What about basic electrical engineering?"

"No problem!" Ashish still stood tall and chest out.

Ron looked at him with suspicion until the latter was slightly embarrassed.

"I actually know a little bit about them, but hiring me is very cheap, cheaper than other college students in Mumbai!" Ashish emphasized.

"How cheap?" Ron became interested.

Ashish's mind raced, and then he gritted his teeth, "Two thousand rupees!"

Their family's minimum monthly expenses are 150 rupees, which can solve the problem of eating. Don't even think about being well-fed. Living in a slum, what else do you want?

Ashish wants to save the remaining money. His family has long been optimistic about an apartment in northern Mumbai, which costs about tens of thousands of rupees.

In just five years, they will be able to move into the apartment they have fantasized about countless times.

Although it is in northern Mumbai, a veritable combination of urban and rural areas, there is not even a bus stop.

But it is still a place to settle down, a real home. He doesn't have to deliberately hide out of the house when his sister is changing clothes.

And his sister's dowry also falls on him. She is already in her twenties, and in her hometown in the countryside, she is a veritable old maid.

Two thousand rupees, more than 80% of the population in Mumbai cannot get such a high salary. But among undergraduates, this price is indeed not high.

Only Kavya, who has studied abroad and has the valuable status of a journalist, can sign a contract of four or five thousand rupees upon graduation.

Ron was noncommittal about Ashish's offer. In the latter's nervous eyes, he first looked at the other party's resume.

Ismail Yusuf College, judging from the name, is a university founded by Muslims, but Ashish is a Hindu.

It's a bit funny, but Muslims seem to pay more attention to education. The famous University of Mumbai is said to have been founded with the help of Muslim funding.

If Ashish graduated from the University of Mumbai, Ron estimated that he would sign him no matter what price he offered.

This Yusuf College is probably a wild chicken, and it can only be said to be used as a compromise.

"Let me tell you about what the factory is going to do next. If you can come up with a reliable design plan, I will hire you as the chief engineer of Sure Electric."

"Okay!" Ashish cheered up, he vowed to win this job.

The situation in Mumbai this year will probably be worse. If he can't find a job again, he will really have to join a gang.

Ron told him about the concept of a water air conditioner, which is not complicated. Compared to an electric fan, it has an extra water circulation evaporation system.

Ashish secretly praised this idea, he even imitated the principle of a water air conditioner when he was a child.

He picked up some plastic bottles from the garbage dump, cut off the bottom of the bottles uniformly, and then tied several bottles together and glued them to the cover of the electric fan.

At this time, as long as you sprinkle some water into the bottle mouth, wet the plastic wall, and then turn on the electric fan, the simplest "water air conditioner" or "earth air conditioner" is completed.

It's just that he never thought of commercializing it and making it into a smaller, more beautiful, and more scientific electrical appliance.

This is not difficult for him. He has wanted to become an engineer since he was a child, and he has taken his professional courses very seriously.

From a Vaishya to an engineer, this is almost half of Ashish's life goal.

Looking at the other party's energetic back, Ron nodded with satisfaction, the automatic worker is about to go online.

Well, he is also very satisfied with the name Sure Electric, which he came up with on the spot.

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