I'm a Master in India

Ron hadn't expected advertising in "The Times of India" to be so expensive.

Just a quarter of the front page, running for a week, was quoted at 600,000 rupees.

However, being India's oldest and most widely circulated newspaper, Ron gritted his teeth and paid the money.

In this day and age, when even television wasn't widespread, newspapers were the only choice for advertising media. The cost of obtaining it was very low, almost one per person.

Because of its wide reach, many people wanted to advertise. Ron used Kavya's connections to schedule his own advertisement in two weeks, around mid-March.

In addition to "The Times of India", he also arranged for the Mumbai local "Express" to run ads.

A full-color front page cost 15,000 rupees a day, a much more reasonable price.

Ron waved his hand and signed for a week as well. The timing was staggered from "The Times of India" by a few days, mainly targeting Hindi speakers.

The advertising costs for the two newspapers totaled 700,000 rupees, directly shrinking Ron's wallet by more than a quarter.

He counted his private savings and found that he only had about 1.8 million left.

Okay, no more wasting money.

The remaining money had to be kept for emergencies. He had originally considered television advertising, but now he could only consider the city's commuter trains, where posting posters in the carriages shouldn't cost much.

Unfortunately, the tourism business was in a slump, and the income from the foreign exchange black market had also decreased by more than half.

The heyday of monthly profits exceeding one million was difficult to reproduce. In February, it had barely recovered to 500,000 rupees.

"The number of foreign tourists at the train station has decreased significantly, but the airport has a few more," Ron was studying the financial statements in his hand.

"Because there are too many people at the train station, foreigners feel it's unsafe," Nia explained from the side.

The so-called 'too many people' actually meant too many poor people. The previous riots started from the slums where the poor lived and spread outwards.

Poor people are more easily incited because they are dissatisfied and eager for change. Rich people, on the other hand, will maintain the existing order and do not want turmoil to occur.

This principle applies all over the world, so many foreigners coming to Mumbai choose the airport with better security conditions instead of the original train station.

"If it really doesn't work, arrange fewer people at the train station and transfer the manpower to the airport. In short, Nia, you take care of it."

"Understood, Baba. I will do an inventory at the train station in the next two days and then reallocate manpower."

Nia had been taking care of the tourism business recently. After two months of training, she became more and more proficient.

"How is the business of those hotels and restaurants that cooperate with us?" Ron asked again.

"Hotel occupancy rates have decreased by about 40%, and restaurants are about the same." Nia had prepared these data in a spreadsheet on the computer.

"Heavy losses," Ron sighed.

"Baba, we have the most losses, more than half," Nia reminded from the side.

"That's right," Ron couldn't help but laugh, "But we don't have the burden of heavy assets, and the pressure of rent is not too great."

"That's a lot less money," Nia pouted, the little financial expert.

Ron laughed and couldn't help but kiss her hard.

Yes, Nia is very soft.

Just as the atmosphere in the room was rapidly heating up, the rumbling of an engine appeared at the door.

Nia, like a kitten, immediately bristled and hid in the room.

Ron reluctantly withdrew his hand. The softness of his fingertips was truly addictive.

"Ron!" There was a shout outside.

"Coming!" He walked to the door and saw that it was indeed Johnny.

"I went to the airport. Anand said you were still on your little maid and hadn't gotten up yet."

Ron's face darkened, "That guy has recently become obsessed with a fat woman, you know, her belly is comparable to an elephant."

"Anand's taste is famous in the area. He even had an affair with a housewife in her fifties," Johnny laughed uncontrollably.

"What!" Ron was shocked again.

"I'll tell you his jokes later. There's something else today," Johnny's face recovered slightly.

"What's wrong?" Ron invited him in, but Johnny refused.

"I have to leave immediately. I'm here to tell you to be careful recently. Those Muslims are acting strangely."

"Did you get any news? Hardeep also said something similar before."

"Do you know the Dawood Gang?" A look of disgust appeared on Johnny's face.

"Of course, the former underworld boss of Mumbai. I heard he escaped to Dubai."

"That's right, but he has recently been sending people to Mumbai frequently, all Muslims. This is not a good sign."

Dawood Ibrahim, India's most notorious gangster. In the eighties, he used violent means to become the head of the Mumbai underworld.

Later, he was wanted by the police for shooting a gang leader who testified in court in front of the court, and finally fled to Dubai.

He is a Muslim, and the members of his gang are mostly Muslims.

"There are rumors that the destruction of the Babri Mosque made him furious, so be careful," Johnny said.

"Thank you, Johnny, I will be careful," Ron said worriedly.

The endless sectarian conflicts, I don't know when they will end.

There are actually many factions within the Muslim community. They hate each other even more than they hate Hindus.

These people were originally fragmented and disorganized. But the last riot made them put aside their prejudices and start to unite.

At this moment of life and death, they must be consistent with the outside world. They realized that as long as they are Muslims, it is the original sin in the eyes of others.

Those young Muslims, their eyes now blinded by hatred, were consumed only by revenge, revenge.

Yalaghan carefully blew on the spoon in his hand, and only after the rice was no longer too hot did he bring it to his mother's lips.

"This rice is so fragrant," Jane chewed a couple of mouthfuls, a look of satisfaction and nostalgia flashing in her eyes. "If only Mumbai were like it used to be, with wheat as white as snow. You could walk down the street with your belongings without anyone trying to rob you."

"Mother," Yalaghan scooped another spoonful of rice.

Jane sighed and said nothing more. Her hands were twisted and deformed, and she was paralyzed from the waist down. On the day of the riots, she was picked up high by the Hindu rioters and then slammed onto the concrete floor.

She had just returned from the hospital, and could no longer walk as briskly as before, nor could she make Indian fragrant rice and roasted lamb chops, and then feast the guests, feeding them until they were full, including the Hindu neighbors who came to her door.

She began to miss the past, when people were always good. Now the new is not as good as the old, and the past is always better than the present.

"The silk at home..." After eating another mouthful of rice, Jane hesitated to speak.

"It will be alright, don't worry," Yalaghan comforted softly, his eyes calm.

Their family originally had a silk shop downstairs, but it was later burned down. The shop was also taken back by the government for no reason, and then transferred to another person. Now the sign there has become "Marathi Mattress".

"I'll be back tonight," Yalaghan wiped his mother's mouth and slowly backed out.

Closing the door to the room, he looked at the cartoon schoolbag on the wall in the living room, his eyes flickering. It was still waiting for its little owner.

Yalaghan came outside, where another young man was waiting for him by the corridor. They nodded to each other and turned to leave without a word.

Asad arrived on a motorcycle. Yalaghan sat behind him, and they were going to a place first.

"Someone will take care of your aunt," Asad turned his head to comfort him midway.

Yalaghan didn't know what to say. Asad was always so optimistic.

Asad's brother and father accidentally strayed into Hindu territory during the riots. They were knocked unconscious.

Then they were doused with gasoline and set on fire.

Their bodies were left by the railway tracks, rotting for ten whole days. Crows came to eat their flesh, and wild dogs came to eat their flesh.

The police refused to move the bodies. The Jogeshwari Police Station said that this was under the jurisdiction of the Goregaon Police Station, and the Goregaon Police Station said that this was under the jurisdiction of the Railway Police.

Finally, when Asad, who had learned the news, came to look for them, nothing could be distinguished on the ground, and everything was covered by garbage.

Look, it's just ahead on that road. On the right are tall buildings, and on the left is a huge garbage dump. A group of boys are playing cricket there, and scavengers with iron picks are scouring the area.

Asad twisted the throttle, and the motorcycle sped past. Twenty minutes later, they arrived near Ishaq's house.

A tall man was already waiting here. His name was Taj, and he was the "leader" of this group.

Taj's grandfather poured hot water on a group of Hindus upstairs, and then they dragged his grandfather out and borrowed a blanket from the neighbors to wrap around him.

It was still set on fire, and by the time the police arrived, there was only a charred corpse on the ground, and no one was around.

Taj looked at Yalaghan, "You will go to the airport later."

Then he looked at Asad, "You are responsible for the stock exchange."

The two nodded. Yalaghan remained expressionless, and Asad also put away his smiling face.

Taj said nothing more and turned to knock on Shayk's door.

Mahala in the house wanted to pretend he didn't hear, but his eldest son, Shayk, had already opened the door first.

"Is all the black soap here?" Taj asked.

"It's all here," Shayk handed him the sack that had been prepared long ago.

Black soap was slang, referring to RDX explosives. The boxes in the sack with skull and crossbones drawn on them were it.

"This is the remaining 10,000 rupees. Remember not to go out today, especially not to crowded places, airports, train stations, stock exchanges..." Taj threw a large stack of banknotes to Shayk.

"Brother Taj, I want to go with you," Shayk finally mustered the courage to say.

"No! Come back!" Old Mahala suddenly pounced on Shayk from the side, and the mother and sisters in the house also cried and persuaded him to stay.

Taj looked at the large family in the room, shook his head angrily at Shayk, and then left with his men.

There were more than a dozen such Muslim groups, secretly hiding weapons and explosives. They were just waiting for the signal from above to start rushing to various parts of Mumbai.

As for who was above, many Muslims didn't care. They just wanted to launch a bloody revenge and let the Hindus taste the taste of fear too.

Ron went to the airport. Johnny's warning made him uneasy.

So, to be on the safe side, he simply let Anand and the others go home first, leaving only a young man to receive guests here.

Ron told him that if something didn't seem right, he should leave quickly and not worry about the store.

There was nothing of value here, so there was no need to worry about losses.

Returning home, Nia was not there. She should have gone to the train station, where arrangements also needed to be made.

Taking a bottle of soda from the refrigerator, Ron had not had time to drink it when he received a call from Uncle Mahala.

"Ron, don't go out! Train stations, airports, stock exchanges, markets... don't go to any of them!"