I'm a Master in India

Chapter 274: The Big Shot

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been home,” Kavya said, full of anticipation for the trip to the South.

“Actually, I’m more curious, why did you travel all the way to Mumbai?”

“I went to university abroad, and Mumbai is the only place in India where I can feel that sense of freedom.”

“Your family is so at ease, letting you run off by yourself?”

“Aren’t you also in Mumbai alone?” Kavya retorted.

“That’s different, I’m a man.” Ron waved his hand.

“Hey, that’s discrimination.” Kavya laughed and patted his arm.

The two chatted and laughed as they exited the airport in Madras. This time, Ron didn’t bring many people, as Kavya swore that she would handle everything.

Tamil Nadu is the southernmost state in India, hot and bordering the sea.

June to September is the rainy season each year; other times are accompanied by dry monsoons.

It was January now, and while New Delhi in the North was already chilling to the bone, Madras was so hot it made people sweat profusely.

As soon as Ron and Kavya left the hall, their eyes narrowed in the furnace-like sun.

“This is a good place for a winter vacation,” Ron said with a shrug.

“You can come every year,” Kavya said, glancing at him with a charming look.

“If this goes smoothly, maybe I really will come every year from now on.” Ron pretended not to understand.

“It will definitely go smoothly.” Kavya was confident.

“So confident?”

She smiled without speaking, simply leading Ron towards the roadside outside the airport.

A BMW sedan was parked there, with a discreetly dressed driver standing beside it.

“Miss.” As Kavya approached, he immediately came over and performed the touch-feet greeting.

“To Amma’s place.” Kavya waved her hand, then pulled Ron into the car.

The driver respectfully clasped his hands together, then started the car without a word, driving towards the city center of Madras.

This was a new BMW sedan, quite expensive, almost comparable to Ron’s Mercedes-Benz.

He was a bit surprised; he knew Kavya came from a good family, but it seemed his previous assumptions had been conservative.

Kavya didn’t mind; she pointed out the window, introducing Ron to the local customs and traditions.

Madras is the economic center of the South, but its temperament is very different from Mumbai or Delhi.

It is also a metropolis, with a population of over seven million. The climate is humid and muggy, and the air is filled with an unpleasant odor.

Well, this subcontinent of India can never get rid of this smell, as if it was born with it.

However, the pace of Madras is much slower than Mumbai; the roads in the city center are not noisy at all, with low-rise buildings on both sides rather than the towering glass skyscrapers of New Delhi.

The lifestyle of the local people is also different from other cities; even the social elites dress simply, live frugally, and prefer to pursue spiritual matters.

Here, you rarely see strange costumes or high-profile sports cars roaring past; people prefer to go to concert halls to enjoy classical music.

Incidentally, the literacy rate in Tamil Nadu is even higher than in Gujarat, exceeding 70%.

Illiteracy is a minority here; most people have received complete primary or even secondary education.

Because of education, Tamil Nadu is also the state in India where the caste system has the least presence.

People still live in ethnic clusters, and Brahmins do not intermarry with lower castes, but atrocities like those in Uttar Pradesh, where lives are easily disregarded, would never happen.

On the streets, you can see women chattering incessantly; they talk to men, men they meet on the road, not their husbands.

This is unimaginable in North India, where women must wear veils when going out and keep their eyes on the road when speaking.

Ron wondered if it was only such an open atmosphere that could produce a female student like Kavya, daring to venture to Mumbai alone.

This place truly was different from other parts of India; Ron felt a vibrant vitality.

They got out on a quiet, tree-lined avenue near the city center, where the leaves rustled in the breeze.

The scorching sunlight, filtered by the trees, fell to the ground in dappled patterns, losing its threat and adding a touch of leisure.

“Just ahead.” Kavya pointed to a three-story building not far away.

“What is that place?”

“A place that can ensure your trip to Tamil Nadu goes smoothly.”

As they got closer, Ron realized the building was very exquisite, with many flags he didn't recognize hanging at the entrance.

Greek-style columns and a second-floor balcony showed characteristics of the colonial period, and elegantly curved lettering was hung at the very top.

All India Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (AIADMK) Headquarters.

“Oh!” Ron’s mouth dropped open. “If I’m not mistaken, this is one of the two major political parties in Tamil Nadu.”

“It seems you’ve done some homework.” Kavya smiled with satisfaction.

In the past few decades, the political landscape of Tamil Nadu in South India has been primarily controlled by two political parties, and AIADMK is one of them.

The other is called Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK); their names are very similar.

The fact is that AIADMK split from DMK; the former’s founder, Ramachandran, was originally a loyal member of DMK.

However, due to governing disagreements, he broke away from DMK and formed AIADMK, specifically to oppose it.

Ramachandran was the most famous Tamil actor of his time, with strong appeal among the public, but he passed away in the 1980s.

When Ron and Kavya arrived at the entrance, their attention was quickly drawn to a small golden statue in the front yard, which was none other than the founder, Ramachandran.

He wore a hat and thick glasses, with one hand raised, making a V-for-victory gesture.

However, his prominence was completely overshadowed by the party’s current spiritual leader, J. Jayalalitha, who is the current Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu.

In the front yard, there were four giant billboards of Jayalalitha, looking down sternly, one of which was almost as tall as the building itself.

“Wait, you’re not saying your Amma is her, are you?” Ron stared blankly at the poster.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Kavya blinked. “I’m from the Iyengar family in Tamil Nadu.”

“Of course, I know your surname, but…” Ron didn’t know what to say.

Iyengar is a Brahmin caste, and a very ancient Brahmin caste in Tamil Nadu, said to have been passed down for over a dozen centuries.

He just hadn’t expected Kavya’s family to have such a close relationship with the spiritual leader of the local ruling party.

Ron didn’t understand the political environment of Tamil Nadu, but just from the display, he knew her Amma had an extraordinary influence locally.

Why? You only need to shift your gaze slightly from the building in front of you to the street to see the answer.

At intersections, bus stops, and overpasses, there were thousands of her brightly colored propaganda posters.

Stalls at the headquarters entrance displayed various souvenirs designed for AIADMK supporters, including gold-framed portraits and postcards of Jayalalitha, as well as brightly colored small carpets and chair covers printed with her likeness.

Kavya said her Amma was a Tamil film star before entering politics, very charming in her youth, and there were photos from that period on the souvenir shelves.

Either looking alluringly at the camera, or resting her hand on her chin, smiling at the nearby scenery.

However, most of the souvenirs showed her in her older age. She had a serious expression, wore a traditional sari, had a double chin, a red dot on her forehead, and her long black hair was neatly tied into a bun.

Without exception, these posters or souvenirs were all printed with the word “Amma,” which is the respectful address given to her by the Tamil people.

Do you think that’s all? No, look further afield.

Amma Canteens were everywhere on the streets, where workers could buy heavily discounted breakfasts; a steamed rice cake or a bowl of porridge made with rice and yellow lentils could be bought for one rupee.

Besides canteens, there were Amma Stalls where low-priced vegetables could be bought, and bottled water and cement bags on the shelves were all printed with Amma’s likeness.

This kind of insane political propaganda covered every aspect of life, from discount stores to cinemas, and even to salt and tea shops.

At first, Ron wondered who this “Amma” was, until he arrived at the AIADMK headquarters and the answer was revealed.

Such all-encompassing, full-angle propaganda would probably make even Arab dictators feel inferior.

However, this is an old tradition of Indian politicians, who wish they could put their own likeness everywhere.

A more polished term is political propaganda; to put it bluntly, it’s a cult of personality.

The common people of India believe in this; it’s a basic operation.

Even in Ron’s own cement factory, there were posters of his likeness everywhere, mainly to blend in with local customs.

“Amma attaches great importance to this kind of portrait publicity; you know, she was a movie star.” Kavya held his hand and walked inside.

“A very effective way of spreading.” Ron nodded.

“You think so too, right? She was smart and loved to read as a child. After entering the entertainment industry, she met many people, including Ramachandra…”

At this point, Kavya quietly stopped speaking. Ahem, the rest of the content was not suitable for external dissemination.

Her Amma later became Ramachandra’s mistress, or his third party.

In that era, for a Brahmin to be someone’s mistress was simply shocking.

When Ramachandra entered politics, she followed in his footsteps.

After he died, J. Jayalalitha, after a fierce public contest with his widow, successfully inherited his political legacy.

Look, the headquarters in front of them was proof.

Everyone here seemed to know Kavya; the armed guards at the entrance and the passing staff paid them no mind, even saluting from a distance.

Although her Amma, J. Jayalalitha’s, likeness was plastered all over the city, she usually kept to herself and rarely appeared in public.

Her office was at the very top, a very spacious and independent office.

When Kavya knocked and entered, she was holding a newspaper, reading with her head down.

J. Jayalalitha was indeed not tall, but her skin was very fair, a striking contrast to the dark-skinned local Tamils.

Ironically, the initial purpose of the AIADMK party was to oppose the high castes monopolizing power, yet now its leader was a female Brahmin.

“Kavya?” J. Jayalalitha looked up at the door with surprise.

“Amma.” The usually independent Kavya, at this moment, hugged her like a little girl.

“What’s so good about Mumbai? You never listen. Oh, is this young man your boyfriend?”

Ah, Ron smiled awkwardly but politely.