Chapter 175 The Poor and the Rich
The branch factory in Uttar Pradesh has stopped working and the foundation has only been half laid.
There were so many reasons for the shutdown, more than Ron could hear over the phone.
It was obvious that he needed to go back again.
Uttar Pradesh is not like Mumbai. It is backward, poor, illiterate and has almost no infrastructure. You have no idea what kind of emergency you will encounter.
As an investor in the factory, he had to go back and see it in person before making a decision.
But before leaving, Ron still had one thing to do, which was to attend Shawan's party.
He is the mayor of Mumbai and a member of the Congress Party. In terms of faction, Ron should be close to the BJP.
But political matters are not that simple. He is a businessman and party affiliation does not matter to him.
He can finance one side as well as the other, as most businessmen in India do.
A businessman is a businessman. You can have political inclinations, but you cannot absolutely exclude the other side.
Chavan is the best example. He is a member of the Congress Party, but he is very close to the bigwigs of the Shiv Sena.
There is no contradiction. It all depends on whose support you need the most at the moment.
The Racecourse has always been a popular place for wealthy people in Mumbai to hold parties. As the name suggests, it is next to a racecourse.
During the day, rich and poor alike flocked to the race, waving their tickets and cheering on the riders they had bet on. Regardless of their wealth, everyone shared a common hatred for the enemy.
At night, the poor leave and the rich stay. One returns to the stinking slums, while the other dances and sings in the glittering racecourse.
"Is that Amit Bachchan?" Ron held his glass and looked at the stage in front of him.
"Yes, he is very charming, isn't he? All the women in India are crazy about him." There was excitement, pride and complacency in Shawan's eyes.
"He sings surprisingly well. I thought he only knew how to make movies."
"He can be an actor or a singer, it all depends on which occasion needs him." Shawan flicked the wine glass with his fingers, his pride evident in his words.
Today's party was privately organized by him. How many people could have a Bollywood superstar, a household name throughout India, singing for the guests here?
He was the mayor of Mumbai. Bollywood, though much talked about, was ultimately a second-rate industry. Inviting a Bollywood star was not difficult for Chavan.
After Amit Bachchan finished singing a song, everyone in the banquet hall applauded and cheered.
"It's worth a drink, good whiskey." Chauvin raised his glass.
"I can already smell the intoxicating aroma." Ron touched his lips.
Rich people don't drink Indian whiskey, they drink foreign liquor.
For tonight's party, the Shawantos were flown in directly from abroad to the Mumbai airport.
Fine wine, stars, beauties, rich people, and Indian pop songs playing one after another on the stage without stopping.
The hall is decorated with the most modern appliances and people speak American English.
The scene was like Chicago in the 1920s, with the whole party being an Indian parody of the West.
It was just the traditional dhotis and gurda costumes that made the party seem a bit out of place.
"I heard that there's a problem with the power supply at Sur Electric?" After three rounds of drinks, Shawan finally shifted the topic from the party to business.
"Kind of," Ron spread his hands. "We have a huge backlog of orders for this."
"That's what happens during the rainy season. Circuits that were working well before can easily stop working because of the rain."
"We have to tip the electricians every time, but things aren't getting any better," Ron said.
"Mumbai has tens of millions of people in need of electricity. During the monsoon season, we can only provide power to different areas at different times. However," Chavan paused, glanced at him, and continued, "In certain special circumstances, we can first shift power from one area to another to ensure that critical locations never lose power."
"Oh! I suppose this might cost something to achieve?"
"That's it!" Shawan looked at Ron with satisfaction. They were all smart people.
"So what is the budget? I'm not sure if my factory can afford it, as there are nearly a thousand workers starving due to the lack of electricity."
"Not much, just five lacs," Chavan assured him. "You know, the next municipal council elections are coming up soon. They'll decide which areas are critical for power supply and which areas can be ignored."
"So this money was used to get someone elected as a municipal councilor, and he specifically values Soul Electric's contribution to Mumbai?"
"Mr. Soule, you are a born politician!"
"That's because of your suggestion."
The two smiled at each other and clinked their glasses.
Bah, shitty politician, it was Ruby that brought the two of them to a consensus.
"If Mr. Sur has time, he might as well go to the election site and see that the Congress Party still dominates India's future."
"I will, but I might have to go back to Uttar Pradesh soon, so I might not be able to make it."
"That's a shame."
Then the two of them tacitly changed the topic to Bollywood scandals, drank two more glasses, and then went their separate ways.
The deal has been made, and there are more relationships to maintain in the world of fame and fortune.
Ron finally understood why the mayor invited him to the party.
Election fundraising is an ever-present topic in Indian politics.
The highest decision-making body that dominates Mumbai's municipal administration is the Municipal Council, which consists of three major entities.
Mayor, Municipal Councillors, Municipal Commissioners.
Municipal commissioners are civil servants who are appointed by the state government after passing an assessment.
Municipal councillors are directly elected by citizens, while the mayor is elected by municipal councillors.
The reason why Chauvin is so keen on canvassing votes for the city council members below is because it also concerns his position as mayor.
Only if enough people on the municipal committee stand on his side can he be guaranteed a majority vote in the next election.
It's a very simple matter of interest. Shawan does this for himself.
Unfortunately, even regional elections cannot be run without financial support.
Mumbai has a population of over 10 million, and not everyone is happy to vote.
If you want to get enough votes, you have to mobilize enough people, which undoubtedly requires money.
Just like scanning a QR code to get free eggs in later generations, people might vote for you for the sake of the eggs.
Of course, eggs cost money. A single egg might not be worth much, but thousands of eggs can become a staggering expense.
Businessmen like Ron are the favorites of politicians.
He doesn't mind paying some money, nor does he care whether he supports the Congress or the BJP.
Because this is a regional election, not a general election about the owner of New Delhi.
He really didn't have time to watch the election, but that didn't stop him from sending his men to investigate.
Anil and Amol took the job, carrying a plastic bag containing 500,000 rupees in cash.
The plastic bag was found from somewhere and had a slogan printed on it: "Haldiram Seasoning - the choice of thousands of households."
The two men arrived at the meeting place and were received by Udit, an ordinary middle-aged Congress member.
After receiving the money, the other party also invited them to campaign for the election.
The two of them were already on a mission, so there was nothing wrong with it.
Udit's campaigning location was in the urban village surrounding Malabar Hill in South Mumbai. They walked on the rocks by the sea, where a large slum area had been built.
Most residents were indifferent to Udit's arrival. One man sarcastically said, "You're more diligent than the water here. We only get water once every five years."
But one family paid homage to Udit. They brought out an iron plate with coconuts, oil lamps and incense sticks, performed puja in front of him, and knelt down to touch his feet.
Udit blessed them, and the slogans shouted by his followers switched from Marathi to Hindi to English, depending on the household.
Every time he visited a family, Udit would give them a small bag of food or a small barrel of olive oil.
Then they repeatedly assured people that more benefits would be distributed when they went to the polls on voting day.
Unfortunately, the residents did not seem to be impressed by Udit, as bigger bags of food and bigger barrels of oil were piled up at their doorsteps.
In this election season, canvassing is also very competitive.
People were not afraid of Udit. A woman came out of her shack and pointed to a water pipe in front of her and said, "The reservoir is right there."
She was referring to the Malabar Hill reservoir, which supplies water to all of South Mumbai. "I had no water. I had to quit my job of 22 years, otherwise I would have left at 6 o'clock and arrived at my workplace in North Mumbai by 7:30."
She had to stay at home and collect water in buckets when the water truck arrived, otherwise there would be no water available.
Can Udit solve this problem? He can't solve it, even though his work at the city hall includes the water supply company.
In Mumbai, water resources are a business, a business that only powerful people can participate in.
If there is no water shortage in the slums, where do their huge profits come from?
Udit promised to solve the problem, but it was just cosmetic, all for the sake of elections.
People's questions were all kinds of strange, and Udit could only do his best to deal with them.
"This area just had electricity, why is it cut off again in less than a week?"
“There’s a problem with the line because of the rainy season, but it will be fixed soon.”
"The wealthy neighborhood next door didn't lose power, only the poor people lived there. Where did the electricity go? Did you steal it and sell it?"
Amor touched his nose. He knew the answer to this question, but it was hard to say.
If Sur Electric stops operating, his salary as the security captain might also be affected.
"Can you solve my daughter's enrollment problem?" someone else asked.
"Does she want to go to a parochial school, a public school, or a private school?"
"Walsingham. Can you get my daughter in? Just give me your word."
Walsingham is one of the best private girls' schools in Mumbai.
That meant a lot of money, but Udit lied anyway, promising that after he was elected he would persuade the city government to set up a special education subsidy.
The so-called campaign canvassing is a complete game of lies.
The person who says it knows that he can't do it, but still enjoys doing it.
The listeners knew that the speaker was full of lies, but this was one of the few times they could see an important person being friendly, so they were happy to listen a few more words.
Anil and Amol just listened and said nothing, and they both sneered at these politicians in their hearts.
However, the two also discovered a strange phenomenon, that is, Udit had never once set foot in the high-end residential area across the street from the slums.
"Why not?" Amor couldn't help asking.
"The rich won't come down to vote," he replied.
In the wealthy area of Malabar Hill, the voting rate among "legal" residents was only 12 percent.
In the adjacent shantytowns, the voter turnout was 88 percent, because for the people there, whether a certain person is elected or not means whether they will end up on the streets.
In India, it is the poor who vote.
Look, both are democracies, but the voting groups in the US and India are completely different.
After listening to Anil and Amol's reports, Ron finally had some understanding of India's democratic rules.
He will inevitably have to deal with this circle in the future, and now he is just familiarizing himself with the process in advance.
There was nothing urgent here in Mumbai for the time being, and it was time for him to return to Uttar Pradesh.
This time he was not considering branching out into a factory, but another business.
(End of this chapter)
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