Chapter 383 Marketplace
The streets of Mumbai are always so vibrant, and many foreign tourists will hold their cameras and admire the busy and strange street scenes outside in fascination.
Rows of small shops line the streets, each selling a specific commodity and providing a small but essential service to the city.
There are people who wax wooden furniture, typewriters, hair oil sellers, fireworks vendors, chapati bakers, funeral directors, and handmade leather shoemakers.
The fourth generation of their descendants runs these shops. The shops are on the ground floor and the owners live upstairs, paying a symbolic rent of several dozen rupees.
The shops are open from 11 a.m. to 9 p.m., and like vendors everywhere, they know where to find cheap and delicious street food, like rose ice cream or tapioca pearls.
When their relatives from other places come to visit Mumbai, they are the best guides to guide them around the streets.
Most of these people's day trips to Mumbai end with watching late-night movies at the Maratha Mandir cinema, which they often visit.
The people who have run the shop for generations are not rich enough to move away, nor have they ever thought about moving away.
Their children will inherit the family business, which was opened during the British Raj. Over the decades, they have established a firm foothold and have their own comfort, familiarity and ease in this corner of the city.
While walking around the streets, Ashish was also quietly thinking about which stores would be suitable for a VCD, or what functions the VCD should provide to cater to these stores.
Market and marketing are meant to complement each other. They must find that tacit understanding, which is the key to making a new product an unstoppable success.
The two of them had planned to go straight to the slums, but stopped when they passed a few Persian restaurants.
There was a group of people singing and many people around the restaurant were clapping along.
Ashish likes Persian restaurants and often goes to Naz Café in South Mumbai, which opened on Malabar Hill after India's independence and has a great view for a low price.
He would go to Naz almost every week and sit on the terrace at the top, looking out over the Chaupatti beach for just fifteen rupees extra.
He would wave away the greedy crows and chat with friends from all over the world while drinking beer.
It’s a pity that the angry Shiv Sena could not tolerate such exotic customs, especially those from Persia.
They ignored the solemn protests of the Naz owner and allowed the government to forcibly nationalize the land that was originally private property.
They demolished the cafe and built a water quality monitoring station on the original foundation.
The profits from running Naz are too slim, the scenery too gentle and lovely, it is no match for the rough and tumble modern Mumba.
Most of the Persians in Mumbai are Zoroastrians. They come from rural Persia, are not wealthy but are extremely hardworking, and have been persecuted in their homeland because of their religion.
They are completely different from the Parsis living in Mumbai. Although the latter are also Persian Zoroastrians, they migrated to the Indus River Basin around the 8th century.
Persians who make a living in India by doing catering specialize in baking and various snacks. Hindus have such a superstition: it is unlucky to open a food store on the street corner.
The Persian folk customs are just the opposite. They feel free to build shops at crossroads to welcome customers from all directions. Not only are the shops eye-catching, but they also have good lighting and ventilation.
Persian shops are mostly decorated with marble countertops and teak-backed chairs, with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and portraits of Zoroaster, the Zoroastrian master, hanging on the walls.
Deep in the store, there is a basin for customers to wash their hands. Above it is a series of "Customer Instructions" posted, strung together into a limerick by the humorous poet Nissim:
Don't be too busy writing, you haven't ordered yet. Please don't comb your hair, it will dirty the floor. Don't play pranks, the manager is watching. No matter your name, you are welcome to come again. If there is anything inconsiderate, please forgive me. If you are satisfied, please come and spread the word. May God bless you and may you always smile.
"Ashish, are you hungry?" Seeing him in a daze, Dharmendra couldn't help asking.
"No, did you notice what they were doing?"
Dharmendra looked up and said, "They're eating. Tea, coffee, bread, Paulson butter, pretzels, cakes, scones, butter rolls, hard-boiled eggs, pies, saffron rice, and lamb rice."
“I think you are hungry,” Ashish said unhappily.
"It's so hot, everyone wants to rest." Dharmendra shook his head slightly embarrassedly.
Most people go to restaurants at this time to kill time and escape the heat: sit at the table, order a cup of tea, read the newspaper, or watch the street performances outside the window.
Unlike Punjabi or Western restaurants that are popular among the middle class, Persian restaurants are very affordable in terms of both price and atmosphere, and customers do not need to scrimp and save before entering.
Therefore, most of the customers in Persian restaurants are migrant workers, who sleep in large bunk beds and eat tea and flatbreads.
If even scones were too expensive, flatbreads were always an option. For working people, this was the cheapest and most filling food. Tea, topped with spoonfuls of sugar, was a great way to replenish energy.
"We'll talk about eating later. Have you noticed? They all like to sing."
"What's so strange about this? Three-year-old Indian children start singing and dancing as soon as they are born." Dharmendra didn't care.
“Yes, but people especially like to sing when they are in a restaurant.”
“When I hear a familiar song, I can’t help but sing along.”
"Yes, that's it." Ashish's eyes lit up and he caught it.
"What do you want to say?" Dharmendra asked curiously.
"Forget about you remembering it at Todai. You've never been there. Anyway, when I was researching the market there, some VCDs had singing functions—they were called karaoke!"
"That sounds like Japanese."
"It's basically a jukebox. You record the songs on a CD. Then you plug in a microphone and sing along."
The more Ashish spoke, the brighter his eyes became. Sur Electric was launching small appliances such as speakers and microphones this year, which were just right for VCDs.
"You want to put VCDs as jukeboxes in these Persian restaurants?" Dharmendra understood instantly.
"It's not just Persian restaurants. As you said, Indians love singing and dancing. We can tell the owner that VCDs can be used to attract customers and make money at the same time."
"make money?"
"Yes, for one rupee you can order a song from Kumar Sanu, Elvis, or a Bollywood film. There will definitely be people interested. It's a good idea, isn't it?"
"But our VCD doesn't have a song-on-demand function." Dharmendra spread his hands.
"It doesn't matter, Dongda has it. Just ask them to add it, and the next generation of VCD can launch this function." Ashish felt like a king of ideas.
"Okay, but I'm hungry."
"You just ate a few vadas, go to Jogeshwari first." Ashish ignored him.
They had not been back to Jogeshwari for a long time since they moved to Mira Road.
Ashish looked at the sprawling slum with a touch of nostalgia, while Dharmendra looked on with disdain; he had had enough of this place.
Their family of seven originally squeezed into one room.
How to divide it up? When he was bored, he even drew a picture on paper.
He and his brother slept on a camp bed. On the paper was a rectangle, representing the camp bed, with two small circles drawn inside, representing him and his brother.
My two younger brothers slept on the floor, and two small circles appeared outside the rectangle. My parents slept in the kitchen, which was a few steps inside the room.
There was also a line drawn on the paper with "dining table" written on it, and his sister slept under the table.
This is the bed allocation map of ordinary families in Jogeshwari slum, which is basically the same.
How could he miss such a place? Mira Road is the ultimate ideal in life.
Having said that, the two knew this place very well.
It is true that the slums are dirty and messy, but they have everything they need.
The people here work in all walks of life, creating a magical scene that cannot be seen in wealthy areas.
For example, in the small room filled with shells, craftsmen are using shells to make handicrafts and putting small light bulbs inside the shells.
There were also Bollywood hard workers here, who knew Ashish and his friends. As soon as they met, he boasted to them about his latest film, saying it was a "romance with gangster elements."
However, their final destination is the local tyrant Ram Swami, who lives upstairs from the "Prince Casino" and specializes in selling adult magazines, and his business is booming.
There are many photos of him hanging in his living room. In the photos, he has a big beard and no smile at all.
When Ashish and the others entered the room, Ram Swami was lying on the bed with his upper body naked, his round belly sticking out like a seal.
"Are you still selling these explicit things?" Ashish looked around his shop.
"I've got to make a living," he said, patting his pot-bellied belly, which had a deep scar on each side, like the stretch marks on a woman who'd given birth to a football team.
Ram Swami had three legal wives and a dozen illegitimate ones. He began every sentence with "fuck," but he didn't do that when Ashish came in.
Ashish is the golden phoenix that flew out of the slums of Jogeshwari, and everyone has heard of his name.
Naturally, there are many people who have benefited from his kindness, and some of them have now moved into the Sur employee community, a real middle-class residence.
As a sign of respect, Ram Swami changed his mantra.
In fact, with his wealth, he could easily find a similar apartment on Mira Street. However, he would rather be the head of a chicken than the tail of a phoenix. If he left the slum, he would have no right to represent the family.
"If you have any magazines you like, feel free to take them. We also have books, which are guaranteed to feast your eyes." Ram Swami waved his hand generously.
"It's not strong enough." After looking around, Ashish shook his head.
"Hmm?" Ram Swami sat up from the bed. "If you want, I have something even hotter."
He reached for the drawer, which was full of the store's treasures.
The people above are all big seafood merchants, and they will show you their products generously.
"Forget it, today I'll let you really see what it means to save up your energy." Ashish waved his hand.
"Save your energy?"
"Yes, do you have a TV here?"
"Yes, in the room."
"That's great, let's go in."
Ashish gave Dharmendra a look, and the latter immediately came into the house with the VCD.
To be honest, he also wanted to see it.
(End of this chapter)
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