Chapter 467 Destination
"Those two in the front are wanted criminals this week," Barum said. "Those two are terrorists from Kashmir."
"What did they do?"
"They bombed a school and eight children died."
“What about this guy? The guy with the beard?” He tapped Barum’s photo with his right knuckles.
"He was the one who caught those two terrorists."
"How did he catch them?"
In order to pretend that he was reading the words on the wall, Barum squinted his eyes at the two notices and moved his lips pretentiously.
He understands nothing, he is also illiterate, but that doesn't affect his serious nonsense.
"This guy was a driver. It says here that he was driving and these two terrorists walked up to him."
"Then what?"
"It says here that he pretended not to know they were terrorists and drove them around Delhi. Then he stopped the car in a dark place, smashed a bottle, and cut their necks with the broken bottle." Barum made a neck-slashing motion with his thumb.
"What kind of bottle?"
"Bottles for British spirits are usually very strong."
"I know," he said. "I used to go to the English Liquor House every Friday and buy some for my master. He liked Smirnoff."
"It's Smirnov," Barum corrected, but the man wasn't listening; he was staring intently at the photo on the notice.
Suddenly, he put his hand on Barum's shoulder.
"Do you know who this person on the notice looks like?"
"Who does he look like?" Barum narrowed his eyes.
He grinned.
“Like me.”
Barum looked from his face to the photograph.
"That's true." He said and patted the other person on the back.
Half of the Indian men fit the picture on the wanted poster.
"The suspect was last seen wearing a blue plaid polyester shirt, orange polyester pants, and maroon sandals..."
Look at this description, it is almost a true portrayal of young Indians on the street.
There are too many, too common, and the police will only write like this.
There was also a photo attached to the wanted poster, which was printed by the police station's old printing press. It was blurry and black, making it difficult to distinguish.
The notice was posted at the train station and the face in the photo could barely be made out. It was vaguely visible that the face was thin, with a pair of goldfish eyes and a short, thick mustache on the lips.
The facial features of half of the Indian men match this photo, including the man who was just watching the fun.
Barum felt sorry for the poor illiterate man, even though he couldn't read much himself.
But this is the life of these illiterate people, in countless train stations like this, being taunted and cheated by strangers.
So he bought the man a cup of tea before returning to the train.
Barum was not a politician or a member of Congress, and he could not get on with his life after committing murder.
He moved to many places and only gradually calmed down four weeks after arriving in Bangalore.
He did the same thing every day for a month. After paying a deposit of 500 rupees, he stayed in a shabby little hotel near the railway station.
He would go out at eight o'clock every morning, walk around for four hours with a bag full of cash, and then go back for lunch.
Lunch was four rupees a plate; the southern food was good value for money, though a little odd: chopped vegetables served in a watery curry.
After dinner, Barum went back to his room to sleep, and at four o'clock in the afternoon he went downstairs to ask for a packet of Parley milk biscuits and a cup of tea, because he didn't know how to drink coffee yet.
He really wanted to try coffee. In this country, the poor people in the north drank tea, while the poor people in the south drank coffee.
Barum didn't know who had made that rule, but that was the way it was.
Therefore, this was the first time he could smell the aroma of coffee every day. He really wanted to taste it, as he had seen Mr. Satya sipping coffee slowly countless times.
But before drinking coffee, you must first know how to drink it. There is a set of etiquette and procedures for drinking coffee, which really fascinates him.
The coffee is served in a large cup, then measured out into a tumbler, from which it is sipped slowly and at a steady pace.
He doesn't know the proper way to pour or drink coffee.
At first he just watched how others drank it. It took Barum a week to realize that everyone drinks coffee differently.
This one pours all the coffee into a tumbler at once, while that one doesn't use a tumbler at all.
Barum thought to himself that none of them were locals and it was their first time drinking coffee.
This is another great sight in Bangalore, a city full of outsiders who pay no attention to one another.
Barum stayed in a hotel near the train station for four weeks with nothing to do.
He still had some concerns in his mind, should he have gone to Mumbai?
But the police will definitely think of this immediately. Didn’t all the people in the movie go to Mumbai after killing people?
One morning, Barum passed by a park and saw several drunks lying on a bench in the weeds.
He came to a wide road. Across the road was a stone building with a golden lion on the top.
Such a magnificent building must be the residence of the ministers. He also saw a slogan on the gable of the building.
He asked a passerby, and well, that person did not lie to him and told him the truth.
Government work is God’s work!
Barum smiled. He was right. He knew these words.
After reading so many copies of Murder Weekly, he could barely read the newspaper.
He was just not sure and needed to get confirmation from others in person before he would be satisfied.
He relaxed in vain, knowing that he would have a great time in Bangalore.
Barum moved out of the hotel and rented an apartment. He now had to make a living in Bangalore and figure out how to fit in.
He tried to listen to the voices of Bangalore, just as he had listened to the voices of Delhi.
He went to the streets and sat in cafes with a pen and a piece of paper in his hand, writing down everything he overheard.
Everything in this city seems to be related to only one thing: outsourcing!
That means people in India work for Americans over the phone. Everything else—real estate, wealth, power, sex—all stems from this business.
Therefore, he also had to find ways to join the outsourcing industry.
He heard from passers-by that a special economic zone was about to be put into use.
It will be the largest and most advanced high-tech enterprise cluster in Bangalore, and many companies, including outsourcing companies, will move there.
Barum decided to go over there and see if there was any opportunity.
In April 2001, Ron returned to Mumbai; he had spent enough time in Delhi.
It was mainly to deal with the succession issue within the Socialist Party after Satya's death.
Just as he had thought a few months ago, Satya could not be saved in the end.
In fact, he died that same night.
The hospital rushed him back just to use a whole set of expensive emergency measures, so that they could charge a hefty medical fee when his family arrived.
It was purely a business consideration and had nothing to do with Satya's position as a minister.
The death of the Socialist Party leader naturally means that a new leader must be elected.
Originally, his cousin Ramal was the popular candidate, but the original Yadav's son has grown up.
The uncle and nephew were fighting fiercely for power, and the already weak Socialist Party became even more unbearable.
If it weren't for the thought of restraining the BJP, Ron really didn't want to get involved in those messy matters.
Finally, with his secret instructions, Lamar became the new leader of the Socialist Party.
At least he has some political experience, knows who is in charge in Uttar Pradesh, and knows how to get things done.
Yadav's son is still too young, impulsive and hot-tempered, and needs to be disciplined for a few more years.
Only after finishing all these things did Ron return to Mumbai.
The Sunshine Smart City business district here has been open for a long time and is even more popular than Delhi.
Mumbai is a huge city with more people, denser population and more love to join in the fun.
It is no exaggeration to say that although the initial investment here was higher due to the demolition, it is more profitable and will recover its costs earlier than New Delhi.
In addition to handling business matters, Ron is occasionally invited to participate in some activities, all of which are official for publicity purposes.
Someone suggested that he take his family to bathe in the Ganges to seek the protection of Lord Shiva.
Ron's hometown is in Varanasi, and such an event will surely be of great significance, gaining him prestige throughout North India.
But after much consideration, Ron finally refused because he really didn't trust the holy river.
As the richest man in North India, he could certainly mark out an area in advance and then purify the water.
In addition, personnel are stationed there 24 hours a day to test the water quality every day.
But it's no use. It's only 2001, and the technology tree has not yet reached the point where it can eliminate all bacteria in the Ganges.
That damn place is where bacteria breed. After all these years, all that's left are the ultimate killer.
He is also afraid of Ganges Select. Does he have to wear it again?
His children are still young and definitely cannot withstand such torture.
What Ron could accept was taking his family to the temple to pray, like today.
Isha took Ravi to the statue of Surya, the sun god, and prayed. When it was Ravi's turn, he clasped his hands together and murmured, "Thank you for giving me a wonderful life."
After a few photos, the family of three reunited. No, it was four. Isa was pregnant and still had four months to go before her due date.
At the fence behind the statue, a worship ceremony was in full swing in the temple.
They were not aware of the exact rules of the Yajna, nor were they familiar with the lyrics of the bhajans, but the devotees chanted fervently, with the sound of bells, drums and singing filling the air.
Ron and the others stood in the center as the wizard approached, shaking the lamp. At the personal advisor's reminder, they cupped the flame with their hands, as if embracing the light and blessings brought by the lamp.
The others also came forward and put their palms together in front of their foreheads in this posture.
The event ended only after this set of ceremonies last night.
Before Ron had time to rest after returning home, he heard the inside story that Enron was in trouble.
His eyes lit up instantly. It was a big company, a giant in the electricity market.
(End of this chapter)
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