The morning sun was busy fighting its way through the Pune haze. I was busy too. Important work. Deciding between a second piece of Maa's poha or moving on to the jalebi. World-changing decisions.
My phone rang. Shanti's face flashed on the screen. No "good morning." Just business. I sighed, put the sweet, syrupy jalebi down. A true sacrifice.
"We have a problem," she said, voice like a taut wire. "German company. Krause Engineering. They're underbidding us for the Nhava Sheva automation contract by fifteen percent. EU subsidies. Political backing. The whole tamasha."
"Arrey wah," I said, picking a stray cashew off my plate. "Competition is healthy, Shanti-ji. Good for the market."
The silence on the other end could have frozen hell. "This is not a joke, Rajendra. This is a direct threat to our expansion. We need a strategy. Leverage. Counter-lobbying."
"Thik hai, thik hai," I soothed. "Don't get your sari in a twist. I'll look into it. Consider it… handled."
I hung up before she could explode. The jalebi was calling. But first, a little work.
I leaned back, closed my eyes. Not to sleep. To visit the office.
In the cool, silent space behind my eyes, the MAKA 2.0 dashboard lit up. No dusty ledgers here. Just flows of light—shipping lanes, data routes, money trails. I found the one labeled KRAUSE. Followed its glowing thread.
Their bid was a beautiful, precise German machine. And like any machine, it had one critical, specialized part. A proprietary "Varifix" alloy, made only in a small town in Sweden. Shipped via a single, famously punctual Danish logistics firm, NordStar.
Ah. The choke point. Not the factory. Not the CEO. The supply line. The artery.
I zoomed in. NordStar was a pillar of Scandinavian reliability. Their secret? A veteran logistics manager in Gdansk named Janusz. Fifty-eight years old. Thirty years of flawless service. And a beautiful, secret second family in the seaside town of Sopot, funded by a mysterious "consulting" side income.
Tsk tsk, Janusz. So greedy. And so… useful.
I didn't call anyone. I just… nudged. Through the System, I accessed a local MAKA affiliate in Poland—a "cultural import/export" guy named Krzysztof. I sent a simple data packet: a photo of Janusz leaving his Sopot apartment, the address of his primary family in Gdansk, and his favorite brand of ultra-premium vodka, Bison Grass.
The instructions were simple: "Deliver a gift. Include a data chip with the photo set to happy music. Be polite. Suggest a one-week shipping delay for shipment #NK-774. Wish him good health."
No threats. Just a friendly suggestion between professionals.
Two days later, Shanti called again. Her voice was different. Not angry. Cold. Confused.
"Krause is out. They've withdrawn their bid. Citing… 'unforeseen and insurmountable disruptions to a critical supply chain.'"
"Hain?" I said, feigning surprise. I took a loud bite of an apple. "Maybe their German efficiency is not so efficient, na?"
"Rajendra." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "What did you do?"
"Me? I told you, I looked into it. Maybe I just… wished for some bad luck for them. Very hard." I could hear her breathing, short and sharp. "It's cleaner than a price war, Shanti. No mudslinging. No lawyers. Just a… a pause."
"You sabotaged them. You broke them."
"Broken is such a harsh word," I chided. "I persuaded a logistical error. Temporary. They'll recover. By then, we have the contract. Everyone wins. Well, we win more."
"This isn't you. This is… monstrous."
I laughed. A real, genuine laugh. "Shanti, all I did was find a single point of failure and… tickle it. This is just good business. The highest form of efficiency: making your opponent's problem solve itself."
She hung up. I imagined her in her pristine Pune office, surrounded by graphs and ethical guidelines, staring at the phone as if it had bitten her. She wanted to play chess on the board. I had simply reached over and tipped my opponent's chair over. Less sport, more result.
My personal phone buzzed. A message from Ganesh.
Bhai, Polish uncle very happy. Says thank you for the "career advice." Sent a whole case of Bison Grass vodka. "For the team."
I smiled. See? Gratitude.
I typed back: Distribute it. A bonus for operational… mindfulness.
I put the phone down and looked out into the garden. Maa was there, patiently showing Huilan how to pick methi leaves without uprooting the whole plant. A lesson in careful, sustainable growth. In not breaking things.
I smiled. They were so good. So pure. They tended their little garden.
I tended mine too. A bigger garden. Where sometimes you had to prune a few aggressive weeds. Not with anger. Just with… precision.
Huilan looked up, caught me watching. She tilted her head, a question in her eyes. I just gave her a small, harmless wave and popped the last piece of jalebi in my mouth.
The sweetness exploded on my tongue. Perfect.
It was good to protect the sweet things. Even if you had to get your hands a little sticky with the details.