Mr. Grandwater was on a ship. He didn’t much like ships because they made him seasick and he especially didn’t like ship voyages because he only got to look at the stock prices once a week.

“It’s abominable,” he once complained to his butler, Tibbs, “that they don’t send the stock prices over by radio - it’s a perfect waste of a good invention, really.”

“I agree, sir,” said Tibbs, who didn’t own stock.

Mr. Grandwater was sleeping in his cabin when Indian crew members first spotted India after three weeks at sea. The sun was just rising over Chatrapur. To put it mildly, the moment was spectacular. Some started crying and cupped water from the Bay of Bengal in their hands and held it up to the sun. Some of them knelt down and started praying and then stood up and chanted ecstatically in Hindi.

It was all very annoying and woke Mr. Grandwater up. He got out of bed, put on his slippers, and slouched outside.

“Would you mind?” he barked over the ship’s railing.

One of the Indians on the deck yelled up to him, “Gud morneeng, Sahib! Welcoam to Eendia!”

Mr. Grandwater cleared his throat loudly and went back to his cabin. He stayed there, reading the London Times - which was six days old. After he finished the paper, he reread the section about gurus in “India: A User’s Manual.”

“The Indian gurus of Uttar Pradesh are the richest of human existence; simply sublime; beyond compare. They live ascetic lives in temples at the foot of the Himalayas, hardly ever doing anything but sitting contentedly. Their disciples would get them anything they wanted at a moment’s notice, but they don’t ask for anything.”

This was why Mr. Grandwater spent three weeks on a ship. He decided he would learn the secrets of these gurus; the fantastic ability, of course, to be able to ask people for anything and have them do it immediately.

“The trouble with these ‘gurus’,” thought Mr. Grandwater. “is that they don’t understand basic economics! They’re all too wrapped up in all their praying and temply-duties to realize their own potential. What a waste! They could have whatever they liked! These Indians just don’t have their heads screwed on straight. I’m going to get to Uhter Praddash, meet a few of the chaps, learn the trade, and get out. I’ll be back to London in a month! That’s when it will really pay off. I can imagine it now - people competing just to get me a cup of tea or shine the shoes. Marvelous, really.”

When the ship docked at Vishhakapatnam, Mr. Grandwater and Tibbs went to the train station to get to Uttar Pradesh. At the ticket counter, the clerk explained that the first-class seats weren’t different than second-class or third-class seats - they we’re all stiff and wooden - but the wooden seats in the car with “First-class” painted on it cost 2000 rupees more than the car with “Second-class” painted on it, and 6000 rupees more than the car with “Third-class” painted on it.

“Third-class, then?” Tibbs asked Mr. Grandwater.

“Of course not. It’s important to know what you stand for in this world,” explained Mr. Grandwater.

“Certainly, sir. It makes sense to me,” said Tibbs and bought the first-class tickets.

On the train, it was loud and sweltering and dense and the air was yellow. It was smelly and the seats we’re uncomfortable, too.

“You see, Tibbs,” said Mr. Grandwater after a while, still in his suit and mopping his head, “India is not like Great Britain. They simply don’t have their act together. Think! Can you imagine one of them filing a financial statement or even holding a position at a credible office?”

“No, sir. It’s preposterous.”

“The baboons wouldn’t even be good butlers.”

“No, of course not, sir,” said Tibbs.

“They simply can’t contribute anything valuable to the world. They’re dead-weight is what most of them are. Look here!” he said and pointed to the “India: A User’s Manual” guide. He read, “The majority of India lives on less than the equivalent of two pounds a day.”

He snapped the book shut. “You see, what did I tell you? They just don’t contribute any value.”

“You make more money than the majority of India,” Tibbs pointed out, helpfully.

“And so do you on Sundays,” added Mr. Grandwater.

“Yes, sir. You’re very generous, sir.”

Mr. Grandwater thought for a while and then replied thoughtfully, “You see, Tibbs, I’m generous because I can afford to be generous. It all comes of having the money, you see. I worked my way up. Do you think you get to the top by lazing around and taking vacations?”

“No sir. I understand now, sir.”

“One day, perhaps, you’ll be like me,” said Mr. Grandwater encouragingly, and added, “Everyone has equal opportunity in this world.”

“Obviously, sir,” said Tibbs, as they passed men shoveling piles of donkey excrement into carts.

The train arrived in Uttar Pradesh and Mr. Grandwater opened up “India: A User’s Manual” to the correct page. A smile broke across his lips.