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While Henry was busy guiding Stark Pictures' engineering team in developing film-grade digital imaging technology—
Helping Charlize Theron refine her acting after work (followed, naturally, by some quality time together)—
Spending whatever free time he had trying to find good film projects for his girlfriend, only to be met with piles of cultural garbage—
And squeezing in his own secret work in whatever hours remained—
A rather unusual visitor arrived.
Karan Patel.
An utterly unremarkable name.
He was Indian. Very Indian. Also very overweight.
His profession?
Butler.
Yes. That kind of vibe.
Karan Patel had come as the representative of a major Bollywood film dynasty—the Ginger family—and their production company, to discuss cooperation with Stark Pictures regarding film-grade digital imaging technology.
In heavily curry-accented English, he launched into an endless introduction about the Ginger family's history and status in Bollywood.
After World War II, when India gained independence and entered its most turbulent era, the family that became a pillar in the hearts of the Indian people was not the Gandhis, nor some Brahmin lineage—
—but the Ginger family.
From the great-grandfather onward, every generation had produced a film star. Even the current head of the family, "Ginger," remained one of Bollywood's top celebrities.
"Ginger" was both their surname and the title used by each generation's patriarch. No need to remember individual names—just call him Ginger.
Rather like Hubert de Givenchy, Audrey Hepburn's close friend. His brand had become so famous that he preferred people to call him "Givenchy" rather than by his personal name—even close friends.
Incidentally, the Ginger family had maintained five generations of single male heirs.
Their film company supported a vast network of actors and staff. The films they produced had become cultural symbols for the Indian people, inspiring them through hardship and sustaining hope for national revival.
In short, Ginger Films represented not only Bollywood, but post-independence India itself.
Naturally, such a company pursued the latest film technology, seeking superior visual language to remain at the forefront of cinema—
…within India, at least.
They absorbed Hong Kong martial arts, Hollywood sci-fi, European humanism, East Asian cinematic aesthetics—added curry flavor—and turned it into their own distinct style.
Technologically, they followed the same philosophy: always the first Indian company to experiment with foreign innovations, leading others in the industry to follow.
Recently, the biggest technical news in Hollywood had been Stark Pictures' digital cinema technology.
Ordinary audiences cared about stars and box office.
Industry professionals—especially those focused on technology—were watching Stark Pictures closely.
The news had reached Bollywood.
Thus, Karan Patel had come to see Henry Brown.
---
First problem: how was a Kryptonian supposed to maintain inner respiration while being slowly suffocated by curry fumes?
Second problem:
Five generations using the same name. A household name. A superstar.
No one in India found that suspicious?
Was this like that old internet joke—where levels of myopia are classified as mild, moderate, severe… and Indian?
Henry raised a hand to stop the torrent of words.
"Mr. Patel. Let me clarify. You're proposing that Stark Pictures bring its latest technology to India, manufacturing digital cameras and projectors locally. Is that correct?"
Patel leaned forward enthusiastically.
"Yes, Mr. Brown! Consider this—India's population is approximately 960 million this year. The second largest in the world!
"If every person bought one digital camera, that's 960 million units! If every household required a digital projector, that's 200 to 300 million units!
"Think about the scale! White American dollars would flow like a fountain! You would only need to bend down slightly to pick up money! Can you find such opportunity anywhere else? No! Impossible! Only India offers this!"
Henry began to understand why, decades later, Indian executives would dominate American tech leadership.
They could talk.
And somehow make it sound convincing.
Listening to Patel, Henry almost believed him himself.
Was this man some future telecom-scam mastermind sent back in time?
Then again, in a culture where cosmology casually included kalpas, universes destroyed in Shiva's breath, and Brahma's days lasting billions of years—
Perhaps verbal exaggeration was simply a national skill.
Henry raised both hands this time.
"Mr. Patel. Cooperation isn't impossible. But there are additional matters I wish to discuss directly with Mr. Ginger himself."
Patel's head tilted side to side in unmistakable Indian fashion.
"Mr. Brown, please rest assured. I am Mr. Ginger's full representative. Any conditions can be decided through me."
Henry paused.
Then made a decision.
"Even if the matter concerns the Eternals?"
Patel froze—just a fraction too long.
"…Mr. Brown, I'm afraid I don't understand that word."
Bad acting.
Henry didn't enjoy playing prophet.
But if the opponent truly was an Eternal—
And if the Ginger family's public identity was a long-standing celebrity cover—
Then perhaps it was worth the gamble.
He raised a finger dramatically.
"There's another magic word," Henry said calmly.
"Krypton."
"Whether you understand it or not, please pass along this message."
"The Kryptonian wishes to speak with the Eternal."
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