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A twenty-four-hour flight is neither particularly fast nor unbearably slow. The plane landed at Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport in Mumbai, India.
This was India's most populous city and the capital of Maharashtra. While it wasn't near the Ganges—whose waters were jokingly said to be "clean enough to drink"—the local sanitation still maintained India's consistent style and standard.
The moment the plane touched down and the cabin door opened—
Even without a Kryptonian's enhanced sense of smell, the difference was obvious.
Katie took a step back.
The air itself carried a distinct Indian flavor. Whether in his previous life or this one, this was Henry's first time experiencing it firsthand.
Not all of the crew were Indian, but they were well-traveled professionals. At the very least, none of their polished service smiles cracked. For that composure alone, Henry almost felt like tipping them.
But that would've been a mistake.
Flight attendants don't accept one- or two-dollar tips—especially not those on private jets. The women hoped to land a wealthy target; the men waited to attach themselves to a rich patroness. What was a few small bills supposed to accomplish?
---
What truly impressed Henry was the trip through customs.
Or rather, Karan Patel's influence.
Or more precisely, the power of the Kingo film dynasty.
Henry went through VIP clearance.
As for Katie? She merely wore a collar and leash. No cage required—unlike in the United States, where they insisted on crating her.
For animal quarantine, Henry handed the documents to Patel to handle.
Whether it was the completeness and legitimacy of the paperwork—or the U.S. dollars discreetly placed at the bottom—that did the trick, Henry couldn't say.
A few heavy stamps came down, and Katie was officially admitted into India.
Noticing Henry's look, Patel gave his head a characteristic Indian wobble and said:
"Mr. Brown, in great Hindustan, there is no corruption. That was the animal quarantine fee."
"Mhm. I understand."
Yeah. Sure you do.
Henry had watched the officer slide the bills into his pocket without even properly reading the bold header on the documents before stamping them.
Still, Henry didn't call it out.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
Besides, it benefited him. No laws were being broken—just time being saved. There was no need to develop moral fastidiousness over procedural purity.
---
Outside the airport, a Bentley waited.
The interior was spacious enough that even with Henry and Katie in the back seat, it didn't feel cramped.
On the way to the Kingo family's headquarters in Bollywood, Henry initially considered lowering the window to enjoy some "authentic Hindustan breeze."
Katie shrank back into the cabin.
That alone told him something.
Normally, she loved sticking her massive head out the window to terrify pedestrians.
Then the smell hit him.
An overwhelming wave of curry-scented air assaulted his senses.
He immediately rolled the window back up and gratefully surrendered to British luxury air conditioning.
The British, having once colonized India, clearly understood how to design export models for this market. The climate control was exceptional.
Inside and outside felt like two entirely different worlds.
For a fleeting moment, Henry regretted coming.
There was an old joke:
Odor severity comes in four levels—mild, moderate, severe… and India.
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Bollywood was technically shorthand for the Bombay film industry, centered in Mumbai.
But much like Hollywood, the name had evolved into a symbol representing India's thriving film industry as a whole.
India also had Kollywood and Tollywood in other states, along with several smaller production hubs.
Together, the three "woods" essentially represented the backbone of Indian cinema.
In terms of output and ticket volume sold, Indian cinema ranked first in the world.
Of course, ticket count was not the same as box office revenue.
In the 1990s, North America remained the largest film market. That was why Hollywood was so prosperous.
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Kingo Film Company was located in the heart of Bollywood—an old-established studio with its own sound stages, equipment, and talent pool.
But Mumbai traffic lived up to its reputation.
Even with two police motorcycles clearing the way, the Bentley's progress was merely tolerable.
Without police assistance, it would've been pure gridlock hell.
Lane-cutting and chaotic merging weren't the main problem.
The real issue was that too many things that had no business being on the road were on the road.
Street vendors.
Human-powered bicycles stacked with goods.
Livestock wandering freely.
And yes—Henry finally witnessed the legendary traffic caused by cows.
Drivers wouldn't even honk.
They simply followed behind the cow patiently.
If the cow lay down in a narrow street, everyone waited.
Peacefully.
Still, Henry also noticed something interesting.
While India revered cows, he saw herders whipping and driving some of them along the roadside.
Curious, he asked:
"Mr. Patel, I thought cows were sacred in India. Isn't harming them illegal? What's going on there?"
From the front passenger seat, Patel glanced in the direction Henry indicated and replied matter-of-factly:
"Mr. Brown, the sacred cows protected by our laws and religion are specifically Indian zebu cattle.
"In our belief, the cow is the mount of Lord Shiva and a symbol of the universe, representing health and prosperity. You can identify them by the distinct hump on their shoulders.
"The animals you see being driven—those are ordinary water buffalo. No hump. They're used for plowing fields or raised for meat, leather, and dairy production.
"Those are economic livestock. Like anywhere else in the world.
"In fact, our beef exports to Southeast Asia and Africa are a major industry for India. We do not worship every cow."
Henry couldn't help but smile faintly.
India, famed worldwide for its caste system—even cows were divided into ranks.
And no one here found that odd.
In fact, there was pride in the explanation.
Cultural differences like this weren't for outsiders to judge.
Henry certainly wasn't foolish enough to lecture them about what constituted "advanced civilization."
After all—
Who decided what was advanced, anyway?
And meddling in that debate was not something he had any interest in doing.
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