He never uses the same SIM card twice. When he finishes a call, he takes the SIM card out of the phone and quietly discards it. He doesn’t wear a hat with a suit and a tie or drive an Aston Martin. He does not order a Martini–with the words ‘shaken, not stirred’–at a fancy nightclub. He isn’t the ‘super spy’ who charms the ladies and beats up the baddies.
He wears simple cotton slacks and trousers, walks around in chappals, and carries a plastic bag to buy vegetables from the market. With a grey moustache and a tilak on his forehead, he looks like any other middle-aged, middle-class ‘South Indian uncle.’ But he goes the extra mile not to draw attention to himself.
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