Clean Bowled - A story of two identical souls.

3.

Inline comments are much invited.

Sanyogita

The driver stopped the car at headquarters. Cool breeze hit the bare skin of my face and hands when Swayer opened the door for me after checking the surroundings correctly. Mumbai is cool in morning and nights, this year in January.

Well, for Mumbaikars, nine is early morning.

Swayer is my bodyguard. I am not just a journalist or editor; rather, I'm Sting operations specialist. I don't stalk; I investigate, and that leads to death threats from politicians or mafias on a regular basis.

Swayer is at the expense of the company, not mine!

I am Gujarati.

I reached the headquarters in a totally distressing mood. First, the day. Second, my hair, and third, this interview. This is not the first challenge of my life. It's just that I don't want to take this interview. I can't be the one I'm not, and today I can't be myself while asking him questions.

Scanning my card on the attendance scanner, I entered, "I'm not always at gunpoint, Swayer." I sighed when he closed the door and loaded his gun, following me inside the office.

"It's my job, Sona" he said in his flat tone. It took me so much to make him call me Sona rather than Ms. Desai or Ma'am. Both were ugly.

I didn't argue considering I was on Sting for the last two days. We have all the information against a scam which involves some 'reputed' politicians and at appropriate time, we will make it public.

Though those people didn't suspect me but still security is necessary to beat dad's upcoming heart failure, in case I get shot or kidnapped or raped.

Swayer is basically from Russia with a danger look and Six-Five height with a full bouncer-type body. His glares are enough to threaten any person. Not to forget his tattoos, which usually on full display for girls to drool during the summer, when he wears half-sleeve black uniform.

Once Swayer tagged along with me in a politician office after his win as chief minister to wish him. The secretary of that politician pee in his pants, looking at Swayer and his scowling face.

I entered the newsroom. Our newsroom is the busiest newsroom of all the news channels in India. fifty-five reporters sit here at a single time, reading and writing stories. Keeping an eye on the latest happenings anywhere in India, It's our responsibility to report any news first.

This 16-foot-wide cubical space is the heart of the entire office. Newspapers, reports, files, and cuttings of old newspapers spread here and there on all tables. Laptops, computers opened, and reporters were running here and there to update with every single news stor

"Ma'am Prithvi sir is arriving shortly." Sheetal started walking with me. I nod, strolling towards my office upstairs on the first floor. Swayer stands at his usual place which is left side of my cabin door.

Sheetal followed me with some papers in her hands: "The interview room is ready, mic checked, and questions are here on your desk." She pointed at the spiral file placed on my desk.

Removing my jacket, I hung it on a hook on left wall of cabin. "Take the file, dump in bin," I said without even looking properly at that file. There is no way I'm going to ask questions given by his team and read them like a parrot.

Though I may be an employee of this channel, I work like the owner because the owner works according to me. I have earned it.

Our CEO Mr. Prakash Ajmera was quite impress with me, Since I was intern here. During one of riots, I give him the best clips and inside info which helped channel to top in TRP charts.