The Hedge

Prologue

"Fucker! You son of a whore! Be a man. Be a real man. Fight me one on one. Fight like a real man with bare hands and clenched fists. Don't be a sucker. Throw it away, and stop being a bitch." He was screaming at man opposite to him and posing like a boxer. "Come on! Come on! You bastard." He looked at the other guys. "And you guys will know what makes a real man."

"Are you nuts?" The man in suit was asking the screaming guy. He turned to his group of men. "He is nuts." He turned to the screaming man "Do I look like Bruce Lee?" Tut! "Do I look like sepoys of the yore?" Tut! "Does this look like a boxing glove?" Tut!  Three bullets, one through the right eye, one through the neck, and the final one through the heart had ended the screaming man's life.

Chapter One - Now

It was seven in the morning, and I had switched on the television, only to see every single channel beaming "happy one hundredth independence day". Surfing through state owned television channels had the Prime Minister of the country giving the speech. The usual stuff about how our neighbours shouldn't underestimate the military might of the country, and that they fire will be met with fire. There was the usual tribute to the father of the nation, and also the mother of the nation. That was enough for me turn off the television. 

Today was my big day, and I didn't want to be disturbed by the frustrating rituals of all these ridiculous speeches. After all these years, I have finally got my opportunity to be part of something that I have been aspiring ever since I saw the man giving that wacky talk after shooting that politician. I was right there on top of the tree behind the rusting van parked nearby with my binocular. My voyeuristic tendencies had taken me there, and to see what the hottie of the house, a retired actress, did every night, with various men. And my desire to witness some tantalizing moments in the bedroom were met by some violent actions on the relatively isolated street.

I can still remember the way he was asking the politician 'Do I look like Bruce Lee? Do I look like sepoy of the yore? Does it look like boxing gloves?'.

I also remember how the slid the gun into his coat, and buttoned it one by one, and turned to his group of men, and started speaking.

"Now listen Gentlemen! This is among the more important lessons. Real men act. Only pigs yap. These guys will go yappa yappa on the hope that they will be able to delay their death, and somehow find an escape route. Longer you listen, the result tends become less certain for us, and less uncertain for him. This is time risk. Be efficient. Why do you think guns were invented? To stop these guys from going yappa yappa. Finish them off soon, eliminate all time risk, and go back home. Your time is better used by spending with your near and dear ones. Not talking to pigs. These pigs have already done enough harm. Why would you want to listen to their nonsense and damage your brains, eh?" 

That still feels like yesterday. Only that it isn't. It was almost eleven years ago. And still it revitalises me. Looking at the mess around, all the more feel the need to quickly get into it - the coveted department of the Centre for Research in Social Empowerment and Economic Development.

Chapter Two - Three Years Back

The appointment was at eleven, and I was there at the centre at around ten itself. I was hoping to be the first one to reach the organisation among many aspirants. I walked through the narrow road, which was more like a lane, and stopped by a tea shop to have a cup of black tea. The tea shop was diagonally opposite to the centre. 

I looked at the almost faded board describing the organisation on the second floor of the nondescript building. I knew the organisation wasn't what it seems. I mean, they do research in the fields of sociology, econometrics, fiscal policies, poverty and all. But they do something more. Most people aren't even aware of its existence. Most often the office is locked. The other instances, it is merely adorned by an ageing lady on the reception desk, who is virtually incapable of answering any of your queries in any meaningful fashion.

The other occupants of the building are equally clueless about the office. Long back, I had enquired with the ground floor commercial shops, the first floor offices, and none of them had any remote idea about what kind of work the institute was doing. They had no website. The telephone numbers mentioned on the board always rang but never answered. It was sheer coincidence or probably dumb luck that I was invited for a meeting with the Centre head.

My educational background in finance and fiscal policies, my work experience in the field of macro economics, my association with the district collectorate for various social welfare work and my ability to take quick, but almost always, correct decisions were the reasons why they had invited me. Atleast that's what the phone call from the Centre conveyed. The phone call came out of the blue, and I could identify it to be the centre only because it was the same number that I had stored against the Centre's name in my phone.

"Mr.Chezhian, we are calling from the Centre for Research in Social Empowerment and Economic Development. We are in the process of taking in couple of eligible candidates for our research activities. We understand you are quite keen on doing activities which are pretty much in line with what we do. Why don't you drop by our office next Thursday around eleven am? You know the location as well, right?"

"Yes. But I never made an application for any post in your centre?"

"Of course you didn't. We are always on the look out for the right candidates, and keep on scrutinizing profiles of various candidates, including those forwarded to us by persons other than the candidates as well. We also review profiles available in the public domain. So you need not have actually applied for any post." And the talk went on about my abilities, and why they were interested in me. "So do we meet next Thursday at eleven am?"

"Yeah. Sure."

My yes wasn't motivated by the motivating inputs of the telephonic talk, but by the possibility of bumping into the shooter from my distant memory. I don't know why I wanted to meet the man or even just look at him once again. I may not do anything at all even after seeing him. I may not even talk to him. I simply didn't know. It could probably because there was something mysterious about the man, therefore something sinister or interesting about this organisation, or just that I am plain curious. It could also be because, since I thought, I could become part of something which is very secretive, yet powerful. It could just be that I have watching too many movies since my teenage days. I simply didn't know why, but I was definitely excited at the prospect.

Hold on! Did I mention that I have been travelling down that road for almost seven years since I started dating, without ever noticing that building? Did I say that roughly three years back I had accidentally seen the shooter walk into that building? Did I ever narrate my curiosity and the consequent efforts to explore that building to know what and all are housed there? Did I confess that eleven years back, somehow I started hero worshipping the unknown, unnamed shooter, who had actually killed another man? Now I did. Now probably I have explained why.

Chapter Three: Now

I took out the newly bought suit out of its zipped cover, and laid it neatly on my bed. I was visualizing self in that greyish brown coloured suit. I tried recollecting how I looked in it at the garment store. I could remember that mild blue coloured shirt that I had tried with this one. It looked different, yet good. I was repenting missing that shirt in favour of the off-white one that also lay on the bed. I just consoled myself of having made a finer choice, and went to take my bath.

As I turned on the tap, and also the shower, my mind went back to the interaction I had with the Centre Head couple of years back. My mind always does that, everytime I take bath. The interaction is still ringing in my head.

"You could be destined for far more important things", I could still remember the Centre Head telling me, "or you could just end up in a junk yard like this." He had said smilingly, pointing all the old walls, and dusting files, and book racks of the centre. "But, do you know some of the finest gems and most wonderful treasures have been found in places which are anything but good looking? Junk yards like this take the credit for giving those wonderful things to this world."

"That's great sir."

"So?"

"Yes sir?"

"Its your choice, son."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah?"

"Why is the Centre often locked? Why is it that even when it is open, there are very few people around?"

"So you have infact been here before."

"The fact that my daily travel had been through this road had made me notice your centre, and my passion for economics and finance, coupled with my curiosity has brought me here couple of times."

"Oh. See, we have a very tight budget. We are often forced to work without any assistance, and as you would know, if you do become part of this junk yard, we have lot of field work. That would answer your query."

"Yeah."

"So?"

"When should I join?"

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"That was swift." He stood and shook my hands "Well, here is hoping that you could be that that gem, rather than an old fart explaining empty offices to bright young candidates."

'Why not black?' As I was shampooing my head, this new thought struck me out of the blue, disturbing my yet another favourite flashback scenes. Not everyday you are directly or indirectly referred to as a gem. And not every succeeding day, you are given some work that is truly exceptional. So, any interruption of that sequence is a little irritating. 

I finished my bath, wiped myself dry and straightway ransacked my wardrobe and took the three black shirts that I had. A few minutes later, I knew black is what I'll wear for the day. Without ties, it looked better. Let ties be damned.

Black would also look a bit menacing, which is what I believe the department people are upto. Or atleast that's what I fantasizing like them to be. 

I was fully dressed up and ready, and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked the menacing economist, ready to be part of the Hedging Department. 

Chapter Four: Three Years Back

It was almost three months before I had a glimpse of the man who had been the primary motivation for me to join the Centre. I had almost missed him. I was in the middle of a discussion on tax rates and economic development, that I heard a voice which I recognized from my distant memories. For a moment, I couldn't put a face to the voice, and didn't bother to turn around and see who was the owner of that voice. It was that slight reference to time risk that I turned around to see him.

I saw his face, but I wasn't sure if it could be him. As he and yet another person had walked into the Centre Head's room, he was making some gestures with his hand, which is very much etched in my memories. And that confirmed it was him.

"Have we seen these guys before in this office?" I was asking my fellow research faculty, a man of around forty, who had been in the office for more than a decade now. I had seen him observing the two men entering into the Centre Head's room.

"I am not sure if you have seen them. I have seen them lot of times. Both of them are old timers. Part of the Zero Group, as they are called by Kris. These two gentlemen Patel and Ratan Chari, the Centre Head Suhas, Basu and Ali are the founders of the Centre."

"Oh. That explains how they could directly enter Centre Head's room without even knocking. The shorter one is Patel?"

"He is short for you? The guy is probably taller than you."

"Come on Boss! It was a relative reference. The other guy was extremely tall, almost giraffe like"

"The Giraffe is Patel, and the midget, relatively speaking, is Ratan Chari."

"What do they do? I haven't seen them in anytime since I was here."

"They are from the 'Hedging Department'. Patel and Ratan jointly head the Department."

"Oh! So these are the 'Hedgers'. Always thought it was something else, when you guys would use the term in different contexts. But what do they do?"

"Reportedly they do research in Fiscal Policy Corrections and advice Government agencies and people on the same. You know, Patel was a very famous Hockey Player. He represented the Country in Couple of Asian Games, and almost made it to the Olympics, but missed it due to a freak injury. He was captaining the team. He is darn brilliant and very articulate. Have you read his article on Economic Development and Sports? Brilliant one and must read."

"Yeah. I have read that. It was a terrific read."

"Yeah. He is brilliant. And hot headed. He is rather famous for bullying Government people into submission. Legend has that he once raised his hand to hit a Minister over something."

"And Ratan Chari?"

"He was a Civil Servant. An Historian by education, and Economist by passion. That's about it."

"Nothing legendary about this man?"

"You were hoping for some?"

"Nopes! Was just wondering if there is anything special about him."

"Nothing that I am aware of."

"He looks violent. Doesn't he?" Images of the gun holding Ratan Chari from the past was flashing in my mind.

"Does he?"

"Nopes."

"Let's stick to our work. Shall we." He was putting an end to our conversion. "Atleast for the time being."

"For the time being? Yeah. Why not!" I was all smiles. 

As I lowered my eyes to the keyboard in front of me, my colleague quipped, "Ratan is among the gentlest human you can ever meet. You'll know it one day soon."

Chapter Five: Now

"Guys!" There were exactly three of us in the room, including Ratan who was talking, "Over the past one year, as you are aware, we have been explaining, demonstrating and pressurizing the powers that be to refrain from treading their current line, but, nothing has happened. Our country is being pummeled down year after year, screwed royally endlessly, and we find too many lazy hogs happily gulping down the free liquor without being productive, and yet the heads of the state, the country's top decision makers, the educated economists on the rolls of the Government are busy promoting their vote centric welfare economics model, which has raised the Country's inflation to such an extent that the lowest rate that we have seen in the past thirty five years is ..." He wanted to us to complete. He wanted the significance to set in.

"Fourteen Percent!"

"A country as big as ours, shouldn't fail economically. It will bring down too many people, and too many banks and too many countries. It will add to the already exploding troubles of the Trans Atlantic Economic crisis. There is a civil war in fourteen countries, we aren't really faraway from being the fifteenth. The infallible fell a decade back, and the dollar is now dead for ten years. Remember, the modern warfare isn't done using nuclear bombs, but using economic bombs. Can we permit this?"

"We cannot!"

"When short sighted, petty minded, politically smart, but ignorant of basic principles of economics, get all the power; when educated economists leave their principle, and do chamchagiri to obtain political posting, and talk crap as economic fundamentals, when all the efforts talk rationally and make them realize the gravity of the floundering errors and mistakes they commit fail, when talks don't work, what choice do we have?". He buttoned up his suit, signalling the end of the meet. "Let's move." 

We all got geared up and started.

Chapter Six: Fifteen Months Back

The discussion was meandering towards nothing. Ratan and Patel were trying to impress upon the Food and Agricultural Minister, and also his secretary, the grave consequences of the Government's policies on Sugar and Wheat procurement and storage. "We have been through this before. Thrice. And all the three times, we have witnessed massive inflation, and massive debt, and even bigger loan waivers."

"So? You want to stop me from taking a decision which will benefit lot of farmers in these miserable days?"

"Mr.Minister, the miseries will only increase."

"How?" The minister was asking incredulously. "Could you please please care to explain?"

"I just wish you listened to all our points we were making all along." There was an hint of anger in Patel's voice, and I was getting anxious thinking what could happen next. This was the minister's place.

"I listened throughout. What did you guys think I was doing? Tonsuring my head, eh?" He slammed his hands on the table. "I seriously wonder who gave you guys all those degree in economics...." The minister was making the statement and gradually turning towards his Secretary. He couldn't finish the statement. He was interrupted by a slap so hard that he he almost fell off his chair. A slap so swift that it took all of us by surprise, and shock. All except Ratan. "What the f....." Another one. This time from Patel. 

Half an hour later, the minister had understood the points Patel and Ratan were trying to make, with the kind of clarity that is associated with the purest of diamonds. He had to. And I was excited, happy, scared, anxious, stressful and lot of other things which I had no words to describe. But one thought that kept flashing through my mind was that "It's true." I guess I had blurted it out as well, when I heard "Yes, it is true" from Patel.

As we left the Minister's office, spending another ten minutes talking to various staff at Minister's place, I was wondering why did the Secretary stay silent, and the answer to which I'd learn many days and years later.

Chapter Seven and Epilogue: Now

'On a lot of occasions, we are forced to act in a way not fitting an economist. Now, as with most things, there are two sides to what happened back there. One, we probably made him understand something which he always capable of, but refused to acknowledge for whatever reasons he knew best. Two, we probably did the most stupid thing by taking stupidest of all chances.' Ratan's words was still ringing in my head from our meeting with the Minister. He was explaining why we are the way we are. Firm and at some level, violent economists. 

'These guys can be maniacs. They are. But then, we can also be. We got to be sure that we are on the right side of moral compass. It is not the action or methods alone that puts on the right side of moral compass. It is also the intent, and the ultimate purpose of our actions. Our action out there wasn't immoral or unethical. We hit him. So what? We got him do what has to be done. Not because we believe it was the right thing to do, but because we know that it is the right thing to do.' 

But the most important thing that I kept remembering from that interaction, as I was getting down from our vehicle and walking towards the Finance Secretary's place was what Ratan had concluded that day. 'And hitting them is just the beginning. Some time you clean the system by making them realize the grave errors they are committing. Sometimes you clean it by replacing them in the natural order of things. Sometimes you clear up the mess with one big shovel, throwing the dirt away. And sometimes, you simply finish them off. Be ready for that.'

I was ready. So was the gun in my waist. So were my reflexes. The other hedge, should gun go waste.

[Note: Set in the not so far future, this is what I think could and should happen if the current economic policies are being thoughtlessly followed, and the economy is damaged almost beyond repair. Votebank politics can never become good economics, and even if such policies are approved by economists of highest stature, especially when they do that not because of thoughtful reasoning, but due to greed for position, power and access to those in higher power. In such cases, the gun could very well be the solution. The rational and the good, should take to such extreme steps, if they would like to have a life bearing any semblance to sanity.]