Sunday, January 24, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Me and The Banker to Every Indian
From now onwards, whenever you come to my blog be reverent for I am no more a Tom, Dick or Harry. I, Mr. Arun Meethale Chirakkal, have joined the league of extraordinary gentlemen, the kind that you can’t even dream of. Clueless about what am I arriving at or already writhing in jealousy wondering ‘how, how this goddamn moron managed to reach such heights in such a short time?’ Wait, I’ll tell. But before that let me add some more oil into the fire, I love doing it, you know.
I’ve Rabindranath Tagore, Jagadish Chandra Bose, Dr. C.V.Raman, Dr. Rajendra Prasad and the likes for company. Aah! I can almost see that; your eyes getting popped out, mouth agape and you try to conceal that horrible expression, indeed unsuccessfully.
I’ve been accorded greatness by allowing ‘The Banker to Every Indian’ to serve me. I’m damn sure that a day will come when they will be proud of getting a chance to serve me. But as of now they won’t admit it for reasons you can guess (no price for guessing, let me clarify). But once I’m dead and gone your great grandchildren will be able to see me in the bank’s future campaigns; ‘The Banker to This Indian’. But considering the fact that I managed to open an SB account in one of the branches of ‘the largest bank in India’ only on the 5th day and spent long hours there, I can’t help ruing about the things we might’ve missed. Things the great men of our country could have achieved – yet another masterpiece, yet another invention - had they trusted some other bank with their money.
Day 1: Around noon I go to the bank to enquire about the procedure. The bank is as crowded as a railway platform during peek hours. I spot a board hanging with ‘Customer Relations Manager’ (to be referred as CRM from now onwards) written on it. I approach the woman and ask her about the formalities/documents to open an account. She sends me to another person. He informs me what and all I should bring to get it done. Then the C R M gives me the form that runs into a dozen pages. I spend the whole afternoon writing everything about me in a thousand and one tiny boxes.
Day 2: I step in with the documents I’ve been told to present. The C R M directs me to Manager, this time yet another person. I ask him whether the documents are enough only to be told to ask the CRM again. I tell him I’ve been sent to him by her. He washes his hands of saying that he’s there temporarily and tomorrow I won’t see him. Lesson learnt: In the largest bank in India no one wants to be responsible for anything. He also informs me that since it’s Saturday they are going to close.
Day 3: I go to the CRM to present the documents. She is in no mood to listen as she talks in an excited manner to a person about someone’s ‘Bharathanatyam Arangettam’. I wait there wondering is it time for me to do an ‘Arangettam’ in violence. At last she pays attention to me and sends me to the Manager; this time the original. He seems to be busy and I sit there for some 20 minutes. Finally he snatches the form and documents and quickly declares that it can’t be accepted and I have to produce a salary slip if I want to open an account with them.
Day 4: This time straight to the Manager, only to see someone else in the place. Going by his expression, I assumed he has constipation. “Please wait”, he announced staring at the monitor and tapping the keyboard. He seems to be clueless of what he’s doing. After making me wait for sometime he takes the forms and documents from me. Scrutinising it he objects a couple of times stating that the address is not clear enough for a postman to find out the place and I haven’t mentioned a landmark in the address. Ooh! At least he’s concerned about the postman. “O.K. Moron, when I reside somewhere near Taj Mahal – famous enough for you to accept as a landmark, huh? - I’ll open an account here, bye.” I quickly erase the thought and assume yet another expression of extreme politeness. “The address is clear sir; I’ve mentioned the cross properly.” Hesitantly he accepts and asks me to write the pin and announces; ‘come tomorrow it’s time for us to close’.
Day 5: Directly to the Manager, the same person. “You have to wait” he tells grumpily. After a while he starts to scrutinize the form and marks the places to be signed / filled. He sends me to the CRM and she with horror announces that it’s mandatory to have a nominee and fill the page meant for that. (I had told by the Manager otherwise) ‘Show it to Manager and get his sign once it’s over’, she quips. I show it to him and his facial expression changes quickly as if I told him that I am in love with his daughter and we are planning to elope. “I am not going to sign this, I don’t want to be a witness, get help from her.” Then, again I come back to the CRM. Fortunately this time, may be absentmindedly, she accepts it and provides me a couple of sealed envelopes. Pinching myself to make sure, I ask her; “it’s over, right?” “Yeah, that’s all.” “That’s all”, as if it has been done in a few seconds.
PS: In this particular branch (I don’t know whether it’s the same in other branches as well) other than the Manager’s Cabin there’s yet another board that hangs in a corner that has the word “Manager’ on it. The funny thing is that ‘Managers’ keep on changing there as I’ve mentioned.
I’ve Rabindranath Tagore, Jagadish Chandra Bose, Dr. C.V.Raman, Dr. Rajendra Prasad and the likes for company. Aah! I can almost see that; your eyes getting popped out, mouth agape and you try to conceal that horrible expression, indeed unsuccessfully.
I’ve been accorded greatness by allowing ‘The Banker to Every Indian’ to serve me. I’m damn sure that a day will come when they will be proud of getting a chance to serve me. But as of now they won’t admit it for reasons you can guess (no price for guessing, let me clarify). But once I’m dead and gone your great grandchildren will be able to see me in the bank’s future campaigns; ‘The Banker to This Indian’. But considering the fact that I managed to open an SB account in one of the branches of ‘the largest bank in India’ only on the 5th day and spent long hours there, I can’t help ruing about the things we might’ve missed. Things the great men of our country could have achieved – yet another masterpiece, yet another invention - had they trusted some other bank with their money.
Day 1: Around noon I go to the bank to enquire about the procedure. The bank is as crowded as a railway platform during peek hours. I spot a board hanging with ‘Customer Relations Manager’ (to be referred as CRM from now onwards) written on it. I approach the woman and ask her about the formalities/documents to open an account. She sends me to another person. He informs me what and all I should bring to get it done. Then the C R M gives me the form that runs into a dozen pages. I spend the whole afternoon writing everything about me in a thousand and one tiny boxes.
Day 2: I step in with the documents I’ve been told to present. The C R M directs me to Manager, this time yet another person. I ask him whether the documents are enough only to be told to ask the CRM again. I tell him I’ve been sent to him by her. He washes his hands of saying that he’s there temporarily and tomorrow I won’t see him. Lesson learnt: In the largest bank in India no one wants to be responsible for anything. He also informs me that since it’s Saturday they are going to close.
Day 3: I go to the CRM to present the documents. She is in no mood to listen as she talks in an excited manner to a person about someone’s ‘Bharathanatyam Arangettam’. I wait there wondering is it time for me to do an ‘Arangettam’ in violence. At last she pays attention to me and sends me to the Manager; this time the original. He seems to be busy and I sit there for some 20 minutes. Finally he snatches the form and documents and quickly declares that it can’t be accepted and I have to produce a salary slip if I want to open an account with them.
Day 4: This time straight to the Manager, only to see someone else in the place. Going by his expression, I assumed he has constipation. “Please wait”, he announced staring at the monitor and tapping the keyboard. He seems to be clueless of what he’s doing. After making me wait for sometime he takes the forms and documents from me. Scrutinising it he objects a couple of times stating that the address is not clear enough for a postman to find out the place and I haven’t mentioned a landmark in the address. Ooh! At least he’s concerned about the postman. “O.K. Moron, when I reside somewhere near Taj Mahal – famous enough for you to accept as a landmark, huh? - I’ll open an account here, bye.” I quickly erase the thought and assume yet another expression of extreme politeness. “The address is clear sir; I’ve mentioned the cross properly.” Hesitantly he accepts and asks me to write the pin and announces; ‘come tomorrow it’s time for us to close’.
Day 5: Directly to the Manager, the same person. “You have to wait” he tells grumpily. After a while he starts to scrutinize the form and marks the places to be signed / filled. He sends me to the CRM and she with horror announces that it’s mandatory to have a nominee and fill the page meant for that. (I had told by the Manager otherwise) ‘Show it to Manager and get his sign once it’s over’, she quips. I show it to him and his facial expression changes quickly as if I told him that I am in love with his daughter and we are planning to elope. “I am not going to sign this, I don’t want to be a witness, get help from her.” Then, again I come back to the CRM. Fortunately this time, may be absentmindedly, she accepts it and provides me a couple of sealed envelopes. Pinching myself to make sure, I ask her; “it’s over, right?” “Yeah, that’s all.” “That’s all”, as if it has been done in a few seconds.
PS: In this particular branch (I don’t know whether it’s the same in other branches as well) other than the Manager’s Cabin there’s yet another board that hangs in a corner that has the word “Manager’ on it. The funny thing is that ‘Managers’ keep on changing there as I’ve mentioned.
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