One
crowded morning just before Mar 31rst, in the SBI's Treasury Branch
on 18 June Rd, Panaji, an old lady broke the serpentine queue to
'make inquiries'.
“I
want to open a PPF account,” she announced. Considering her
wrinkles, stoop and grey hair, it had to be gently explained to her
that the tenure of the account was fifteen years. “Ok,” she said,
with the confidence that she was certain to live that long and more,
“Tell me what I have to do.”
She
was given the form and the advice to fill it. She stood at the
counter and meticulously filled it with gnarled, trembling fingers
whilst the queue moved up a notch or two. Once she'd finished writing
the form out, she re-interrupted the queue and handed it back.
“Check
it,” she insisted.
“You
need to fill in the nomination bit, Ma'am.”
“I
don't want to. There's no one in my family who likes me. They do
nothing for me. I won't give them anything...” She narrated some of
her history whilst some in the queue politely reminded her that the
counter would close in a couple of minutes.
“You
could choose a friend, a neighbour, even a favourite charity.” This
suggestion was met with scorn. Then she flung a surprise across the
counter. Unlike in the larger cities, banks here don't have glass
planes with round windows which work like a barrier between staff and
customer.
“I
tell you, I don't believe in charity. I don't want to give my money
to anyone.”
“But
Ma'am, that's the rule, you need to have a nomination.”
This
wasn't getting anywhere. A gent nearby asked, “What happens if
there isn't a nomination?”
“Eventually
the money goes to the Government.”
“Then
let it go,” the lady said.
Instantly
everyone present got into the discussion. Free and varied suggestions
were flung in all directions.
“Leave
it to your domestic servant.”
“Mother
Teresa's orphanage.”
“The
Aguada jail.” (Where do people get these ideas from?”
“The
animal hospital at Tonca.”
“The
cow-shelter near Shiroda.”
“Home
for the Aged, Ponda.”
“Hamara
School for street children, St Inez.”
“Coastal
Impact NGO for marine conservation.”
“You're
so old, why don't you forgive your family? Leave them the amount. You
won't be around anyway and they'll bless you for it.”
A
good samaritan, in the same age-bracket as her stepped forward to
explain the wisdom of a nomination. She heard him out.
In
Goa, banks still don't have glass panes with round windows cut in
them: customers can and often do shake hands with the staff.
Suddenly,
this bent over the counter, standing on her toes, tapping the
computer with her pen said: “What's your name? You put your name as
nominee.”
“That
can't be done...” everyone in the queue was now attentive. So were
the other staff. The lady broke that inquisitive silence. She clearly
and loudly announced: “Yes, you. Put your name there.”
“Ma'am,
I think you should go and talk to the Manager.”
Unfazed
and unembarrassed by the attention she was now getting from customers
and staff alike, she marched off to the Manager's cabin to argue her
case.
Her
voice came through the Manager's cabin door muffled, but the tone
hadn't changed. We all knew she was repeating her side of the story
and felt sorry for the Boss.
At
the end of the financial year, the last thing one wants on one's
hands or across one's desk is a time-consuming 'troublemaker'.
That's
when one reaches out for “Customer Service”.
I
believe every bank must have one dedicated person to deal with
situations like these. Managers' time is too valuable to spend on
incidents and people like these.
