No No No-minee

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.