Today, even in public sector banks, it was all done at a single counter. You deposited the payment, the teller clerk entered the details in the computer, and the printer next to the clerk printed out the draft; getting an official to sign was the only work done by someone else. It was all done in under half an hour, provided there wasn't much of a queue, and most branches had several such counters.
The public sector bank branch near my home in east Kolkata had seen poorer days, in a cramped office. Now it was well laid out, in spacious surroundings, with all-purpose counters. But the first jolt was to be told, "Our printer is not working." Do you have only one printer or all have packed up, I felt like asking, but thought better. "Go to our own branch just nearby; they will give you a draft," I was told.
So I trudged down the road feeling the first premonition of apprehension rising. There, at the far smaller branch, I was told by the number two, "Sorry, we can't issue a draft over one lakh. That needs two signatures and the branch manager has not come in today." When he saw the expression on my face he said helpfully, "Why don't you go to the bigger branch nearby? They will issue it for you."
But their printer is not working, I shot back. "Rubbish," the official said, "they give this excuse simply to divert work to us." But I persisted and said, "Why don't you issue two drafts of smaller amounts so you can sign them?" He looked peeved but grudgingly said, "But we won't take cash. Hope you have an account with our bank." I was sorely tempted to ask, why not cash, but merely nodded. He finally replied, "Then you will have to wait."
It seemed a more old-fashioned branch. There were box-like netted cubicles where cashiers earlier sat, and one also had the draft printer. When the cashier was told she had to issue a couple of drafts, she threw a fit, giving a whole list of things she already had to do. Finally, when she was told that she would not have to count cash she agreed with a sour face and went off to have her tiffin.
The first helpful man I met at the bank was the clerk who accepted the cheques and forms, and entered them in the computer. After a time the cashier walked it, looked cursorily at the computer and issued the print order, and a peon at the printer some distance away fished out the drafts.
Then all hell broke loose. Two bank employees had a difference of opinion and were yelling at each other, totally oblivious of the customers around. When they were almost ready to come to blows some other employees yelled at them to calm down and they slowly did. The self-esteem of those employees, not to speak of the bank's sense of discipline, seemed to have touched rock-bottom.
As I waited for my drafts to be signed, a woman, looking like a maidservant, presented her passbook at the counter for it to be updated. She was told, "Sorry, it is not working, come some other day." She pleaded that for her to come again for this was not easy. She obviously liked to see in black and white what she had deposited but had to go away disappointed.
Then a little later as I kept waiting I was amazed to see a staffer from behind the counter getting a passbook printed. Obviously, the printer was working. Customers were simply being fobbed off by claiming that it was not.
Then finally, nearly two hours after I had walked into the first branch, I got my drafts, thanked the official and the clerk, and left. I hoped I would never have to set foot in that branch again.
The next day, at the government office, there was a problem and a fresh draft was needed for a small additional amount. No problem, said the lawyer's clerk helping me. I will get it from the branch in this complex quickly. But soon he came back with a long face. Public sector bank employees were on strike. As I left the government office with a wasted day behind me, I could not help thinking: these employees are determined to self-destruct.
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