Banking and me

 Although I visit India, about thrice a year, I only visit my bank during my summer vacation as that's when I am in Pune for the longest stretch- approximately 3 weeks.

One of the first things I do after settling in over the weekend is ' visit SBI on East Street'.

If lucky, I see a face or two amongst the staff, who I have dealt with before and that's quite reassuring. (The others have probably been transfered.)

Them not remembering me is another story.

After waiting in line for about 30 min or so , it's finally my turn.

I have prepared for this visit well before leaving Dxb. 

Cheque books, Account numbers, Credit and Debit Cards ,miscelleanous receipts, Aadhar cards, Pan cards and whatever else I imagine the bank may ask for.

Thus, well armed, I approach the clerk smiling. 

She or he smiles back and right away I get into the job of reminding him or her how we met the year before. While engrossed in that , the clerk attends to calls, enquires from people behind me, clicks a few keys on the computer keyboard, drinks water, sips tea and rifles threw masses of papers on the desk.

That the clerk was not paying attention to me is obvious. So my 10 minute introduction has been wasted.

I make a second attempt. 

The manager suddenly summons the clerk so I am left sitting at the desk.  

I check my papers nervously and feel relieved that I have everything I need.

Meanwhile my wife asks me if I switched off the gas before leaving the house. 

I thank her for her query with a cold stare.

Meanwhile the clerk returns and asks me if I have filled the KYC.

I reply in the negative .

So I am handed a form which I attempt to fill in. 

Proof of Dxb and local address ? I manage to get this from my phone and look up triumphantly ! 

Photographs of my wife and myself- that was a breeze . Various copies - yes I have them.

Now I come to the cards . They have not been used for a year and never work.

Getting a new password is difficult as it has to be mailed to you. 

However I usually coax the clerk who makes an exception and so that's done.

As the card does not work right now,I need to withdraw some money.

Signing on the cheque book is something I dread. My signature never matches. The clerks are always suspicious. 

They ask me questions to check.

Where have I been for a year? Why haven't I used this account?. Why don't I remember my signature? 

At times they show me my old signature and ask me to copy it. 

I fail miserably.

I once suggested they take my thumb impression as that would be easy. They said no. But I can swear I have seen people affixing their thumb impression on bank cheques before. 

My wife has suddenly remembered that she used the iron at home .... did I use it too ? 

We argue as to whose fault it is. OMG her timing is always spot on. 

Meanwhile the clerk has checked, and as expected, my signature does not match.

She then needs a sign off from the manager. My frustration makes my ears go crimson.

I peep in and smile my most charming smile at the manager. She thinks I am acting smart and requests me to wait till she checks. She keys in some numbers and looks up. I don't know whether to smile or not. It's almost like passport control

 

I volunteer to show her documentation to prove I am the real deal. She finally believes me and I proceed to get the cash. 

The original plan was to lunch out .However that plan is shelved as we need to get home to see if the gas is still burning and the iron still on. 

Holidays are fun aren't they?

 A pensive mood

A vintage Port

The lamps aglow 

Sam 'lightnin' Hopkins for company.

Asking for more?

No. 

Desiring a change ? 

No.

Could be better

Yes!

But certainly not bad !

The lazy boy 

Cushions tucked in 

Legs stretched out 

Comfortable 

A cat purring at my feet

Begging for love?

Probably not.

She is a mean kitty

And as elusive as they come!

And then

Suddenly - a phone call 

Out of the blue 

And 

It all changes. 

The mood, the music, the wine too.

And what an unexpected change 

In seconds 

I am glad.

Euphoria? 

No .

Happy ? 

Oh yes 

Life . Yes that's life. 

Patience is a virtue 

And it pays .

Dinner beckons.

A tryst with trolleys

 I hate the trolleys in supermarkets.

Ok, let me tone that down before people start suggesting anger management classes for me – I like supermarkets and malls but I hate most of the trolleys therein.  

Now please don’t get me wrong – I love shopping for groceries and walking down long isles, buying things I don’t need. Let me modify that too before people brand me a shopaholic- my wife is the one doing the buying, while I am the one who is pushing the trolley.

Back to the trolleys, and our shopping last Sunday.

We needed a few vegetables and some curd according to the Mrs. and I knew right away what that meant, as it has happened before. We go in with good intentions, but by the time we are done with ‘shopping’ it’s about two hours, I am fed up with life as a married man, and looking for the nearest bench or chair to rest my weary body, but that, after finding the washroom. When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go!

So last Sunday was no different, but this is about the disgusting trolley that I pulled out from a line of about twenty. That’s Murphy’s law, isn’t it? You may wonder as to why I pushed it forward when I knew it was malfunctioning. Well, trolleys are sly creatures. They start out all smart and perfect and soon you are on roll – one isle after another. Then the inevitable happens. 

Like most husbands, I guess trolleys get a tad fed up too, and that’s when they start playing up. All was going well that day when all of a sudden, my trolley wheels seemed to have jammed and it came to an abrupt halt. After a few kicks and shakes all seemed ‘hunky dory’, but then, without so much as a by your leave, this monster started a game with me. It instantaneously started moving to the left. The more I tried to steer it straight, the more it kept veering off to the left. 

Before you can say “Jack be nimble”, I was banging into oncoming trolleys, knocking over large pumpkins, grazing people’s shins and knees, missing shelves of glassware by millimeters, and in general causing mayhem.

I was scolded by a rather fierce-looking man for attempting to force my way into the middle of a queue, when all I was actually doing, was trying to steer the trolley toward the payment counter. That was easier said than done. 

Did I tell you I had a bad back when I went in and this imbecile only made it worse? So here I am, limping along, back aching and pushing an overloaded trolley, that was as stubborn as a mad mule. 

After almost knocking an old lady off her feet and crashing into the payment counter, we cleared the bill and I breathed a sigh of relief. I just had to go down a small slope and then move towards the car park.

That’s when my trolley decided it needed to visit the lady’s loo. Yes, you read that right! Despite my best intentions, it went careening down the slope in the exact direction of the toilet, with me and my bad back limping along, trying to make it go straight out of the exit door nearby. 

Three ladies were chatting & exiting the toilet and I was almost inside! They jumped aside to avoid getting injured. A meter or so more, and I would probably have been escorted away by security and arrested. That would have made nasty news for sure!

My wife was oblivious to the agony I was in, as she was still looking to see what else she could buy on the way out, and that irritated me no end. 

We finally made it to the car, but not before almost scraping the side of an oncoming vehicle whose driver must have thought me insane, for seeing him approaching in broad daylight, yet walking in the center of the path in an attempted suicide mission. 

Please – can someone get these supermarkets and malls to service their trolleys?