Banker’s Banter IV

“This address does not match with the one you’ve filled in the application form”, I said pointing to the ration card.

” Madam, thats my home address, I stay with my in-laws”, she sounded a little irritated.

“But I can’t open this account without a valid proof of the address you’ve mentioned here in the form. Do you have a copy of your marriage certificate?”

“Oh no.. we got married 18 years ago, who got marriage certificates back then?”, the lady was thoroughly annoyed

“Madam, we have to comply with KYC guidelines, do you have any proof of address….?”

“Will my wedding invitation do?” the lady asks.

ME * Bangs head on the wall

Mean Girl- ACT 1

Pride goes before a fall

“Hey, I saw this new person who commented on your blog. You know him”?

“Ah! Some creep demanding attention. Cheap tricks to get some web-traffic. Guys huh”

“Oh I see”

* Pause *

* Long Pause *

* Alarm bell*

“Hey don’t tell me, you’re J”

“Well never mind”

* SIREN…..*

“TELL ME NOW!!! Is that you with a pseudonym?”

I check the link. Everything falls into place.

* THUD* Thats how my pride had a massive  fall.

Sometimes we just presume things, generalize and make a complete fool of ourselves. As much as the creepy ones and spammers are treated like trash, sometimes you ought to give a thought for the people who take time off to read what you ramble and respect that fact. I never expected anyone in my new circle of known faces would venture into something like blogging or posting thought provoking insights.  I saw them all as the same old ambitious ‘kanakkupillais’.

I learnt a great lesson that day. Thank you Loony!

Misery loves attention

” So, where are you now? What are you doing? Which Co?”  An acquaintance in the much hated social circle of mine asks. I met the same person during last Christmas, answered the same questions and considering the interest she has over my life I knew this deliberate attempt at digging out my whereabouts had other motives. Now its really tough to let go of the itsy bitsy ego issues when you’re subjected to constant comparison and scrutiny through your teenage years and adolescence. Even now somewhere, outdoing each other gives a sinister pleasure in spite of telling yourself for the nth time  ’grow up’.

As the beeline for our share of kanji on Good Friday was progressing, I began my sob story. A more dramatic version of one of the previous posts. The story of my suffering drove her to tears. ( I wish it did).

“You just killed one of my career ambitions” the voice I love to hate said. I smiled. Sometimes you do yourselves a favor by massaging others’ ego.

Kunnamkulam- Whatay KULAM

All I knew about this tiny little place located about   25 kms away from the cultural capital of Kerala is that it is the land of duplicates.  The planetary alignments for 2012 are so screwed up that I have landed at a place where I’m being watched. Intense scrutiny that is. And when you have to deal with people twice your age with an inexplicable comedy of hierarchy you know you ought to take the ego feeding exercise to a whole new level.

But certain things ought to be given credit. Like the yummy fish curry meals at the canteen. The chechis who seem to genuinely care. ( Too early to judge?)

Familiarity breeds contempt

I feel like kicking myself for making promises of being the friend in need. There are friendships which fail the test of times. Sometimes the closer you get to know, the farther you want to run away. I have managed to run away from many during the stupid years of impulsiveness and pretend like nothing happened. But I can’t forgive myself for repeating the same mistake as I hit a quarter century or the certified age to behave like a responsible adult.

The night at the station

I sat in the safe confines of the ladies waiting room. Scores of people were around waiting for trains, trying to get last minute tickets to be home during the holidays. Bored of staring at the yellow wall and the ceiling I looked outside the window. A man seated at the bench, stared at me and before I knew it, he asks ‘ Varuo ente koode” ( Will you come with me). I could make out so much from his lip movements.

I turned away.  I felt humiliated. Will these losers ever learn to respect a woman or her integrity? And why didn’t I react? Fear! We’re seasoned to ignore and not to pay attention. The dead weight of fear and consequences prevented me from lifting my hands and slapping the idiot. That makes me feel miserable.

A drizzle of inspiration almost led to an emotional cloudburst.  But when you don’t have a punchbag, a blog is what helps at times. 

One year of cluelessness

I typed several words trying to explain that. And then realized I am as clueless even now. I sincerely hope, each year this day won’t be a reminder of what I let go!

Catharsis or crysis

That creepy feeling called losing the ‘me’ in me is back. With each passing day, I find myself being pulled into an abyss of mediocrity. I never wanted to be here. I’d been waiting for the dreaded moment when the ‘newness’ of it all vanishes. Its been almost a year and the feeling has sunk in.

Its a constant battle of  wanting to break away vs where do I go. The weighing balance of pros and cons is manipulated I say. Each time it tilts in favor of the overrated ‘sense of security’. And I am guilty of remaining rooted to it. As I mentioned a year ago, I had to choose between uncertainty and opportunity. Life told me what to do. Someone sensible enough stated the obvious, ” Don’t!!! You’ll regret later”. All I did was wait for it to happen.

Sometimes I wonder if I just created an illusion to ‘make me like’ what I’m doing. Could be or couldn’t be! If only I knew…

If the first year of my posting taught me to be more humble, the second year turns out to be a cruel joke for reasons known and unknown. I’m struggling to like the place, the people. Coz if I don’t its back to routine, that facade of being nice. There was a time when it was easy to genuinely like people. You didn’t have criterias or inhibitions. Anybody could be a friend. But then, growing up opens your eyes to the big bad world. There are too many concentric circles of comfort zones and you ought to place people in those compartments. Some pull it through the maze to find a dead end.

Sometimes I wish I never grew up. And all the time I feel I haven’t grown up. As days pass by, the alarm bells have started ringing at a higher pitch for the wedding bells to ring. But, nobody seems to care who deserves to bear the ring. Expectations are labelled far fetched demands for perfection. Apprehension translates to stubbornness. Being reasonable or thinking of a practical scenario becomes living in an Utopian world. Refusal to compromise is treated as a cardinal sin. Sad this society is. Sometimes you wish that the loved ones loved you a li’l lesser and saved you from the trouble. Dearest Uncles and Aunties, please don’t make it sound like your only purpose in life is to see me get settled. You and I know, its a mutually  pre defined role play.

The eyelids refuse to remain open. This abandoned place deserved some attention from a long time. And there couldn’t be a better way to do some catharsis.

 

 

The curse of our times

It was just another weekday evening. The roommate was immersed in her books and I had my headphones plugged in, shutting out the noises of the world outside. Tinie Tempah’s Written in the stars was growing on me when roomie jumped up from her chair with a start and pointed towards the window. A short male figure stood on the other side, his face pasted on to the window and with a clear intention to display his manhood to two hapless inmates in a women’s hostel. My heart skipped a beat and both of us remained frozen on the spot. It was a first time experience for me.  I still feel like kicking myself for not calling the police then. But, at that moment fear gripped me and I knew how far fetched from reality it was to think and react. The first step I took, was to let the hostel in-charge know.  She enlightened me on how the same guy was caught by the police a few months back and let off later.

What surprised me was the nonchalance of the authorities towards this incident. There is nobody to complain to and the only response we get is ” Ningal mind cheyyanda, thaane nirthikollum”. Don’t be bothered about it. He’ll stop it. FOR HOW LONG?

A few weeks later, a girl was literally thrown out of the hostel because she was seen caught talking to a boy. “We cannot handle this kind of behavior”, they claimed. The mother was summoned, the girl was reprimanded and her character assassinated.

Such hypocrites! A woman’s chastity weighs over her safety. Its okay to have a pervert knocking at your window at night but an innocent girl who just happened to speak to a boy is considered a threat to the ‘good name’ of an ‘institution’. Non-sense.

These are just random incidents, a few among the numerous ones I have come across ever since I shifted back to Mallu land 6 months ago. For all the literacy levels we claim to have, it irks me that a society can still remain so narrow-minded. Not to mention the new brigand of moral police who have taken it upon to cleanse the state from all evils. Just how filthy can one’s perception be.

A normal day at work requires me to interact with customers of all ages. Its pathetic when I try to make eye contact and the loser in front of me has eyes only for my body. Just because, I’m a woman.  When I walk towards the bank, I cross paths with a bunch 16-17 yr olds who attend coaching classes for entrance exams. Though I pretend that I haven’t heard them and walk off,  their lewd remarks scare me. These young boys could turn out to be serial rapists in future. When I shared this with another elderly woman ( a senior colleague), the response I got was , ” Nee enthina athu kekkan pone”. Hello Auntie.. since when have we started listening to things that only we want to or we should! I got to hear such unreasonable explanations that question  one’s basic common sense from most people I spoke to about this.

Why is it that any sort of abuse a woman has to face is treated with silence and apathy? In most cases, people frantically search for a loophole to blame the woman under any circumstance.

If a woman is vocal about the injustice she faces, ‘the feminist’ label is pasted. If she expresses a progressive view on what she wants from life, ‘its the evil of women’s liberation and misguided youth of today’. If a woman decides to walk out of a marriage she cannot handle, ‘its her problem that she couldn’t adjust’. If she decides to have a career and make all efforts to go up the ladder ,’ she has her priorities misplaced’. If a woman decides not bring kids into this big bad world, ‘ she is incapable of being a woman’. The accusations are plenty for every step a woman takes against conventions.

Its high time we moved out of the archaic value system, that has been twisted and tested to suit people’s needs. Its a crime to blindly cling on to  conservatism to protect a retarded society. Education and literacy serves no purpose if the society is made regressive.

Why don’t I change the hostel and find a safer place to stay , you may ask?.

I was new to the town and absolutely clueless. Being the Archdiocese and all, the area has a plethora of convent run hostels. But, 95% of them were not ready to take in an employed girl who wouldn’t return from work before 6 p.m. So, why are these hostels run anyways and could somebody explain the logic behind the 6 p.m deadline? Its not like Satan would cross the gates and destroy the sanctity of the place along with me if I returned from work after 6 p.m and they let me in.

The only other option left was to find a house for rent. Now a single unmarried girl comes with a baggage of trouble and juicy details for the entire house owner association in the area. I knocked doors only to have the doors slammed on my face or the nicer people’s nod of regret when I mention I’m all alone. People are apprehensive about giving a girl a safe place to stay. Nevertheless, all ears and eyes and tongues are in action if they see her walking/ traveling alone at nightfall.

Did I say I live in a district with 100% literacy and 200% hypocrisy?

(I do not intend to generalize against the entire mallu clan here. There are genuinely nice people who do respect women and treat them as dignified individuals.  But, a few  bad experiences in the recent past have been building up a volcano of frustration and it had to explode today. Had to vent!)

Banker’s Banter-III

*Curious case of the IT Commissioner(Retd MIND ITTT) and a pair of shoes

“Koche, give me an interest certificate for my HTL”, a man in his 60s appeared out of nowhere and commanded while I was peering into the computer screen and waited for a certain page to load.

I looked up amused, pretended to be polite, painted the smile on my face and took his application.  As the number 6XXXXXXXXX.. stared at me on the face, I let out a gasp, did a momentary analysis of the specimen and blurted out,” Sir, are you sure this is the account number?”

Old man lost his patience now. “What are you saying? That I don’t know the account number of my own housing loan. Kids these days, know nothing. I’m  Mr.XYZ, retired Income Tax Commissioner, Mind IT!. Blah blah….

The blood boiled while I was shivering in the blast freeze air conditioning enabled branch. ” Sir, but this cannot be ours” , I took step two of trying to convince an arrogant retired sarkaari naukar.

“I have the passbook with me”, Commissioner roared and pulled out a book from his bundle of pass books.

Triumph! The moment I had been waiting for. I grabbed the Passbook like a prized trophy and pointed to the Bright Blue letters. ‘STATE BANK OF TRAVANCORE’ it says.. I said…

Commissioner uncle was transported back to reality. He apologized and gave the correct one. I thought my penance for the day was done, when he barged in again furious. The footwear he’d left outside was stolen. I fail to understand the system of leaving the footwear outside the bank. A peculiar practice I’ve observed only in this part.

A few more outbursts on the footwear that cost 1500 bucks. By now I knew the brand, make, color and where the leather was imported from. Commissioner left totally disgruntled and I had to attend a call.

The next thing I see on my table is a bill for a pair of shoes and an account number  with a note ‘please refund’… FML

* Why I decided walking is healthy

People who’ve lived with me know how lazy I am in matters like fitness, health etc. One fine evening here, changed my life forever. I don’t hire an auto until its a do or die or get molested/killed by a drunkard in Changanacherry situation. The story goes like this…

It was getting dark, snakes of Changanacherry were out ( Mallu joke), the aroma of chicken fry from thattukadas were wafting in the air and I had to get back so that I won’t miss an opportunity to crib about the hostel grub. I hired an auto and  the driver left me at the hostel gate.

I was pulling out the notes from my purse when the driver says, ” You need braces?”

“I need what?”, I was taken aback.

” You need braces. I  gather you’re of the marriageable age and you need to look after your appearance. I’m a small broker. I can find guys.. I ‘ve a list of bankers with me..blah blah blah…”

“No, thank you”, I  tried to wriggle out of another ‘situation’

* Appearances can be deceptive

One of the first lessons imparted to us was on the ‘importance of eye contact’ and paying attention to a customer’s needs.

A man in his late 40s, clad in a ‘kasavu mundu’ and branded shirt stood outside my cubicle and seemed to be a bit lost. He looked like the typical NRI on vacation, who is confused at the state of affairs in a desi bank. I have a whole series to write about such characters.  But, I digress here.

I looked at him and asked, ” Yes sir?”

” Oru chaaya kudikkan paisa thaa koche” ( Give me money to drink tea, Rather a pretty lame excuse to polish off another bottle). So much for customer service

On their 30th Anniversary

30 Years ago, this is how it all began…

He saw her in a church at Bhopal ( so, they tell me), he fell for her and mustered the courage to approach the mighty cousin of hers. True to he2011/06/invit.jpg”>

Bhopal –>Kothamangalam –>Wadakkanchery–>Bhopal–>Bangalore –>Trivandrum–>Goa–>Kozhikode–>Bangalore–>Trivandrum … the route map hasn’t been easy on them all these years. Yet, they sailed through…

Its been 30 years…

of trying to find out who makes better ‘sambhar’ and whether one puts ginger in sambhar or not ( This was the first issue on which they had an argument after marriage) for which they haven’t found a solution yet.

In these days when relationships crumble in 30 seconds, 30 years is a long time to survive with each other.

Its tough to choose the person you want to spend a lifetime with, but my parents taught me its worth every bit of the risk.

WISH YOU A HAPPY ANNIVERSARY APPA & AMMA

and I wish someday I’ll get to have the sambhar where a bilateral agreement is made on the inclusion of ginger.

One step ahead

Once upon a time, birthdays used to celebrated. Until you climb up the ladder of twenties.

There are some of us, who were accorded stepmotherly treatment by stupid cupid ( courtesy DM). It was just not possible to find or accept someone, when you spent a lifetime celebrating the ‘joys of being single’. And then comes a time, when the panic button is switched on, alarms are raised, the full fledged ‘manhunt’ begins and you feel trapped.

“You’re getting the pic clicked today or else I will….”, the Mother almost issued a suicide threat. Yours truly who spent an entire week listening to the suicide threats of Kudumbashree members in Thrickodithanam couldn’t take anymore of such threats on a Sunday morning while regaining her consciousness from sleep overdose.

Showered and powdered, I was  dragged by my collar and hauled into a photo studio. The photographer tried to hide his smile on hearing “matrimonial type” pic, exactly the kind of humiliation I was trying to avoid. Lights were switched on and the camera assault began. What more can  you expect when you are made to smile at gunpoint, the gunpoint being the mother’s pointed stares…

“Don’t show your teeth, a faint hint of a smile will do”, Amma commanded. The photographer nodded in agreement and to add insult to injury said ,”Yes, She knows how such stuff is done pretty well”. I could almost imagine the photographer hiring my retired jobless Amma and handing over the letter of appointment as an assistant. The camera assault ended and the results were somewhat close to reality. Until the next day I found myself, rooted to a chessboard with an expression that clearly stated ,”What the hell am I doing here? This is so not me”

Clicked, processed, paid & uploaded, the manhunt commenced. Just in case you’re seriously wondering what to do with your life, please find a copy of Manorama’s sunday supplement and skim through the classifieds section. If you don’t feel suicidal please don’t take the pains to let me know.

The manhunt is an interesting process. With a pregnant roomie who has just completed her first trimester my enlightenment on Men of the world has increased manifold.

The default template is incomplete without god-fearing, religious  and someone with a right mix of traditional and modern values. Teehee I know what you mean. I should be traditional when it comes to my duty towards your family and modern when it comes to me ignoring your duty towards the Kerala State Beverages Board which is totally understandable. But, when I see statements like ‘she should adjust with my parents’, the blood boils, traces of having listened to lectures on gender studies and womens’ sociology once upon a time resurface and I begin ranting. Seriously dude!!!

3 months in the district with 100% literacy and I now realize the overrated importance of ‘aristocratic family’. Brand value for belonging to some mootil, kaatil, veetil, kuttil,  kalathil , parambil… In this 21st century  there are people who still uphold the significance of these names in fetching a good bid for their sons…I’m speechless.

Then again, I’m not alone in this. All I had to do was a random search and find a whole LOT of familiar faces. Mean Cupid, I must say.

The unfinished song…

Today as I ran my fingers through the keys, when I was struggling to gather the discordant notes to strike the right chord, when I had to brush up everything that used to be on my fingertips… tears welled up in my eyes. My chest felt heavy and yes I almost felt what it means to kill your soul.

There was a time when I imagined my future, where I could sense the power of creating music at my fingertips. Today it feels like I’ve even lost the ability to comprehend the intricacies.

I don’t know why am I rambling here…but as I lay my fingers on the keyboard that had been gathering dust for months now and found that my fingers wouldn’t dance like they used to before… I felt a certain part of my soul had died its silent death.

Banker’s Banter-II

Monday

Perched on the window seat, shutting out the noises of the world by plugging in my headphones, I was blending as an insignificant co-passenger to the Monday Morning blues of many. Little did I know, in a few minutes to come, I would be subject to my quota of 2 minutes of attention from everyone around me.

3 generations of women and an 8 year old boy who belonged to the fourth generation, sat next to me. When the boy was done with  his breakfast of the IRCTC packaged Masala Dosa, the grandmother made him wash is mouth and spit into the container. Alarm bells rang in my head, louder than the drumbeats of Greenday. ‘This lady is going to throw the packet with water, outside the window and the wind god will definitely redirect it in my direction”. I was strategizing on whether to politely ask her to wait until I moved or just get up. These are moments when you curse yourself for thinking in ‘pros and cons’. As I had anticipated, the water splashed across my arm. The grandmother apologized, pulled my arm across and started wiping my arm rigorously/vigorously. ( I don’t know which of the two would describe the effort best).  Heads turned, smiles sprang up, the appropriate looks of ‘ Oh how sad’ were given and then again, I was just an insignificant co-passenger.

Tuesday

One of the first Fulbright Scholars, a doctorate in Neuro Anatomy, still going strong with an undying spirit and complaining about not having learnt how to use a computer, this WOMAN had me in awe for the rest of the day, right from the moment I filled in her date of birth for her. 1926? What image do you have about life those days? And how many women from a small place like Chry got to do a doctorate in Neuro Anatomy in the 1950s?

No fairy tale is complete without a villain. Here, in the form of a grandson who forged her signature on the cheque.

Wednesday

In 2007, I was against Mallus who were a nuisance when they went out of the state.

In 2009, I was against Mallus who induced nuisance by claiming everyone who belonged to the above mentioned group were a nuisance.

In 2011, I am convinced, the Marunadan returnee Mallus are the greatest nuisance among them all. Honestly, dear retired uncles and aunties, I love to listen to your stories from across the states and countries, of your struggles and trials. Of your achievements and your well-placed children in Bangalore.

I was not prepared for this, “How dare you nitwit, a kid send a letter to me claiming to freeze my accounts if I don’t provide my id proof? I’ve been a customer in this Bank for past 30 years and no one ever troubled me like this. Myself and my wife, retired from Central government service in 1996 and we shifted to Chry. I don’t have any illegal money. My daughters are well-settled. My first one is a MD in paediatrics, married and settled in Canada. My younger one is also a doc ( wonder why the specifics were left out), settled in the US of A. Even though they are girls, they ask me if I need money. How can you just suspect me for no reason? You kids do not know anything! If my account is freezed, I will hang myself on this ceiling fan.” No wonder everyone called this Vikraman an ‘Akraman.’

Ref: RBI is strict about KYC ( Know Your Customer) rules to prevent money laundering. I had to inform account holders to  submit the relevant documents. Identity proof of each customer is compulsory, but some people take it as an insult or as a question mark on their ‘integrity’. The only way out is to feed the massive Marunaadan ego with a patient ear. So, now I’m really getting to know the customers.

I was the happiest person on earth by the end of the day. A few words of appreciation on this blog, from a stalwart…that just made my day.

Thursday

I got screamed at by another 60+ pensioner. I do not know why. I was sad. The feel good factor for the previous days was balanced. No electricity at night and I believed that I would be bitten to death by mosquitoes. This had to be my worst sleepless night ever!

Friday

Nothing  happened!

 

Saturday

The railway station. I’d rather not bore you with vivid descriptions

So, I sat there next to a woman in her late 60s, reading a book. Her teenage grandchildren were around, playing around with their mobile phones.

On the next bench, sat a group of nuns. I was lost in my own world, re-theorizing on cranky 60+ es, when a nun approached the lady sitting next to me. The conversation went like this.

Nun: Are you able to understand what is written in this book?

Old Woman: As the preface says, I need to read it with utmost concentration. But, still I’m finding my way through this.

Nun: Actually, I asked coz I am the author.

FREEZE

I now had my focus on the title, ” Rogashanthiyude Nighooda Rahasyangal”.

The nun belonged to SND, rather the ones who run Sophias in B’luru.

The Old Woman had retired as an Health Inspector.

Interesting snippets followed. They both belonged to the same place in Alleppey, they had gone to attend someone’s funeral, they were based in Trivandrum presently. Two people who were just destined to meet this way. But, how often do you get to meet an author of a lesser known book in a place like a railway station!

I sat there amused, again immersed in thoughts about what would have been the content of the book. A lady smiled at me and as a natural reflux I turned back to see if, she was really smiling at me or someone behind me. She came walking towards me and said, ” I saw you at the Bank, new officer no? Where are you going to?”. And this is happening to me often these days. To be recognized by random people. At the supermarket, at the medical shop, at the mobile recharge shop…

So much for ‘knowing your customers’