Hyphenated-Homestead

Part 9: Just Here to Close My Account… or So I Thought!

If you are binge reading, please carry on. If you just landed here from internet ether, I request to start reading from the top (Part 1)

I knew closing a dormant account at one of the nationalized Indian Bank wouldn’t be easy, but I was determined to get it done during my stay in India. The moment I stepped into the branch, I had an eerie feeling that my brother’s joke might have some truth—he had warned me that this branch seemed to be a collection of underperformers from other locations. I chuckled at the thought, but soon enough, I realized he wasn’t entirely wrong.

The scene inside was nothing short of organized chaos. People were standing behind bank employees, leaning over their shoulders as if trying to absorb banking knowledge through osmosis. There were no clear queues, no directions, and certainly no sense of personal space. I should’ve known things were about to go south when two people casually cut in line, claiming they had spoken to a bank worker “earlier in the week” and therefore had VIP status. To my horror, they walked right behind the desk, almost hovering over the poor employee who was now frantically clicking through his system.

Hello? What about security? What about personal information? The concept of data privacy seemed laughable at that moment.

Just when I thought I had seen enough chaos for the day, the passbook printing saga unfolded before my eyes. The designated kiosk for passbook printing (yes, a relic from the ‘80s and ‘90s still going strong in India) was conveniently out of order. This meant a single overwhelmed employee had the privilege of manually printing passbooks for an ever-growing line of senior citizens, all clutching their little booklets like prized possessions.

In the midst of this, a lady named Alka returned, looking thoroughly confused. “I don’t understand why it took so long to print my passbook when I knew I had only two transactions… but now I have FIVE pages full!” she declared, flipping through her suddenly overachieving passbook.

Cue panic mode for the employee, who, after frantically retracing her steps, realized the blunder—she had printed someone else’s transactions into Alka’s passbook! Specifically, all of Anagha’s account entries were now gracing the pages of Alka’s booklet. 😱 GO FIGURE.

A serious privacy breach? Yes. A bureaucratic nightmare? Absolutely. A moment of pure comedy? Without a doubt.

But worry not! The quick-thinking (or should I say, desperately backtracking) employee offered to print brand-new passbooks for both ladies. And just like that, Alka and Anagha, now unwitting financial doppelgängers, went merrily on their way after a 15-minute detour.

What? Oh, my word. What am I even witnessing?

After that incident, as I mentally prepared for a long and painful wait, an unexpected sideshow began—a massive steel safe was being hauled into the bank. A team of workers attempted to bring it in through the front entrance using manual levers, inching it forward at a painfully slow pace. Not only was this a major safety hazard, but it also meant that for the next hour, the bank’s main entrance was effectively sealed off. Customers had to either squeeze past or simply wait it out.

I was stuck, both physically and bureaucratically.

Forty-five minutes in, I was sweating, frustrated, and losing hope. That’s when I decided to take matters into my own hands. No one asked me to, but I started instructing customers to stop crowding the desks and to form a single queue. I also took it upon myself to warn new customers about potential hazards as the heavy new safe was being dragged in. For those already inside, I figured out alternate ways to exit the branch, ensuring a smoother flow of people. Without thinking much about it, I found myself not just instructing customers but also directing bank employees to follow suit—keeping order and preventing them from giving in to the mounting chaos.

To my utter surprise, they all actually listened! 😁

Suddenly, I wasn’t just a customer – I was a hero. The bank workers, instead of being offended, looked relieved. The older customers, who had been quietly watching me, now started confiding in me with their banking grievances as if I had been sent to fix the entire system.

For a brief moment, I had become the unofficial branch manager.

Finally, after much effort, my account closure request was submitted. I walked out feeling victorious, only to be hit with a reality check from my brother later that day.

“Did you take an acknowledgment receipt?” he asked.

I blinked. “No, I submitted everything, isn’t that enough?”

He gave me a look. “You just told me you saw how this branch operates. What if they say they lost your application? It’s normal to get a stamped receipt.”

I laughed at the irony but decided not to take any chances. I printed a copy of my entire submission and rushed back to the branch before it closed at 3 PM. To my dismay, the person I had submitted my application to had already left for the day. Another bank employee informed me that I should have given it to him instead.

“But I already submitted it…” I said, trailing off.

“If you bring it to me, I’ll stamp it,” he responded matter-of-factly.

I sighed, walked straight to the desk where my application was still sitting, picked it up, and handed it over. He stamped it, and I walked out, fingers crossed that this was truly the last time I’d have to deal with this branch.

To be fair, I wouldn’t call this a reflection of the entire Indian banking system. This was a unique experience, a rare mix of outdated processes, chaotic yet well-meaning employees, and customers who had adapted to the system rather than fought against it.

Despite the challenges, there is a certain charm in how things eventually get done in India, sometimes with patience, sometimes with persistence, and sometimes by an unsuspecting customer stepping in as an impromptu branch manager! 😁

If you missed the opening blog post about this series, please read it here.

Next Up: Young India Thriving….and until next time, Jai Hind!

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