The City of Joy houses three public sector banks. Of the three, two lost their identities on April 1 by being merged with other, relatively stronger peers. For whatever reason, Uco Bank has allowed to retain its independence.
The gentleman who has been selling jhalmuri — a tasty and very popular street food snack in Kolkata. made with puffed rice and other tidbits like roasted peanuts, pieces of boiled potate and green chillis — just outside the Uco headquarters on 10 BTM Sarani in Kolkata next to Tea Board, must have heaved a sigh of relief. He has been there for past four decades. Many senior Uco bankers, including some of the general mangers, are his regulator customers. he knows their eating habits — who loves a liberal dose of chilli in his jhalmuri.
This is not an ode to United Bank of India and Allahabad Bank. I am just narrating my tryst with the three Kolkata banks in early 1990s when banking was a seller’s market. The retail loans were unheard of and the branch manager, in his glass cabin, was not accessible to all.
Even though I started my career as a Trainee Journalist with the Old Lady of Bori bunder in mid-1980s, I took a transfer to Kolkata when my father had a serious, near-fatal, accident. I stayed there for a few years and worked first with The Economic Times and later Business Standard, before returning to Mumbai.
My stint as a feature writer with Business Standard, then owned by and housed in the Ananda Bazar Patrika on 6 Prafulla Sarkar Street, was great fun. There was a lovely canteen on the top floor and on every bandh (strike) — which happened quite often those days in West Bengal — we used to get lovely lunch and dinner (mutton curry and rice), free, plus a day’s salary.
Typically, on the first day of every month, we used to queue up at the accountant’s counter for our salary. Mohi-Babu (if my memory serves me right, that was his name), a white-haired, dhoti-clad gentleman who was very fond of singing Shyama Sangeet (Bengali devotional song), used to count the notes at least twice, with the help of a desktop wet sponge, before passing the cash to us.
One fine afternoon, just before Diwali, I found the counter was empty. What happened? Mohi-Babu was returning to office carrying cash, withdrawn from a nearby branch of a bank. The money was looted while he was on his way to the office. That evening we got a notice from the office that we must open a bank account. From then on, no more cash disbursement for salary. It would be transferred to our bank account.
That’s how I was introduced to Kolkata banks. I was not a bank reporter then. And, did not have a bank account. It was probably 1993.
I walked up to the first bank branch, the nearest one, on Chittranjan Avenue. The branch manager was polite. He made me seat and offered tea. Ananda Bazar Patrika is a passport to get anywhere in Kolkata quite easily. The gentleman asked me to come a few days later, after the Diwali holiday.
I did drop by once again but this time the branch manager was not so polite. He took me out of his cabin and asked me to count the number of chairs in the branch. Before I could fathom what was he up to, he told me sternly that if every employee of the branch turns up, there aren’t enough chairs for all of them. “Still, do you want me to open your account? We are already over-worked,” he told me. His hands were folded in appeal but voice was stern. I left the branch in no time.
On a senior reporter’s advice, I approached a all-powerful trade union leader of another local bank. I was greeted at the door of his room and asked to take my shoes off as he had a computer on his table. I walked in, saw the computer under cover with a lot of reverence. There were three land phones on his table — red, white and blue. He started calling up people while I had my tea. After half an hour, he managed to convince a branch manager to open my account but the distance of that branch both from my residence as well as office did not justify opening an account there.
My Bureau Chief Amalendu Bose (who died recently) then tried to come to my rescue. He called up the chairman of the third bank in Kolkata who also happened to be the chairman of Indian Banks’ Association, the premier bankers’ lobby. He had just taken over the new assignment.
The chairman was extremely courteous. He offered me a choice of tea and coffee, accompanied by roasted cashew nuts. We discussed weather, football, politics… Then he stood up, came close to me and put his arm around my shoulder. He said: “My dear Tamal: You’re welcome to my Bank.” I stood up to say “Thank You Sir.”
He continued, “However, I would advise you not to open your account with my bank.” “Why?” was my obvious question. “Well, I am the chairman of the bank. I had opened my account two months bank (when he took over). The branch is at the basement of my office but I am yet to get my cheque book. If this happens to me, you know…..”
I did not allow him to complete. I left his office with a nervous smile after profusely thanking him for being so candid.
Next day I went to a ANZ Grindlays branch (the bank later got merged with Standard Chartered Bank) at Dalhousie (now BBD Bagh) near Great Eastern Hotel (now The Lalit Great Eastern) and opened my account. I was resisting doing that because the minimum balance I needed to keep with the foreign bank was Rs6,000, more than a month’s salary for me those days.
Things have changed since then. That was a seller’s market and too in Kolkata….
