THANK YOU, BANK OF BARODA!

The year was 1969. And the day, the 22nd of May. Nationalisation was still 59 days away. (I wonder if people knew it at that time). I was a 21-year old, out of college, with stars in my eyes and the fire of zeal in my heart, raring to take on the world and let it know that I had arrived! The Bank of Baroda Ltd., North Beach Road, Madras welcomed me into its fold and I was posted in the Cash Dept. as a Shroff-cum-godown-keeper. You couldn't expect me to consider it the ideal opening for all the ambition and enthusiasm bottled up inside me! So what if you can't call the shots in charting out the future policies of the Bank (naturally, it wouldn't cross my mind that I totally lacked the competence and the experience to do so!).

Day One saw me learn to count cash. The Chief Cashier casually threw a Rs. 100/- section, Rs. 10,000/-, at me and asked me to start counting. Incidentally, as a graduate, my salary was fixed at Rs. 303.18 p.m. (and I was yet to receive my first pay packet!). My palms started to sweat and my hands started to shiver. Noticing my discomfiture, the Chief Cashier gave me my first lesson in my banking career. 'Never be over-awed by currency. Learn to think of it as 100 sheets of paper that you need to count. But, at the time of payment or receipt, treat this section as Rs. 10,000/- the numerical figure in the cheque or the challan.' This kind of a detached concentration will help even in other day-to-day situations.

As days went by, the initial euphoria of handling vast amounts of money started to dissipate and the monotony of cash counting started to set in. Then came Lesson No. 2. 'Learn to count reflexively, while becoming aware of the surroundings.' Without losing count. Without letting mutilated or counterfeit notes slip past. Multi-tasking even before it became a fashionable word. This is a MUST for all people dealing in heavy cash. One learnt to listen to conversations, telephonic or otherwise, while the hands were doing the counting, and the eyes would take in the slightest variation in movement, or the lack of it, even in the outermost fringes of one's peripheral vision.

Subsequent lessons learnt did not have direct bearing to Cash Dept. And neither were they confined to North Beach Road office alone. Whichever branch I worked in, or visited, kept on contributing significantly to the evolution of the individual that was I and this continued till my last working day -- a continuous process. For someone new to the harsh and inescapable facts of the real world, having been cocooned all along safely in the sheltered world of school and college life, where people could be taken at face value, inter-personal, intra-personal relationships, personality traits and quirks and idiosyncrasies and how these influenced the reactions and the interactions between people, where people seldom said what they meant and vice-versa -- all this was a totally alien world to me. The divergent contrasts in personalities, ranging from the profound depths of conviction to the utter shallowness of baseless prejudice -- sometimes resident within the same individual never ceased to amaze me! Imagine! The same person who could be so rational and intellectual in dealing with complex banking procedures was also equally capable of stooping to the levels of letting extraneous factors like caste and language cloud one's perceptions in inter-personal relationships! From an early stage in my 32-year career, this made me consider each situation on its own merits and I would not let my judgement be swayed by the feelings of others. Just because a person is an unquestionable authority in one aspect of banking, it does not automatically follow that his views on other subjects are equally flawless. I learnt to sift and pick up only the good qualities of the people with whom I had the pleasure of interacting with, and I tried to become a better individual.

Initially, it would amaze me to see union leaders, after a bitter demonstration against the actions and the policies of the Branch Manager, walk hand-in-hand with the very same Manager and have lunch together! This made me understand that while the earlier hostile reaction was an official one targeted at the authority vested in the Branch Manager, the latter was a personal one in accordance with the individual occupying the chair. And both the parties were aware of the bi-level situation. It is a pity that, of late, this distinction is getting hazy and emotions and reactions tend to overflow into the other level, souring the entire relationship.

Bank of Baroda also taught me to do whatever I was supposed to do, to the best of my ability, and such actions would collectively help the Bank reach greater heights -- a tiny drop in the reservoir of the workforce's efforts.

It taught me empathy. It taught me to assist the customer in satisfying his banking needs. How many of us have felt this yearning while standing in the queue at the railway ticket counter, or at the electricity bill payment counter? How we welcomed the slightest cooperation in getting our job done faster. After all, nobody relishes waiting to get a job done, if it could be done more expeditiously. In these days of globalisation and competitive markets, this empathy assumes greater significance. Modesty aside, I feel proud when customers whom I had the pleasure of serving more than 25 years ago, remember me and enquire about me.

It is this treasure trove of goodwill, experience and memories that I will cherish all my life, much, much more than the 'golden handshake' that the VRS Scheme has given me.

Long live, BOB!!