By Devraj Singh Kalsi
Opening a bank account is a simple procedure that takes a complex turn for writers once they reveal their profession. The bank executive eyeing a rich customer loses interest in serving a writer who is expected to struggle with the maintenance of minimum balance in his savings account. Almost on the verge of suggesting he should opt for a piggy bank instead, the executive dumps his papers, making him wait for longer than expected even though there is no serpentine queue inside the bank. The writer collects his original documents and proceeds to the sitting area, hoping that the executive will be merciful and serve him without further delay. He tries to establish contact, but the executive rolls his eyes and looks at the computer screen, pretending to be busy with some urgent online task despite the server failure notice tagged above his terminal.
The sitting area has other customers facing a similar fate. The writer finds it a blessing to be surrounded by other clients. He takes keen interest in observing their mannerisms and speech. He overhears their conversations and tries to remember the important bits and pieces that he can later use as dialogues in his forthcoming novel. One interesting line or a phrase that catches his imagination gets noted in his diary.
He begins to love his waiting time and feels comfortable with such inordinate delays so long as he gets fodder for his prose. He gets richer during the waiting period though the bank has no idea how this happens. When he is finally summoned to the counter to deposit his earnings, he looks happy instead of showing signs of irritation. The executive sports a fake apologetic smile and proceeds to make the entry while he chalks out the plan for another visit to the bank branch – even if the task is just updating his passbook. He needs an excuse to enter the bank where he finds so many clients discussing financial and personal matters. His greed to enrich himself with varied, interesting human insights makes him a regular customer who continues to be warmly greeted by the security guard irrespective of his financial position.
The next visit to the bank is slated in the same week. He comes in with a request for partial withdrawal of the deposited amount, making the teller wonder why he has to waste a cheque for this instead of swiping his debit card. He stands in the queue, flanked by other customers, and he strikes conversation with a fellow customer who smells fragrant and suddenly fishes out a bundle of currency notes to deposit. Seeing such a hefty amount of money that exceeds his annual income, the writer becomes aware of his own impoverished state and collapses in his mind. He tries to look the other way as he does inside a public lavatory and keeps a safe distance from the customer who loses interest in carrying on with the silly chat on weather and politics as he inches closer to the cash counter.
Perhaps the writer deserves this assault on his financial status to return to the materialistically insane world. He makes a quick promise to himself, closing his eyes and pledging to churn out a best-seller that would give him royalty of a much bigger amount. The special visit makes him strongly motivated and inspired. He is determined to mint money through writing even though most of the writers the world over have failed to do so for centuries. He aims to become part of the minority of globally successful authors with royalty earnings ensuring a royal lifestyle. If a writer can create the best life for a character, he is also entitled to dream of a similar fortune for himself. The writer who topples characters from cliffs or offers them a lifeline gives himself some space to hang on, bounce back, and break the silence of critics. He knows it takes no time for the naysayers to start crowning an emerging author as the bravest, newest, and shiniest literary star who breaks norms to push the boundaries of creativity churning out a best-seller that keeps selling like hot cakes the world over.
When the bank refuses to serve him with interest but charges interest on any dues, there is not much he can do to show how aggrieved he feels as an ordinary customer. He goes home and creates a wily character with shady features of the presiding banker. He has no fear of getting caught as he knows the banker is not likely to trace or read the story published in a faraway land. He goes ahead with adding villainous shades to the character created with borrowed inputs resembling the banker. The way he fobs off pesky customers – and his scrunched-up forehead with flawed skin – finds space in fiction.
The next time the writer walks in for another trivial chore, he has no idea of what is in store for him. He is pleasantly surprised to find a new woman executive who is courteous, polite, and dignified in her professional conduct. As he walks in early in the morning, the lady offers him a seat in front of her desk and proceeds to address his concerns and carry out the tedious job of printing the passbook even though there is just one entry on the last page. He reads the updated book and then reads her face that still looks eager to offer assistance. He submits the requisition for another cheque book even though there are many leaves unused in his current one.
Such hospitable treatment makes the writer an admirer of the woman executive, and he opts to glorify her grace in his next story by making her a strong character trying her best to change the world of banking. He makes her wield ample strength and positions her as a saviour even though she herself has no idea of being so headstrong. Keeping a writer happy delivers a lot as the lady executive soon understands. He ensures that the story reaches her. He forwards her the published link. He does not gather the courage to ask whether she has read it or not. It would appear he seeks attention from his contacts. But he keeps appearing in front of her in case she remembers she has to offer feedback on the link forwarded to her number. The brief fascination – and interaction – with her comes to a sudden end as she is transferred to another department behind a cubicle far away from the customer service zone.
The sound of note counting machine begins to irritate the writer. He is reminded of the typewriter days. Just to hear the sound of counting notes he buys the machine and keeps counting the same cash again and again. Inside the bank, the same process is repeated only when the machine stops reading at ninety-nine instead of reaching one hundred. He thinks the domestic machine lacks adequate practice and hides errors in the counting process. It becomes his duty to check multiple times and ensure error-free counting even though his writing tends to carry errors he cannot detect. The cacophony has to hit him hard so that he remembers it while writing. It should hammer him all the time, making him determined to write that elusive best-seller at the earliest.
The solitary bundle of his few thousand rupees is dumped carelessly by the teller who has no idea of how much hard work has been put in to ensure this money flows into the writer’s account. Bored of the simple job of deposits and withdrawals, the writer turns ambitious as he approaches the investment counter, deciding to make a systematic investment plan. When he opts for the package with the minimum amount, the fund manager looks with bulging eyes, almost a scornful glance that seems to suggest he is wasting his valuable time.
The writer seems determined to begin his financial journey as an investor – and he firmly states his decision to proceed with it. This gives a little boost to his waning confidence as he signs a cheque for investment after several years. He chooses banking with a leading private sector bank to get better banking services, oblivious that the customer profile matters more in this regard. Those struggling to maintain the threshold limit of minimum balance should not show the temerity to enter the bank meant for the privileged few. Deep inside, the writer is convinced that he will have a reversal of fortune. He knows the bank that is least interested to have him as a customer would felicitate him some day as the most valuable customer who they feel proud and honoured to serve. They will turn loyal readers of his novels and seek his autograph and photograph.
He visualises a turnaround in his financial fortunes through writing even though he is aware that only a few novelists the world over ever make the cut. He remembers the discriminatory scene inside the bank where a rich customer is offered coffee, juice, and cookies while no such warm gesture comes his way – not even a glass of water. He pursues with the dream of turning the tables, reposing full faith in the eternal truth that fortune always favours the brave. The transactional relationship with the bank serves a reminder of how the world operates along the lines of profit and loss even if it is deeply regrettable. He hopes that his repeated debits and credits would make him eligible for a free credit card at least – in case the crunch becomes too hard to bear. In case his dream remains a pipe dream.
The series of snubs steel the writer’s resolve to earn plaudits. He sits at the desk and whenever he feels low and dispirited, he goes straight to the bank to seek a booster dose. The cold welcome is the perfect shot that works like magic. The sight of rich customers and their privileged treatment sets his imagination wild. He keeps adding zeroes in the slip and tears it apart before tears well up. He hopes to create phenomenal income through writing and plans to launch his book inside the same bank or have it as a key sponsor. With such an intense relationship brewing in his mind, he is convinced that his manifestation is sure to translate into reality. He walks in with his book and hopes the staff would recognise him as a learned person. But they ignore him as they are more interested in the cheque book or passbook. At this juncture, he is left with no option but to withdraw all his money and close his account to embalm his bruised ego.
Months and years pass and yet there is no boost in royalty – or loyalty to a bank. He writes well but does not sell well. The best seller remains a distant dream. He switches to another domain, hoping some producer would buy his flop stories and turn them into a web of hit series. Changing the banking partner does not change his fortune. The same plight ensures his flight from another bank – despite the trench coat and dark shades. The wide inequality between his balance and appearance is read by the cashier. Another dream of opening his account with an MNC[1] bank once he becomes a globally read author takes root.
The fact that he slogs despite his previous output comprising four novels and five collections of stories means the writer is alive and forever hopeful that his next tome would rewrite his financial standing. Even though nothing of that sort happens, he is glad to have produced such an enormous body of work that has found few takers. If he is still banking on hope and visiting some bank to feel charged to write, he is following the right track. Rejection works as a stimulant for the writer who faces the maximum number of rejections in life has nothing more to lose. All he needs is a bank as a companion where he makes regular trips to get insulted, to uplift his sagging morale, to mingle with the rich and tell their refreshing tales of deceit, crookedness, and betrayal with a sensitive pen.
[1] Multi National Corporation
Devraj Singh Kalsi works as a senior copywriter in Kolkata. His short stories and essays have been published in Deccan Herald, Tehelka, Kitaab, Earthen Lamp Journal, Assam Tribune, and The Statesman. Pal Motors is his first novel.
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