The great bank robbery

“Hello! I’m Sweet Mouth, from Cut Throat Inc. Do you like to have a credit card, sir?”

“Of course! I would love to have one!”

“Sir, we have silver, gold, platinum…”

“Wait! I’ll tell you my requirements, and probably you can choose the best one for me.”

“Sure, sir.”

“I don’t have a job.”

“That’s absolutely fine, sir. All you need is three month’s bank statement.”

“I don’t have a bank account, either.”

“Don’t worry sir. You can open an account with us.”

“I don’t have any address proof, I stay in a small room that has no documents.”

“It’s ok sir. You can give me your telephone bill, that would be enough.”

“I use a pre-paid connection. You were lucky to get me, it will get expired by midnight”

“I’m sorry, sir… I don’t think…”

“Don’t say it. I need a credit card. Nobody would need a credit card as much as I do now!”

“But, sir…”

“I’m ok with a copper, or wood, or plastic… or even a paper one”

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t help you, sir. You don’t have a salary slip or bank statement…”

“That’s exactly why I need a credit card! If I have money in the bank, why would I want a credit card?

“You are right, sir. But…”

“Alright Sweet Mouth, please let me know if you come up with any plan that suits people like me.”

“Sure sir. Thank you for talking sir. Bye, and have a nice day!”

That particular kind of ‘nice day’ she wished me about four years back is yet to arrive. A nice day, with one or more credit card bills, a 3-year personal loan, a 5-year vehicle loan, and 20-year old housing loan to pay off. This sort of mortgaged life is one of the most desirable options one is left with these days. And it is pretty difficult to choose the easier way of living.

Today, one can’t live without banks. I still can keep my money stuffed inside my bed, and it will give almost the same amount of interest any bank would. But to do that, I’ll have to take the money out of the bank first, that’s the catch. No one pays in hard cash. Even bearer cheques are hard to get. That’s the second catch, or the catch on the catch – you can’t survive without a bank account.

Fifteen years back, when I opened my first bank account, all needed was two signatures from my father and three from me. And two passport size photographs and fifty rupees. With another fifty rupees I would have got a chequebook too! Opening a bank account was not that easy once I moved out of the little town where everyone in the bank from the peon to the manager knew not just me, but even my forefathers. But then, I had the sweet option to live without a bank account. Salaries were given in hard cash, or bearer cheques as you demand. And then came the new age banks. Banks with carpeted floors, flower vases with fresh flowers, and couches to sit and wait. And when I entered in one such bank for the first time, about six years back, I was offered a comfortable chair, coffee and a bank account. All they had asked for was three of four of my signatures. The sweet chap with a tasteless brown necktie didn’t even ask for my photographs; he shot me instead, with a Polaroid camera. And if you see that photograph, you won’t fail to notice the puzzled wonderment in my half-popped out eyes. And in three or four days, the magic card and its secret code reached me in separate mails. The world had really changed; I had no other option, but to believe.

The traditional banking used to be one of the simplest businesses on earth. With an easier logistics than a teashop. You take money from people giving them an interest, and then you give it to other people for a higher interest. But with this simple way of business it’s almost impossible for banks to have cozy couches and coffee for their customers. And just for the comfort and convenience of their customers, these poor new age banks are pushed to adopt dubious methods, departing from their simple business model.

For a person like me an offer like allowing zero balance was the most comforting of all thoughts. There were innumerable instances the thought of my-hundred rupees-that-I-can’t-have came tormenting, while coughing-up for the cheapest, yet precious, bottle of alcohol. The new banks only demanded an average quarterly balance of five thousand rupees, and I can withdraw to the last paise. It took exactly three months for me to figure out the new business model of these generous banks. Average quarterly balance means I have to keep at least five thousand rupees in the bank, just like a lifetime fixed deposit! Not exactly like a fixed deposit, because they wouldn’t be giving me the 16-20% interest on my deposit as the old, grumpy banks. And if I didn’t keep the balance they will charge 40% interest on the amount as a fine! Not at all fine with me. Still I can have zero balance, only if the amount is a multiple of hundred, because ATMs keep only hundred rupees notes. And if try to withdraw the amount less than hundred from their cash counter, they will charge hundred rupees as the service charge. That means, the banks can keep the change. When was the last time, you tipped like that while being sober?

It’s not just an almost interest free, lifetime fixed deposit, and free change I’m giving to the bank. Just for my added convenience of cozy couches and one time coffee. I’ll pay hundred rupees every year for my ATM card; and I’ll pay usage charges if I access the ATM more than thrice a day when I’m in town, or more than twice in a month when I’m outstation. If I use my card to make a purchase, I’ll pay a service charge for that convenience too. Cheques are more profitable, especially if they bounce. If a cheque is bounced, the bank doesn’t have to pay anyone. Not just that, they will charge fine from the one who issued the cheque, and from the one who presented it!

At this point, I’m more than tempted to tell an anecdote. One Mr. Nice Guy opened a bank account to help his MNC-bank-executive friend, who had a tough time with the necktie and the sales target around his neck. Mr. Nice Guy gave five thousand rupees, and three days later his ATM card and secret code came in different mails. A couple days later the code for telebanking came by another mail. And a few days later another mail came with the codes for Internet banking. Mr. Nice Guy didn’t bother to open any of these mails, because his only good intention was to help his friend to reach closer to his target, not to use the account. About two years later, Mr. Nice Guy went to the bank to close his account and collect his five thousand rupees and its nominal interest, and found his account has hardly two thousand rupees. A sweet bank employee explained it very sweetly to the furious Mr. Nice Guy. He was charged hundred rupees for his Internet banking facility, making his balance in the account to rupees four thousand and nine hundred only. And every quarter, he was paying the fine for not keeping his average quarterly balance of five thousand rupees, like a very comfortable customer.

Since I had learnt the secret behind the cozy couches and stories under the carpets the hardest way, I was not very surprised to read the news that in US alone banks make 40-50 billion USD through unexplained service charges. Service charges for giving you back your own hard earned money, which you had lent to the bank! And this figure is only for personal banking. I couldn’t find the corresponding figure for India, even after googling for hours for it. But, I’m sure, even if the amount they make in profits would be less in India, the percentage wouldn’t be much less. And I believe, even the ones who will explode with anger at a rickshaw driver for two extra rupees are more than comfortable with these glossy banks’ grand robbery. Now I understand what they exactly meant by zero balance.

“But – you see, a bank or a company can’t do that, because those creatures don’t breath air, don’t eat side-meat. They breathe profits; they eat interest on money. If they don’t get it, they die the way you die without air, without side-meat. It’s a bad thing, but it’s so. It’s just so.”

– From The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck.