Ever since banks started offering zero-balance accounts, there was a stampede of customers, as if free gold coins were being handed out. But as customer numbers surged, the quality of service and respect toward them plummeted with equal enthusiasm—just like the Law of Diminishing Marginal Utility (or Returns) in economics, except here, it’s diminishing customer dignity!
In the old days, banks were the playgrounds of the educated, the wealthy and the socially prestigious. Bank staff treated them with such reverence that offering a seat and tea was just the beginning—if you sneezed, they’d probably hand you a silk handkerchief. Ah, those were the days! Customers walked into banks as ordinary people and walked out feeling like semi-VIPs, their 32-inch chests magically swelling to 52 inches with pure financial confidence.
Back then, people referred to their bank as "our bank" with such possessiveness that you'd think it was their father’s personal treasure chest. But today, those same banks have transformed into stingy old misers—offering nothing to shareholders, not even bothering to inform customers when their bank cards are ready. They’re quick to deduct fees but suddenly develop selective amnesia when it’s time to provide service. And don’t even try closing an account—you’ll need more documents than a government auditor! Eventually, the customer gives up, beaten not by policy, but by exhaustion.
Back in those days, banks and customers were almost family. It wasn’t unusual for bank employees to get wedding invitations along with the groom’s party. Securing a loan felt like receiving a personal blessing—of course, some government banks required a small offering of a jar or two of ghee, but at least they did their job. Today’s banks, however, have mastered two key skills: chasing debt and treating customers like clueless sheep!
Now, we live in the era of machines. Tiny ATMs stand in cramped corners like mini fortresses, obediently spitting out cash when commanded—that is, when they’re in the mood. Sometimes, instead of money, they offer you a grand adventure—sending you on a city-wide treasure hunt for a working ATM! And when you finally give up and call customer service, the AI voice guides you through an endless meditation of "Press zero”, “Press one”, “Press ten"—until you transcend into a higher state of frustration. If you finally reach a human, they say, "Oh, you need to talk to IT." Where is IT? Nobody knows. A mythical department, perhaps. They’ll give you a toll-free number, but guess what? It’s just a hotline to silence.
This indeed is the AI era—not "Artificial Intelligence," but "Absolutely Indifferent”.
Even if you try the old-fashioned method of visiting the bank, good luck! The new-generation employees stare at you as if you’ve just walked into a police interrogation room!
Fortunately, zero-balance customers have inherited patience from their ancestors, because one rude word from a bank employee is enough to make an ordinary person collapse like a fallen tree.
Today, I had to visit the bank myself. The mission? To link my PAN card and e-banking. As I left home, I felt a strange optimism—after all, I’d get to meet my old banker friends again. If not, at least, I’d get to see "my" bank once more.
Now, here I am, standing at the counter for 10 long minutes, holding a paper token slip (tokens were once sturdy brass coins—now reduced to disposable grocery receipts). In front of me, a young lady at the counter is deeply engrossed in her phone—perhaps monitoring the nation’s GDP, or more likely, her Instagram likes! Suddenly, she looks up, covers her phone with a sheet of paper, and in the most welcoming tone imaginable, says:
"Yes, what do you need?"
I pause. Why the hostility? I didn't step on her foot. I didn’t steal her lunch. Ah! She must think I read her messages. So, to clarify, I adjust my glasses and say:
"Miss, I didn’t read your messages. I can’t even see that far."
"Hurry up and tell me what you need," she snaps, her eyes widening like a local bus conductor spotting a passenger trying to ride for free. For a second, she looks terrifying. But on second glance—beautiful. I tell my first impression to shut up and let my second impression take over.
"Ma’am, I received a message from the bank asking me to update my account, so here I am."
"Do you have an ID?"
"Yes, I have my PAN card."
"This doesn’t have a photo. How do we know it’s your account?"
"You can check my signature. That’s how you verify cheques, right?"
"This is not your home. This is a bank. Go fill out the form and attach a photo."
"Alright, I’ll bring a photo next time. But just this once, can’t you update it based on my PAN card?"
"See that KYC form? Go over there and fill it out yourself. I have other work to do."
Or at least, that’s what I thought I heard. Because my ears misheard "fill it out yourself" as "kill yourself”. The words in the middle seemed to have dropped by the time they reached my ear. Funny how just one or two letters and words can change everything!
Still, my mouth automatically responded: "Okay." I took the form and stepped aside.
Based on my experience, I can confidently say: her husband must be a poet. Because if your wife is fiery, short-tempered and breathes pure rage, you have no choice but to escape into literature!
After filling out the form, I approached another officer, hoping he’d accept it and spare me another round of madam’s motivational insults. But no—he sent me straight back to her.
"What do I do with this form now?"
"Attach a photocopy of your citizenship or national ID Card!"
"I have both photocopies right here," I said, giving her my best second-glance look.
"Where’s the original? Show me the original!"
"I didn’t bring the original. These days, photocopies work everywhere. I can show you the digital version on my phone."
"Not without the original," she said, almost flinging the form away.
"But the government itself says digital IDs are valid!"
"Oh, maybe the government told you that, but they didn’t tell us that. Now stop arguing and leave!"
So, with the grace of a defeated warrior, I muttered: "Fine, I’ll bring the original tomorrow."
"Not tomorrow, come the day after."
"Okay, I’ll come the day after… Is the bank closed tomorrow?"
"No… but I’m on leave tomorrow."
Have you ever found a bank better than this? If you have, please let me know—I need to visit 'our good bank'!
(This artilcle was originally published in March 2025 issue of New Business Age Magazine.)
