It’s late morning in Vashi, Navi Mumbai. The shops and small restaurants that line the busy road are seeing very few footfalls; instead, the crowds and queues are gathered outside the five banks on the street.
They radiate tiredness, worry, but not anger. Not yet. But every time the guards at the metal gates open the doors to let three or four people in, an impatient buzz ripples through the line.
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Inside one of the banks — a public sector undertaking that the manager requested is not named — the staff say people have been queueing up since 8 a.m., even though the branch opens only at 10 a.m. On a regular day, this branch is busy enough. Of modest size, it had six counters lining one side of a narrow corridor, and a few chairs along one wall for customers. The sober décor is lightened by balloons and streamers, possibly Deepavali decorations that haven’t been taken down yet.
A senior staff member, Mr. Sharma (staff names have been changed) says their regular clientèle are mainly labourers working at the nearby APMC market and live in tenements in the area. There are a few wealthier customers, who have moved into newly developed neighbourhoods.
“Usually they come in to make small withdrawals, to enquire about loans for small houses. Many come in to deposit agricultural income from their villages, mostly in cash.”
Unprecedented crowds
Over the last 10 days, however, there have been unprecedented crowds and the staff have been coping with remarkable fortitude. “There were lines stretching right around the block,” Mr. Sharma says. “And the guard had to let in only one or two people at a time. This is the first time for many of us dealing with such a large number of people who are not our customers.”
Systems reorganised
It took them two days to put in place a makeshift system to deal with changed demands. The bank now operates in a four-counter system: one verifies identity proofs, a second exchanges notes, a third handles the bank’s own customers making withdrawals, and the fourth deals with customers’ cash deposits. Mr. Sharma admits that initially it was tough keeping track of who had made exchanges in other banks or even of those who came to the branch multiple times. “We entered the information on spreadsheets, he says, “and then on a web portal. Once people found out they could not keep coming back every day to exchange notes, the exchange line gradually reduced.”
Clearly, though, the government’s frequently changing limits and exceptions have left many befuddled.
Two women who have come with a child say confidently, “We haven’t made an exchange anywhere else today.” When told they are only allowed to make one exchange of Rs. 4000 once in 14 days, they are stunned, and ask people around them if that is indeed true. Pravin A., who works in the APMC, tries to make a double transaction, depositing money in his account while queuing to exchange notes. But he made an exchange only ten days ago, so he is turned away.
Ms. More, the manager, allows herself a gentle complaint: “Even people who have accounts with us feel the need to exchange money rather than just depositing it and then making a withdrawal.”
She says, “Other banks are only giving 2000-rupee notes; we are still trying to make an exception for our customers — we try to give them at least Rs. 1000 in 100-rupee notes.” To manage this, she closed the ATM outside the office. “Customers from other banks would come and use multiple cards to withdraw money and our customers who need money were not getting any. So we decided it was better to keep the stocks with us.”
A young man, whose 500-rupee notes were not accepted since they were printed in 2005, has tried to break into the next queue to importune the staffer behind that counter, but the customers in the queue protest indignantly. Ms. More steps out to announce firmly that there will be no shouting in her bank. The relative quiet of Ms. More’s cabin is constantly invaded by customers with complaints.
A young man comes in to say his sister is getting married the next day, and he had set aside 500-rupee notes to make various payments. He is a long-time customer, so Ms. More lightens the mood with a joke: “Give them Rs. 2000 instead of Rs. 500!”
“I think this must be part of Modiji’s plan,” the young man replies, laughing. “If people get 2000 when they were expecting 500, that will end inflation!”
Two minutes later, another man walks in. “I withdrew Rs. 24,000 and they gave me 12 notes,” he grumbles. “What am I supposed to with only 2000-rupee notes?” Ms. More takes him to a staffer whom she instructs to give the man at least a few 100-rupee notes.
As lunch break commences, a staffer comes into Ms. More’s office to say they are out of cash, so someone will have to make an autorickshaw trip to the regional head office to get another bag-load. Such low-security missions are apparently not uncommon.
When business resumes at 2.30 p.m., there’s a delay as the cash replenishment hasn’t come in yet. Tempers are fraying outside, and customers are demanding they be let in. At 3.00 p.m., an hour from closing time, the security guard announces that since it will take an hour for those already inside to be attended to, he would let no more people in. He faces the ensuing angry shouting with stoic calm.
At 4.30 p.m., the last customer has just left. The staff are still busy tallying inflows and outflows and entering the figures into the system. For as long as the oldest employee can remember, work would be done by 5.30 at the latest. Now, if they finish by 9.30 p.m. they consider themselves lucky. “This is just us,” a staffer laughs, “In the head office, they are there till midnight at least!”
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