Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
What's in a name?
My grandfather gave me my name (Isn’t that a good enough reason- why it sounds so antique?) and I inherited the surname (Parvatam) by default. So I was branded ‘Parvatam Gurudev Prasad’.
I suspected my grandfather’s religious (in)sensibilities for this misdeed, but there is this logical explanation that my mother subscribes to whenever any discussion about my name takes place, which I think it is just a cover up for my grand father’s sin. Nonetheless, I should tell you what she says- “You were born after so many complications. The doctors actually said that the chances of your survival were very bleak. We prayed a lot and it was only by God’s grace that you were born normal. You were a God’s gift, so we named you the same- Gurudev (God) Prasad (His gift/blessing).”
There are couple of things which are fundamentally wrong with my name. It is lengthy, pompous (Proclaiming yourself to be God’s gift to the mankind), then the surname Parvatam- is a mountain in literal sense- which again is a complete misnomer if you take into consideration the average body size of my family. To some extent my name is even confusing (For most of it- it sounds north Indian, but there are traces of south-Indianness too- yes, the Parvatam bit again).
Adding to the problem was the fact that I grew up in places like Agra and Aligarh, which were quite difficult for people with such nomenclature abnormalities- in the sense, they predominantly have kids with simple names (Like Saurabh, Rahul, etc) and even simpler surnames (Like Sharma, Verma, etc).
To shorten it and avoid the north-south confusion, as a child, I insisted that I should be addressed as ‘P. Gurudev Prasad’. Just when I thought that this would make things simpler, the story took a strange turn. For my classmates, I became a guy with a mysterious ‘P’. And curse my bad luck, that this is the only alphabet that has funny implications in both English (Pee Gurudev Prasad) and Hindi (Drink Gurudev Prasad).
In school, I would always fear new teachers taking our attendance call. They needed some time to acclimatise to a strange name like mine. The first roll call was always a concern. The teacher would sink her head in the register and indifferently read out names, without even bothering to look at their respective owners. But as soon as my turn came, it was almost like a speed breaker to this mechanical process. Often they would mispronounce it (I don’t remember any teacher who got it right the first time) and would wonder if they have stumbled upon something alien. Invariably I was asked to stand up, so that they could look at me with a sense of amusement combined with a stroke of sympathy and order me to announce my name aloud.
This whole process was extremely embarrassing for me and somehow made me feel like an odd man out.
In between, I would automatically take liking to someone who took attendance by the roll numbers and not by names. I was thankful to the person who invented roll numbers and seriously thought that their purpose was to avoid such embarrassments.
My name even had some functional issues- to start with it took me a while before I could learn how to write my full name, also I remember it took me ages to fill in my name in the OMR sheet for the Common Admission Test (CAT). Similarly some application forms would run out of space in accommodating my full name, particularly the ones that have limited blocks assigned for each personal detail- which have to be filled in capital letters.
I think India is one of the lucky countries where kids have pet names and I can be only grateful for that. As I was born early morning (To be precise I came in with the sunrise) my aunt wanted to christen me as ‘Udai’, but, as she didn’t have the authority to endorse this as my official name, she settled for ‘Udai’ as my pet name.
So people who didn’t share any organizational (School, college or office) relationship with me- just know me as ‘Udai’. But this led to certain dichotomy which was revealed only last month. When I sent my wedding card (It had my ‘original’ name printed on it) to a childhood friend who used to be my neighbour, he anxiously called me to check the reason for my name change.
Different names evoke different emotions and associations. For example, a Radha would evoke a totally different set of images from a Rosa (Naughty You!). Similarly, I am sure that, for a stranger, ‘Parvatam Gurudev Prasad’ would bring to mind certain personality connotations. But, I am also sure that these preliminary associations would be in total contrast to the real ‘Parvatam Gurudev Prasad’. It is up to you to decide- which is a greater disappointment- the initial associations or the actual ‘me’.
But things changed after I joined college. I had this faculty who taught us Branding. One day when I went to submit my assignment to his cabin, he looked at the cover page and said “Your name is very impressive”. Someone said something like that for the first time to me. In that moment of vulnerability I confessed to him “It has always embarrassed me”. He asked me to take a seat. As I sat down, in his typical classroom style he began to explain me. The best part is that he didn’t make it sound sympathetic. In fact, it was more like one of his sessions on branding.
He said “Guru, I have practised branding for many years before I retired and got into teaching. Do you know what I have learnt in all these years? The name is the most important thing in building a brand. It should give the brand an identity and differentiate it from others. It is like this one word advertisement for a brand… and the same applies to humans as well. In your case, it is one of those few names, that I have come across which have certain character to them. There is a promise in your name that you will do something big. Rather than being embarrassed about it- try and live up to it. Build a brand- Gurudev Prasad.” He continued, “On a lighter note I would rather imagine a name like Gurudev Prasad to be doing something substantial than names like Ricky and Monty.”
His words had a magical impact on me. Trying hard to control my tears, I tried thanking him; I said, “I just wish I had someone who could explain this to me when I was a child. Sir, you might not realize but what you said will have a life changing impact on me. I don’t want to thank you and minuscule your advice.”
I ran to the playground and screamed out my full name in the loudest way possible
Few years ago, I was travelling to a remote part of the country for some official work. I was the only one representing my creative agency and there was a team of six from another agency who were working on the same client. All these guys were much elder and quite non cooperative to me. The eldest of them was also their head. His name was some Mr. Chadda.
May be because I belonged to a competing agency, the entire gang didn’t seem to be very fond of me. Leading the pack was Mr. Chadda. He assumed that he had a terrific sense of humour and his team approved his misconception by laughing at all his stupid jokes.
On more than one occasions, I became the butt of his jokes. Respecting his age, I took it sportingly. One night, at the dinner table, he tried to pull my leg again. I was lost in my food, when he said “Guru…It must have been quite difficult growing up with that name? Isn’t it? I am sure you would have been teased a lot in your childhood? I know how it is like growing up in UP.” I swear I wanted to let it go, but something came over me. I replied back “Not at all. On the contrary I am quite proud of my name. I absolutely love it. Talking about teasing, I think that can happen to any name. If you were in my school, I would have nicknamed you as Mr. Chaddi.” His team burst out laughing before realizing that the joke is on their boss this time. Mr. Chadda got back to his food.
Next day we had a presentation of our findings to the top management of the client side. Both Mr. Chadda and I were to present. Mr. Chadda insisted that I should go first. May be he expected me to falter. He was sure that a kid like me would never be able to match up with the work of a team of six seasoned professionals like his.
As I finished my final slide, the top boss from the client side gave his feedback- “Gurudev, you have stood up to your name.”
Now it was Mr. Chadda’s turn to prove.
I suspected my grandfather’s religious (in)sensibilities for this misdeed, but there is this logical explanation that my mother subscribes to whenever any discussion about my name takes place, which I think it is just a cover up for my grand father’s sin. Nonetheless, I should tell you what she says- “You were born after so many complications. The doctors actually said that the chances of your survival were very bleak. We prayed a lot and it was only by God’s grace that you were born normal. You were a God’s gift, so we named you the same- Gurudev (God) Prasad (His gift/blessing).”
There are couple of things which are fundamentally wrong with my name. It is lengthy, pompous (Proclaiming yourself to be God’s gift to the mankind), then the surname Parvatam- is a mountain in literal sense- which again is a complete misnomer if you take into consideration the average body size of my family. To some extent my name is even confusing (For most of it- it sounds north Indian, but there are traces of south-Indianness too- yes, the Parvatam bit again).
Adding to the problem was the fact that I grew up in places like Agra and Aligarh, which were quite difficult for people with such nomenclature abnormalities- in the sense, they predominantly have kids with simple names (Like Saurabh, Rahul, etc) and even simpler surnames (Like Sharma, Verma, etc).
To shorten it and avoid the north-south confusion, as a child, I insisted that I should be addressed as ‘P. Gurudev Prasad’. Just when I thought that this would make things simpler, the story took a strange turn. For my classmates, I became a guy with a mysterious ‘P’. And curse my bad luck, that this is the only alphabet that has funny implications in both English (Pee Gurudev Prasad) and Hindi (Drink Gurudev Prasad).
In school, I would always fear new teachers taking our attendance call. They needed some time to acclimatise to a strange name like mine. The first roll call was always a concern. The teacher would sink her head in the register and indifferently read out names, without even bothering to look at their respective owners. But as soon as my turn came, it was almost like a speed breaker to this mechanical process. Often they would mispronounce it (I don’t remember any teacher who got it right the first time) and would wonder if they have stumbled upon something alien. Invariably I was asked to stand up, so that they could look at me with a sense of amusement combined with a stroke of sympathy and order me to announce my name aloud.
This whole process was extremely embarrassing for me and somehow made me feel like an odd man out.
In between, I would automatically take liking to someone who took attendance by the roll numbers and not by names. I was thankful to the person who invented roll numbers and seriously thought that their purpose was to avoid such embarrassments.
My name even had some functional issues- to start with it took me a while before I could learn how to write my full name, also I remember it took me ages to fill in my name in the OMR sheet for the Common Admission Test (CAT). Similarly some application forms would run out of space in accommodating my full name, particularly the ones that have limited blocks assigned for each personal detail- which have to be filled in capital letters.
I think India is one of the lucky countries where kids have pet names and I can be only grateful for that. As I was born early morning (To be precise I came in with the sunrise) my aunt wanted to christen me as ‘Udai’, but, as she didn’t have the authority to endorse this as my official name, she settled for ‘Udai’ as my pet name.
So people who didn’t share any organizational (School, college or office) relationship with me- just know me as ‘Udai’. But this led to certain dichotomy which was revealed only last month. When I sent my wedding card (It had my ‘original’ name printed on it) to a childhood friend who used to be my neighbour, he anxiously called me to check the reason for my name change.
Different names evoke different emotions and associations. For example, a Radha would evoke a totally different set of images from a Rosa (Naughty You!). Similarly, I am sure that, for a stranger, ‘Parvatam Gurudev Prasad’ would bring to mind certain personality connotations. But, I am also sure that these preliminary associations would be in total contrast to the real ‘Parvatam Gurudev Prasad’. It is up to you to decide- which is a greater disappointment- the initial associations or the actual ‘me’.
But things changed after I joined college. I had this faculty who taught us Branding. One day when I went to submit my assignment to his cabin, he looked at the cover page and said “Your name is very impressive”. Someone said something like that for the first time to me. In that moment of vulnerability I confessed to him “It has always embarrassed me”. He asked me to take a seat. As I sat down, in his typical classroom style he began to explain me. The best part is that he didn’t make it sound sympathetic. In fact, it was more like one of his sessions on branding.
He said “Guru, I have practised branding for many years before I retired and got into teaching. Do you know what I have learnt in all these years? The name is the most important thing in building a brand. It should give the brand an identity and differentiate it from others. It is like this one word advertisement for a brand… and the same applies to humans as well. In your case, it is one of those few names, that I have come across which have certain character to them. There is a promise in your name that you will do something big. Rather than being embarrassed about it- try and live up to it. Build a brand- Gurudev Prasad.” He continued, “On a lighter note I would rather imagine a name like Gurudev Prasad to be doing something substantial than names like Ricky and Monty.”
His words had a magical impact on me. Trying hard to control my tears, I tried thanking him; I said, “I just wish I had someone who could explain this to me when I was a child. Sir, you might not realize but what you said will have a life changing impact on me. I don’t want to thank you and minuscule your advice.”
I ran to the playground and screamed out my full name in the loudest way possible
Few years ago, I was travelling to a remote part of the country for some official work. I was the only one representing my creative agency and there was a team of six from another agency who were working on the same client. All these guys were much elder and quite non cooperative to me. The eldest of them was also their head. His name was some Mr. Chadda.
May be because I belonged to a competing agency, the entire gang didn’t seem to be very fond of me. Leading the pack was Mr. Chadda. He assumed that he had a terrific sense of humour and his team approved his misconception by laughing at all his stupid jokes.
On more than one occasions, I became the butt of his jokes. Respecting his age, I took it sportingly. One night, at the dinner table, he tried to pull my leg again. I was lost in my food, when he said “Guru…It must have been quite difficult growing up with that name? Isn’t it? I am sure you would have been teased a lot in your childhood? I know how it is like growing up in UP.” I swear I wanted to let it go, but something came over me. I replied back “Not at all. On the contrary I am quite proud of my name. I absolutely love it. Talking about teasing, I think that can happen to any name. If you were in my school, I would have nicknamed you as Mr. Chaddi.” His team burst out laughing before realizing that the joke is on their boss this time. Mr. Chadda got back to his food.
Next day we had a presentation of our findings to the top management of the client side. Both Mr. Chadda and I were to present. Mr. Chadda insisted that I should go first. May be he expected me to falter. He was sure that a kid like me would never be able to match up with the work of a team of six seasoned professionals like his.
As I finished my final slide, the top boss from the client side gave his feedback- “Gurudev, you have stood up to your name.”
Now it was Mr. Chadda’s turn to prove.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
And that's how it all began...
Part I:
I first met Tanuja in a remote village in Ahmedabad (That’s where my college was). She was specializing in Public Relations and her batch commenced few months after mine, so technically she was my junior. She was surprisingly inconspicuous through out the ragging session. I don’t even remember seeing her in the freshers party (Though she is there in the party pictures). So In real sense, I met her for the first time in the college canteen (we had the most amazing open air canteen). It was around ten at night and I was waiting for my maggi, when she walked in with a friend of mine.
We didn’t even exchange Hi’s and she decided to sit two chairs away from me. The first thing I noticed about her was ‘Pink’- dressed in a pink Capri and a pink jacket and a complexion matching the same colour, her fetish for pink was quite evident (To be frank, I found her quite cute). I was the one who initiated the dialogue- “I didn’t see you all this while? Did you join late?”
I remember my question, but I don’t remember her answer, may be she didn’t answer at all. I am not the kind who gives up easily- “where are you from?” I asked. “Jaipur” she said and as a customary she asked “and you?” That was it. Whenever someone asks me about my origins, I almost transform into a History Channel- educating them about where I was born to all the places that I have stayed at and finishing with a list of my favourite cities. But just when I was about to begin my journey “I am from Agra, but you know…” she interrupted “Oh. I have been to Agra many times. I like that city”. Then what, if someone likes my city, I like them. It’s a weird logic, but then I never said I am normal.
We moved from acquaintance to friendship swiftly.We were not best friends but whenever we had conversations, they were meaningful and warm. There was some honesty in it which is indescribable. Once in a while, we used to chat up on messenger and even go out for after-dinner strolls. She was finding it difficult to adjust in this new environment for more than one reason- she came straight out of an engineering college (the new place was somewhat a culture shock) and was missing her old friends desperately, also, she was anxious about her performance in subjects (which were non- technical in nature) like Economics and Accounting.
To comfort her I advised her two things “Tanu (that’s when I called her ‘Tanu’ first time) you either live in the past or you are worried about the future. Start living in the present and enjoy this phase. Things would look much better. And as far as subjects like Economics are concerned we are all there to help you. You would not believe but I am good at economics, if you need any help in understanding any concepts you can always come to me”.
She didn’t take my first suggestion seriously (she is still in past or future) but she took the economics part too seriously (I was never good at economics, why economics, I was never good at anything that has to do with academics). Next evening, on the messenger chat, she invited me to her room. She looked disillusioned and the books were spread everywhere. She had to submit an assignment (Yes. Economics) next morning and needed my help. I was caught and my truth was busted. I made a fool out of myself trying to explain her some theories which were Greek and Latin to me. She figured out my uneasiness and in the most polite way said “you know, you emphasise on making the basics clear and then looking at the solutions…that’s a good approach of teaching, but I need to submit this tomorrow… and …so…I will ask my classmates… and… umm…probably take proper lessons from you sometime” . I was relieved and promised to self that I would never again discuss economics with a girl.
I remember a summer afternoon, when the whole group was going for a movie, I saw Tanu wearing a black cap. For the clothes she was wearing, the cap was a total mismatch. I started pulling her leg, trying my best to make her remove the cap. She smiled at my remarks but refused to remove it.
I remember a summer afternoon, when the whole group was going for a movie, I saw Tanu wearing a black cap. For the clothes she was wearing, the cap was a total mismatch. I started pulling her leg, trying my best to make her remove the cap. She smiled at my remarks but refused to remove it.
Finally getting impatient, I said “Ok mam, I lost. What is so special about this cap that you don’t want to take it off. I am telling you it’s looking funny with your dress”. She smiled and said “this is my elder brother’s cap. I lost him few years back, when I am missing him- I wear this” I felt like a bloody fool. My foolishness was too monumental to even make an apology. I just felt like hugging her. She was much more mature that me.
On the last day of my college, I exchanged a host of hugs from my batch mates and juniors, but Tanu was missing from the scene. Even her phone was not reachable. As I was moving out of the campus in an auto crowed with my luggage, I saw her walking out of the admin section. I shouted her name and the auto came to a halt.
She came running to me and held my hand, I wanted to step out but there was this huge bag on my thighs. I said “I am leaving, but you stay in touch and be a good girl. I will miss you”. She squeezed my hand and looked much hassled; she said “All the best. You know my internship is starting in fifteen days and I have just got an offer from Bangalore. But I am looking at opportunities in Delhi so that I could be closer to home” Immediately I pleaded “Come to Bangalore na. I am also going there for the first time. I will give you a good company” She smiled generously and just to console me, she said “Pakka. Now you take care”. That’s how we parted.
Part II:
Part II:
Three days after I joined my new job, Tanu came to Bangalore for her internship. Coincidentally she took a PG closer to my home. As I had just moved in, she helped me set up my house. So the first few evenings, daily after the office, we used to spend time (in a café) making lists of household items (like dustbins, mattresses, brooms, utensils, salt, turmeric, ghee, phenyl, Harpick, soaps, shampoos and hundred other things that make a home) and then scouting for them.
In a supermarket we used attack separate sections and in a pre-planned manner meet every five minutes to discuss what we had found and what was missing, finally returning home everyday with dozens of bloated, identical white plastic bags. I never enjoyed shopping (for anything) so much ever.
Once we accomplished the task of setting up the place, we had dinner mostly at my place. Sick of feeding on insipid sandwiches, idlis, dosas, vadas and noodles churned out by identical ‘Sagar’ joints in the city, home made food was an indulgence. Even a simple ‘daal chawal’ would bring us so much happiness and we would spice it up with hours of pointless discussions.
Tanu became my best friend in Bangalore. With her I could be myself and more importantly in her company even the most basic and the monotonous ‘chores’ seemed so very interesting. On many weekends, we would be together, doing our own different things like she working on her presentation and I finishing my novel, hardly a spoken word, but I still cherished that feeling of togetherness.
After dinner, everyday I used to walk her to her PG. On one such walk we started discussing our idea of an ideal life partner. It was Tanu’s turn first and she started with ‘tall’ and described him in a choice of adjectives which conveyed that she wanted someone who is exactly opposite of me. Don’t know why but for the first time I felt bad about what she said. It was my turn then, my heart wanted to say that my idea of a perfect woman is her, but my ego intervened and I sketched out a fictional character.
Two days before her internship got over, it was her birthday. She threw a dinner party for all her friends. I was confused what to gift her. In a toy shop near my house, I had seen a stuffed hippo. It was red in colour, bulky, disproportionate, overweight, and ugly, but there was something very cute about him, which had amused me when I saw him for the fist time.
Two days before her internship got over, it was her birthday. She threw a dinner party for all her friends. I was confused what to gift her. In a toy shop near my house, I had seen a stuffed hippo. It was red in colour, bulky, disproportionate, overweight, and ugly, but there was something very cute about him, which had amused me when I saw him for the fist time.
I picked him up on my way to the party. It was impossible to gift wrap this creature. So I tugged him under my arm. People on the way and even in the restaurant gave me curious looks. But it was worth all the effort. Tanu loved the gift. She made him sit in her lap gave him more attention than any other guest. In a strange way, this made me feel so special.
On the day of her departure, I went to the station to see her off. The fact that she was leaving did not sink in still. Only when the mike announced the departure and the train howled, did I realise that this was real.
She was going away from me and I didn’t know when I would see her next. I hugged her tightly, like I was refusing her to let go and I whispered “I love you”. She repeated the same three words for me. The train started moving and she kept waving to me till I could see her no more.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Canara Bank: new identity
Together can we?
My association with Canara Bank started 25 years ago (I am 26 now). A year after my birth, my dad got a job with Canara Bank. It was a big deal getting into banks those days, and I am pretty sure that he was almost as happy with the new job offer as he was with my birth.
He was a committed employee (retired recently) and was awarded a transfer every three years. Today I have friends in places like Kakinada (costal town in AP), Vijaywada, Hyderabad, Agra and Aligarh because of his postings in these cities.
As a child, for many years, this was the only business entity that I was aware of and idolised it as the best bank in the world.
Eighties was an interesting time to take birth in India. I have seen our economy literally opening its doors to the world. Customer became the king and choice became his prerogative.
Like many other sectors, this was true for banking too. With foreign banks coming in and few financial institutions (Like ICICI and HDFC) entering into retail banking, the dominance of the nationalized banks was challenged. These new entrants brought with them the power of technology which changed the way we Indians did banking and other monetary transactions (ATM, phone banking, online banking and what not).
When for the first time, my education separated me from my parents; there was a need for me to have a bank account to make possible fund transfers. I remember how upset my father was when I cheated on his bank and opted to have an ICICI account. Finding it hard to conceal his anguish he warned me- “these private banks rob you with hundred hidden charges. These people are fooling young people like you”. I was adamant, “but papa, your bank hardly has any ATMs. ICICI has one in each lane. Let me take it na, it would be much easier”. Like always, poor guy relented.
My dad was very happy when I got my first job (campus placement); more so because the company banked with Canara Bank and by default our salaries got credited there. He didn’t know much about the company but the fact that it had an account in Canara Bank was a reassurance for him that the organization is credible.
On the other hand my experiences as a Canara Bank customer range from just mediocre to terrible. The bank (I have visited a couple of their branches) looks uninviting and the employees look completely disinterested (They are men (or women) of few words and reply to your queries mostly in monosyllables). The ATMs are in minority and at mysterious locations; moreover, they are extremely moody (Hardly work. Actually I remember an instance when the ATM got so pissed with the customer before me that it ate the card and refused to spit it out).
I wanted to avail a personal loan but their eligibility criteria can only befit a person who will never need a personal loan. I have deposited an outstation cheque some two months back but the funds are still pending and unlike a private bank you don’t even have a customer care executive whom you can harass on phone.
Not to forget, I am still trying to find someone who does online banking with Canara Bank (Online and Canara, they simply don’t go together)
If you ask me where these banks have gone wrong- my answer would be- they failed to identify the emergence of youth as the new age wealth creators or probably they underestimated the earning and the buying power of this evolved consumer who doesn’t preach saving.
But private banks were smart enough to align themselves to the needs of these youngsters. They recruited young people and made all attempts to come to you than you going to them. Technology made it possible for them to do so and in true sense they were able to give a retail dimension to this industry.
So if you look at it, the average customer and an employee of these private banks would be much younger than the average employee or the customer of a nationalized bank. But how long could they (likes of Canara Bank) ignore us, also the fact that we are great influencers on our parents (and elders) and they are making an effort to adopt our way of doing things, now- even they are giving these private banks a chance.
I was pleasantly surprised when my dad said- “Give me your ICICI account number; I will transfer funds online from my ICICI account. It’s quite simple”.
So you see SBI painting the city with a campaign alluring the youth, then you see a Bank of Baroda and then you see a Canara Bank, all fighting for our attention. They seem to have woken up from their long slumber, making tall claims that they are changing for us.
But a simple logo change will not do much, it’s only when you deliver a consistent experience at all the customer touch points, that we would be with you.
Till then we will regard this (logo change) only as an announcement that you have decided to undertake a series of steps to make banking with you, easier for us.
Dad, I am watching your bank.
My association with Canara Bank started 25 years ago (I am 26 now). A year after my birth, my dad got a job with Canara Bank. It was a big deal getting into banks those days, and I am pretty sure that he was almost as happy with the new job offer as he was with my birth.
He was a committed employee (retired recently) and was awarded a transfer every three years. Today I have friends in places like Kakinada (costal town in AP), Vijaywada, Hyderabad, Agra and Aligarh because of his postings in these cities.
As a child, for many years, this was the only business entity that I was aware of and idolised it as the best bank in the world.
Eighties was an interesting time to take birth in India. I have seen our economy literally opening its doors to the world. Customer became the king and choice became his prerogative.
Like many other sectors, this was true for banking too. With foreign banks coming in and few financial institutions (Like ICICI and HDFC) entering into retail banking, the dominance of the nationalized banks was challenged. These new entrants brought with them the power of technology which changed the way we Indians did banking and other monetary transactions (ATM, phone banking, online banking and what not).
When for the first time, my education separated me from my parents; there was a need for me to have a bank account to make possible fund transfers. I remember how upset my father was when I cheated on his bank and opted to have an ICICI account. Finding it hard to conceal his anguish he warned me- “these private banks rob you with hundred hidden charges. These people are fooling young people like you”. I was adamant, “but papa, your bank hardly has any ATMs. ICICI has one in each lane. Let me take it na, it would be much easier”. Like always, poor guy relented.
My dad was very happy when I got my first job (campus placement); more so because the company banked with Canara Bank and by default our salaries got credited there. He didn’t know much about the company but the fact that it had an account in Canara Bank was a reassurance for him that the organization is credible.
On the other hand my experiences as a Canara Bank customer range from just mediocre to terrible. The bank (I have visited a couple of their branches) looks uninviting and the employees look completely disinterested (They are men (or women) of few words and reply to your queries mostly in monosyllables). The ATMs are in minority and at mysterious locations; moreover, they are extremely moody (Hardly work. Actually I remember an instance when the ATM got so pissed with the customer before me that it ate the card and refused to spit it out).
I wanted to avail a personal loan but their eligibility criteria can only befit a person who will never need a personal loan. I have deposited an outstation cheque some two months back but the funds are still pending and unlike a private bank you don’t even have a customer care executive whom you can harass on phone.
Not to forget, I am still trying to find someone who does online banking with Canara Bank (Online and Canara, they simply don’t go together)
If you ask me where these banks have gone wrong- my answer would be- they failed to identify the emergence of youth as the new age wealth creators or probably they underestimated the earning and the buying power of this evolved consumer who doesn’t preach saving.
But private banks were smart enough to align themselves to the needs of these youngsters. They recruited young people and made all attempts to come to you than you going to them. Technology made it possible for them to do so and in true sense they were able to give a retail dimension to this industry.
So if you look at it, the average customer and an employee of these private banks would be much younger than the average employee or the customer of a nationalized bank. But how long could they (likes of Canara Bank) ignore us, also the fact that we are great influencers on our parents (and elders) and they are making an effort to adopt our way of doing things, now- even they are giving these private banks a chance.
I was pleasantly surprised when my dad said- “Give me your ICICI account number; I will transfer funds online from my ICICI account. It’s quite simple”.
So you see SBI painting the city with a campaign alluring the youth, then you see a Bank of Baroda and then you see a Canara Bank, all fighting for our attention. They seem to have woken up from their long slumber, making tall claims that they are changing for us.
But a simple logo change will not do much, it’s only when you deliver a consistent experience at all the customer touch points, that we would be with you.
Till then we will regard this (logo change) only as an announcement that you have decided to undertake a series of steps to make banking with you, easier for us.
Dad, I am watching your bank.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Old man and the dog
I was never an early riser but as my engagement was approaching hurriedly, and I wanted to look my best on the D-day - I embarked upon this task of getting rid of those extra pounds (believe me- very few) around my waist.
To achieve the set goal I decided on a three point action plan- morning walks, controlled eating and evening sessions at the gym. In the beginning itself I faltered on two counts- the diet part (because I just can’t control myself when it comes to food) and the gym bit (You know- I am not the gym kind. I feel like an odd man out there). So, the only option left was the morning walk.
For the first few days I would ‘sleep walk’ within my residential campus, quickly finishing three rounds and then hitting the bed again to fulfil the second instalment of my sleep. Not only that, I would even indulge in bouts of overeating without a trace of guilt assuming that I had done my share of hard work (three rounds) for the day. This definitely didn’t help and I grew by few more inches around my waist. With less than a month left for the ceremony I had to press the panic button. I was determined to resolve the ‘heavy’ crisis and hence follow the morning regime religiously.
It took multiple alarms to wake me up on the day one. Rather than stepping out half asleep, I did few stretching and warm up exercises before venturing out. This helped. For a change, I decided to leave the comfort of the known territory (my campus) and walk in an unfamiliar neighbourhood.
I had rediscovered the morning after a long time (since my school days) and the fresh air brought back some sweet memories of my childhood. Come to think of it- isn’t childhood a lot like morning- both symbolize freshness, purity and beginning.
Somehow the closed and shuttered shops reminded me of the day ahead, the usual routine of home office home- this made me think of many small things that used to give me so much pleasure when I was a child.
I saw a figure sleeping on a cot, on the pavement next to a bungalow. It was covered by a blanket from head to toe. Then I saw this adorable dog sniffing carefully around the bed. It was a healthy Labrador with a shining off-white coat. He had beautiful eyes and a very expressive tail. His pinkish wet nose was sniffing hard. His movements suggested that he was trying to wake this person on the bed. I loved dogs ever since I was a child but I could persuade my parents to keep one quite late in life (in my graduation). As a child, I remember bringing home stray puppies and feeding them on my share of bread and Parle-G biscuits. Dogs fascinated me even today.
As I was passing the bed, I caught his attention. Wagging his tail, he approached me. I couldn’t resist his friendliness and before I knew he was licking me all over. I didn’t mind it; actually I was enjoying his affection, while a voice interrupted our bonding session. The figure on the bed had come alive.
It was an old man, wearing a sweater of the same colour as his blanket (probably both were made of same material). He just had two teeth left in his mouth. His hair was sparse and of the moon light colour. It was evident that he didn’t shave for a long time now. As he tried to get up, I noticed his oversized trouser which was anchored around his waist by a string (like the one used to fasten a pyjama). His face was wrinkled and so were his hands (these we the only visible parts of his skin). The way he was looking at me suggested that his eyesight was failing or perhaps already failed. He commanded “Rustam Nahi” and the dog like an obedient student followed his orders and walked up to him. Now this old man was his world. I didn’t like my separation from Rustam and decided to continue with my walk.
Through out the day I kept thinking about Rustam and his possible relationship with the old man. I was sure he was not the owner of the dog. I recalled that the entrance gate of the bungalow (adjacent to which this man was sleeping) was open and imagined it as Rustam’s home.
That evening while coming back from office, I stopped to pick up the biggest pack of Parle-G available in the shop.
Next morning it didn’t take me much to get out of the bed. I was eager to meet Rustam again. As I walked towards that place I saw Rustam playing with the old man. His fore paws resting on the cot and his face buried in little place between the old man’s thighs. The Old man laid his arms around Rustam like old friends hugging each other. The sight made me jealous. I wish I had a companion like that and couldn’t stop myself from calling out- “Rustam”. He raised his head to see who wanted him now. To my surprise, he did recognise me. Wagging his tail he ran to me- and then he did a strange thing- he started moving back and forth between me and the old man. It was as if he, playing the role of a common friend wanted us (old man and me) to meet.
I walked up to the old man, today he was wide awake and greeted me with his two teethed smile. He said “Rustam to aap ka dost ban gaya”. I liked his hospitality. Between I remembered that I had carried some biscuits for Rustam. I took them out of my pocket and lured Rustam. He was so excited about this present. He stood on his hind legs to reach for them. I tried hand feeding him, but he took the biscuits (one by one from my hand) and placed them next to the old man’s feet. In his eyes I could see a desire to consume them but he was waiting for something. “Kha lo beta” the old man said, now I understood Rustam’s dilemma – he was waiting for the approval of his master to accept the gift. I was impressed with Rustam’s self control.
While Rustam gulped the biscuits, I tried talking to the old man. “Is this your dog?” I asked him. “No this is my son” he replied, and then he laughed aloud “I can’t feed myself, how I can maintain this English dog” he added. “Oh” I wondered. He sensed my perplexity and explained further- “I worked in this bungalow for thirty five years. I served two generations of the family. I used to do everything from house keeping, to gardening to guarding. They got Rustam four years back when he was just a month old. I brought him up. We have been best friends since then. I don’t have a family, but I never missed having one because of Rustam. I took care of him like a father and now he looks after me as a son”. There was sadness in his voice. “Do you still work there?” I probed. “No, my eyesight started failing a year back, but in last few months it worsened. It was increasingly difficult to perform even smallest of the jobs. So when I became useless they asked me to leave the house”. Rustam had finished his biscuits and now joined the conversation. He was sitting on his hind legs and looking at us as if we were talking about him. “I don’t have any place to go. So I started living here. The only good thing about this is that I can see Rustam everyday. They were kind enough to let him meet me”. I felt apologetic for starting this conversation and at the same time good to have discovered such a saga of friendship between a man and his dog.
It became a ritual for me to meet both of them everyday. Along with biscuits for Rustam, occasionally I used to carry bread and other eatables for the old man which he used to put into his plastic bag only to consume later. Now Rustam didn’t seek the man’s approval to devour on my biscuits. I imagined myself to be Rustam’s second best friend.
One of the good things about Bangalore is the weather. It is moderate for most of the year. The only problem is the rains. Not even rains, it is the after affect of rains like traffic jams and power cuts that I am bothered about. I like sunny days. May be because I stay alone- cloudy days make me gloomy. But come August and you hardly get to see the sun here.
Then came the first big pour of the year. It rained continuously for a day. For the first time in last fortnight I missed my morning walk… and Rustam. That night while I was watching rain from my fourth floor window- it suddenly occurred to me. What would have happened to the old man? He didn’t have a roof on his head. Did the owners accommodate him in the bungalow for the night or could he find some other shelter.
I grew restless and couldn’t sleep the whole night. I woke up before the alarm. Fetched some food for Rustam and more food for the old man and ran towards the bungalow. From a close distance I could see Rustam below the bed. The old man was still sleeping may be. On reaching the spot, I found the old man missing. The blanket was wet and dripping. Rain had washed away the plastic bag containing his food. I tried peeping into the bungalow and searched in the vicinity as well, but he was found nowhere.
All this while Rustam kept laying there- as if he didn’t notice my presence. He looked sad and tired. His head drooped next to his stretched limbs as if he was thinking something. I tried consoling him but he was too absorbed in his loss. I tried to feed him the biscuits but he dropped them on the floor. I pictured the old man nodding an approval “kha lo beta”.
Nothing could compensate Rustam’s loss. To give him his space I left him alone. After that day, for the next few days I kept going to that place every morning. The bed was still there but I didn’t see Rustam again. Everyday I came back with unconsumed biscuits in my pocket.
I stopped going for morning walks. I don’t like early mornings anymore and I just hate rains.
To achieve the set goal I decided on a three point action plan- morning walks, controlled eating and evening sessions at the gym. In the beginning itself I faltered on two counts- the diet part (because I just can’t control myself when it comes to food) and the gym bit (You know- I am not the gym kind. I feel like an odd man out there). So, the only option left was the morning walk.
For the first few days I would ‘sleep walk’ within my residential campus, quickly finishing three rounds and then hitting the bed again to fulfil the second instalment of my sleep. Not only that, I would even indulge in bouts of overeating without a trace of guilt assuming that I had done my share of hard work (three rounds) for the day. This definitely didn’t help and I grew by few more inches around my waist. With less than a month left for the ceremony I had to press the panic button. I was determined to resolve the ‘heavy’ crisis and hence follow the morning regime religiously.
It took multiple alarms to wake me up on the day one. Rather than stepping out half asleep, I did few stretching and warm up exercises before venturing out. This helped. For a change, I decided to leave the comfort of the known territory (my campus) and walk in an unfamiliar neighbourhood.
I had rediscovered the morning after a long time (since my school days) and the fresh air brought back some sweet memories of my childhood. Come to think of it- isn’t childhood a lot like morning- both symbolize freshness, purity and beginning.
Somehow the closed and shuttered shops reminded me of the day ahead, the usual routine of home office home- this made me think of many small things that used to give me so much pleasure when I was a child.
I saw a figure sleeping on a cot, on the pavement next to a bungalow. It was covered by a blanket from head to toe. Then I saw this adorable dog sniffing carefully around the bed. It was a healthy Labrador with a shining off-white coat. He had beautiful eyes and a very expressive tail. His pinkish wet nose was sniffing hard. His movements suggested that he was trying to wake this person on the bed. I loved dogs ever since I was a child but I could persuade my parents to keep one quite late in life (in my graduation). As a child, I remember bringing home stray puppies and feeding them on my share of bread and Parle-G biscuits. Dogs fascinated me even today.
As I was passing the bed, I caught his attention. Wagging his tail, he approached me. I couldn’t resist his friendliness and before I knew he was licking me all over. I didn’t mind it; actually I was enjoying his affection, while a voice interrupted our bonding session. The figure on the bed had come alive.
It was an old man, wearing a sweater of the same colour as his blanket (probably both were made of same material). He just had two teeth left in his mouth. His hair was sparse and of the moon light colour. It was evident that he didn’t shave for a long time now. As he tried to get up, I noticed his oversized trouser which was anchored around his waist by a string (like the one used to fasten a pyjama). His face was wrinkled and so were his hands (these we the only visible parts of his skin). The way he was looking at me suggested that his eyesight was failing or perhaps already failed. He commanded “Rustam Nahi” and the dog like an obedient student followed his orders and walked up to him. Now this old man was his world. I didn’t like my separation from Rustam and decided to continue with my walk.
Through out the day I kept thinking about Rustam and his possible relationship with the old man. I was sure he was not the owner of the dog. I recalled that the entrance gate of the bungalow (adjacent to which this man was sleeping) was open and imagined it as Rustam’s home.
That evening while coming back from office, I stopped to pick up the biggest pack of Parle-G available in the shop.
Next morning it didn’t take me much to get out of the bed. I was eager to meet Rustam again. As I walked towards that place I saw Rustam playing with the old man. His fore paws resting on the cot and his face buried in little place between the old man’s thighs. The Old man laid his arms around Rustam like old friends hugging each other. The sight made me jealous. I wish I had a companion like that and couldn’t stop myself from calling out- “Rustam”. He raised his head to see who wanted him now. To my surprise, he did recognise me. Wagging his tail he ran to me- and then he did a strange thing- he started moving back and forth between me and the old man. It was as if he, playing the role of a common friend wanted us (old man and me) to meet.
I walked up to the old man, today he was wide awake and greeted me with his two teethed smile. He said “Rustam to aap ka dost ban gaya”. I liked his hospitality. Between I remembered that I had carried some biscuits for Rustam. I took them out of my pocket and lured Rustam. He was so excited about this present. He stood on his hind legs to reach for them. I tried hand feeding him, but he took the biscuits (one by one from my hand) and placed them next to the old man’s feet. In his eyes I could see a desire to consume them but he was waiting for something. “Kha lo beta” the old man said, now I understood Rustam’s dilemma – he was waiting for the approval of his master to accept the gift. I was impressed with Rustam’s self control.
While Rustam gulped the biscuits, I tried talking to the old man. “Is this your dog?” I asked him. “No this is my son” he replied, and then he laughed aloud “I can’t feed myself, how I can maintain this English dog” he added. “Oh” I wondered. He sensed my perplexity and explained further- “I worked in this bungalow for thirty five years. I served two generations of the family. I used to do everything from house keeping, to gardening to guarding. They got Rustam four years back when he was just a month old. I brought him up. We have been best friends since then. I don’t have a family, but I never missed having one because of Rustam. I took care of him like a father and now he looks after me as a son”. There was sadness in his voice. “Do you still work there?” I probed. “No, my eyesight started failing a year back, but in last few months it worsened. It was increasingly difficult to perform even smallest of the jobs. So when I became useless they asked me to leave the house”. Rustam had finished his biscuits and now joined the conversation. He was sitting on his hind legs and looking at us as if we were talking about him. “I don’t have any place to go. So I started living here. The only good thing about this is that I can see Rustam everyday. They were kind enough to let him meet me”. I felt apologetic for starting this conversation and at the same time good to have discovered such a saga of friendship between a man and his dog.
It became a ritual for me to meet both of them everyday. Along with biscuits for Rustam, occasionally I used to carry bread and other eatables for the old man which he used to put into his plastic bag only to consume later. Now Rustam didn’t seek the man’s approval to devour on my biscuits. I imagined myself to be Rustam’s second best friend.
One of the good things about Bangalore is the weather. It is moderate for most of the year. The only problem is the rains. Not even rains, it is the after affect of rains like traffic jams and power cuts that I am bothered about. I like sunny days. May be because I stay alone- cloudy days make me gloomy. But come August and you hardly get to see the sun here.
Then came the first big pour of the year. It rained continuously for a day. For the first time in last fortnight I missed my morning walk… and Rustam. That night while I was watching rain from my fourth floor window- it suddenly occurred to me. What would have happened to the old man? He didn’t have a roof on his head. Did the owners accommodate him in the bungalow for the night or could he find some other shelter.
I grew restless and couldn’t sleep the whole night. I woke up before the alarm. Fetched some food for Rustam and more food for the old man and ran towards the bungalow. From a close distance I could see Rustam below the bed. The old man was still sleeping may be. On reaching the spot, I found the old man missing. The blanket was wet and dripping. Rain had washed away the plastic bag containing his food. I tried peeping into the bungalow and searched in the vicinity as well, but he was found nowhere.
All this while Rustam kept laying there- as if he didn’t notice my presence. He looked sad and tired. His head drooped next to his stretched limbs as if he was thinking something. I tried consoling him but he was too absorbed in his loss. I tried to feed him the biscuits but he dropped them on the floor. I pictured the old man nodding an approval “kha lo beta”.
Nothing could compensate Rustam’s loss. To give him his space I left him alone. After that day, for the next few days I kept going to that place every morning. The bed was still there but I didn’t see Rustam again. Everyday I came back with unconsumed biscuits in my pocket.
I stopped going for morning walks. I don’t like early mornings anymore and I just hate rains.
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