The bank rigmarole

Back then, my dad, with the glee of a child in a candy store, would march to the bank every week. My mom, ever the inquisitive one, would question this weekly pilgrimage. His response? To update his passbook, verify if his pension had been credited, and confirm deposit of the interest. The bank manager was practically his best buddy, knowing his name, pension amount, his tea or coffee preference, and probably even his shoe size. That was all it took to establish your identity.

My senior citizen days have now dawned, and I have discovered my romance with the private bank has morphed into a new role — one of a detective with a magnifying glass and a police officer with a badge.

Just two days before the tax return deadline, I received a message advising me to contact the branch immediately that sent shivers down my spine: my account status had changed and my debits were blocked. This was equivalent to a non-bailable court summons. All withdrawals, including ATM withdrawals, were blocked. Panic ensued. What if I couldn’t pay my tax in two days because my account was frozen? Become a fugitive?

Bright and early, I dashed to the bank, clutching my passbook like it was the Holy Grail. Turns out, my account was frozen due to a pending re-KYC (re-know your customer) process.

Please note that process was complete in every respect. I thought pension accounts could not be frozen, but alas!

The conversation with the banker was like trying to decipher a teenager’s TikTok dance — polite, firm, but utterly perplexing. No one in the bank was clear on how often the banks must conduct a re-KYC. Someone said every two years, someone said every three years. Someone whispered, “Is a government pensioner a high-risk customer?” The staff was obviously privy to my monthly pension deposit.

By the end of this ordeal, I had handed over my mobile phone to the bank staff, who seemed to believe that without the banking app, my life was incomplete. They insisted I didn’t need to visit the bank; everything could have been done via the app. So, with the diligence of a monk, we downloaded the app and began feeding it a feast of numbers —10, 12, or more digits, starting with my Aadhaar, my PAN, and more. After entering a mountain of numbers, I was politely asked for physical copies of my Aadhaar card, PAN card, voter ID, two photographs, and proof of address. And to top it all, the bank provided a re-KYC form to be duly filled. What was the point of entering all those details in the app, then? The banker smiled and said they needed physical copies for their records. Would I please self-attest these documents? A young customer, witnessing this spectacle, whispered to a friend, “Do you want to see the LinkedIn profile too?”

Meanwhile, I was getting restless, a different matter that I did not have to rush to the office, but everyone around me thought I was getting too fidgety. My goal was to pay my tax, so I politely inquired, “When will my account be unfrozen? I need to pay the tax today.” They said try using the app. The app remained as unresponsive as a teenager during a family dinner. The banker sheepishly confessed that thawing my frozen account would take at least 24 hours because the backend office in Mumbai needed to confirm Aadhaar and PAN we had just re-entered. I persisted. I needed to pay my income tax today. The banker’s answer? “Can you please come tomorrow? We assure you, we would help you pay your income tax since you already have the challan made out.” I finally gave my orbiter dicta: “I thought digital banking was supposed to reduce bank visits.” The banker was undeterred. I left the bank, clutching my passbook like a passport, wondering when the next renewal would be due.

Oh, and by the way, I’m now awaiting a penalty for late tax deposit. Also, I am dreading reactivation fees. Next time the bank sends a happy birthday greeting on email, I will definitely say “Thanks, but I thought I had to reprove my identity.” Welcome to the future!

naini_14@yahoo.co.in