also met and cut some ice with someone from Tanzania.
It was good going. But minor irritants were multiplying at the same time. While compliance had relaxed their grip, facilitating easier account opening, the internal audit chaps were beginning to gnaw at us. Three months after Sunny Singh’s account was opened, I got an email from them saying they had rejected his account because the account form had been filled up as ‘Satwinder Singh Bali’ while the passport copy read ‘Satwinder Sing Bali’. I tried convincing them that it was just a clerical error at the consulate office and showed them copies of the previous passport which had the correct name. But they refused to consider the previous passport because ‘the old passport is not a valid document any more’. Then they said I should either get a new set of account opening forms from him or get the spelling of his name changed on the passport. Since the latter could be a lengthy process, I troubled Sunny and his wife for six more signatures each and changed his correct account name to match the wrong passport name.
‘Your bank people have no brains,’ Sunny told me as I adroitly deflected the blame to my colleagues in audit. ‘If they are asking me to sign so many papers because of this small thing, your well-paid senior colleagues are no different from the clerks in the passport office. In fact, they are far worse!’
A stream of frustrating issues followed. ‘MILK’ Shah’s account got frozen because while I had submitted a utility bill in Mr Shah’s name with their residence address, they wanted one in Mrs Shah’s name as well. My plea that a husband and wife living together would not have two different bills didn’t move them an inch. I had mentioned in my accompanying note that Madan Dodhia had been the governor of the Lions Club in Kisumu. A young upstart from audit sent an email asking me to outline the activities of the Lions Club in Kisumu. I told them that the activities of the Lions Club were irrelevant to the opening of the account. The reply came in double-quick time. It said: if the information was not relevant I should not have mentioned the club in the first place. Since I had mentioned it, I had to jolly well give all details asked for. I lost my cool. I sent a stinker copied to Peggy, Fergs and the head of audit.
‘Is this audit or is this farce?’ I queried, sounding like a Shakespearean character. ‘I simply mentioned his governorship in the Lions Club to emphasize his standing in society. What does it matter what the club does? What is the Lions Club supposed to do, anyway? Promote drug trafficking? Conduct midnight orgies? I am all for audit. But it needs to be meaningful. It must make sense in the context of our requirements. We cannot afford to waste time in the name of audit.’
As I clicked the ‘send’ button I felt a sense of triumph. The next second, I got a severe bout of cold feet. As I re-read it, the feet got colder. No one wrote such directly nasty mails in this bank. Everything was couched and worded in an appropriately roundabout way. At any moment, I expected something to explode. I wished I could talk to Peggy. But she’d still be in bed; it was 5.30 a.m. London time. Luckily for me, the suspense lasted only forty minutes. Fergs sent a mail to the upstart copied to all of us. It simply said, ‘The Lions Club is an international organization whose activities are well-known. We ourselves have been associated with them in the past. If there are no other issues, I suggest we proceed with the opening of this account.’
I had won this round. It filled me with exhilaration. I could feel adrenalin sloshing within me. For the rest of the day, I walked about with a swagger.
That night I was a tiger in bed.
9
A Quick Trip Home
I t was Friday and I could only apply for my South African visa early the following week. So when I got a call from Kitch asking if I could spend a day or two with him in Chennai, I jumped
It was good going. But minor irritants were multiplying at the same time. While compliance had relaxed their grip, facilitating easier account opening, the internal audit chaps were beginning to gnaw at us. Three months after Sunny Singh’s account was opened, I got an email from them saying they had rejected his account because the account form had been filled up as ‘Satwinder Singh Bali’ while the passport copy read ‘Satwinder Sing Bali’. I tried convincing them that it was just a clerical error at the consulate office and showed them copies of the previous passport which had the correct name. But they refused to consider the previous passport because ‘the old passport is not a valid document any more’. Then they said I should either get a new set of account opening forms from him or get the spelling of his name changed on the passport. Since the latter could be a lengthy process, I troubled Sunny and his wife for six more signatures each and changed his correct account name to match the wrong passport name.
‘Your bank people have no brains,’ Sunny told me as I adroitly deflected the blame to my colleagues in audit. ‘If they are asking me to sign so many papers because of this small thing, your well-paid senior colleagues are no different from the clerks in the passport office. In fact, they are far worse!’
A stream of frustrating issues followed. ‘MILK’ Shah’s account got frozen because while I had submitted a utility bill in Mr Shah’s name with their residence address, they wanted one in Mrs Shah’s name as well. My plea that a husband and wife living together would not have two different bills didn’t move them an inch. I had mentioned in my accompanying note that Madan Dodhia had been the governor of the Lions Club in Kisumu. A young upstart from audit sent an email asking me to outline the activities of the Lions Club in Kisumu. I told them that the activities of the Lions Club were irrelevant to the opening of the account. The reply came in double-quick time. It said: if the information was not relevant I should not have mentioned the club in the first place. Since I had mentioned it, I had to jolly well give all details asked for. I lost my cool. I sent a stinker copied to Peggy, Fergs and the head of audit.
‘Is this audit or is this farce?’ I queried, sounding like a Shakespearean character. ‘I simply mentioned his governorship in the Lions Club to emphasize his standing in society. What does it matter what the club does? What is the Lions Club supposed to do, anyway? Promote drug trafficking? Conduct midnight orgies? I am all for audit. But it needs to be meaningful. It must make sense in the context of our requirements. We cannot afford to waste time in the name of audit.’
As I clicked the ‘send’ button I felt a sense of triumph. The next second, I got a severe bout of cold feet. As I re-read it, the feet got colder. No one wrote such directly nasty mails in this bank. Everything was couched and worded in an appropriately roundabout way. At any moment, I expected something to explode. I wished I could talk to Peggy. But she’d still be in bed; it was 5.30 a.m. London time. Luckily for me, the suspense lasted only forty minutes. Fergs sent a mail to the upstart copied to all of us. It simply said, ‘The Lions Club is an international organization whose activities are well-known. We ourselves have been associated with them in the past. If there are no other issues, I suggest we proceed with the opening of this account.’
I had won this round. It filled me with exhilaration. I could feel adrenalin sloshing within me. For the rest of the day, I walked about with a swagger.
That night I was a tiger in bed.
9
A Quick Trip Home
I t was Friday and I could only apply for my South African visa early the following week. So when I got a call from Kitch asking if I could spend a day or two with him in Chennai, I jumped
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