THE BANK MANAGER

Rahmat was always an exceptional student. She could have taken any career path. Her parents wanted her to pursue fashion design or any other creative profession. But she longs for mundane; ordinariness. What she can give to be invisible, only she knows.

When she was going to be transferred, she had a choice between Delhi and Hapur. She chose Hapur. Her mother was vexed. Why she has to make life difficult for herself again and again? In Meerut, it took her a year to get the staff and customers to accept her. Does she want to go through all that again? But she loves these small victories. It gives her a sense of validation; acceptance; and belonging.

It’s not her first, first day to a new branch. Still, nervous energy doesn’t leave her side. Her hands are gently shaking out of testosterone spike as she struggles to keep them steady on the steering wheel. She is waiting for the signal to turn green, and her legs are inadvertently pushing against the accelerator, revving the motionless car in its place. A person from the third gender taps on her window asking for money. Rahmat turns to her with an intense glare making her to back off as quickly as she had appeared.

It’s a rural branch. By the time she reaches, her car is covered in heaps of dust. So far so good. The tough part begins now.

She enters the branch. It is decorated with flowers and festoons to welcome the new bank manager. There are a handful of customers who are going about their routine of depositing or withdrawing cash. Nobody notices her entry.

“Hello! I’m Rahmat Ali. I’m the new bank manager,” she says to the cashier, Narendra Choudhary, as his nameplate displays. He looks up and gets stuck with a stupified expression.

“Sharma ji!” He shouts. A middle-aged man rises from his seat behind him. “Manager....sahab,” he stutters.

Other bank employees also rise from their seats curiously. They all look nonplussed.

Not that Rahmat is not used to this reaction, but it makes her sick to her stomach every time.

“What are you all looking at me like that for?” Rahmat remarks with a sign of authority.

“Welcome sir….madam…,” Sharma ji uncomfortably comes forward. He grabs a bouquet on the way from a table and offers her.

Rahmat takes the bouquet. “Thank you.”

“Madam….sir….madam….sorry…I mean…we’d also like you to cut a cake,” he stammers.

“Sure,” Rahmat replies.

“Thank you….sss….madam,” he says.

Rahmat cuts the cake and everybody claps mutedly.

“I’d like to say something before we go back to our work,” she says. She looks at the elderly customers who are equally dumbfounded. “I know it’s not easy. We’ll take some time to get to know each other and that’s fine. I like to be addressed as madam, so there shouldn’t be any confusion there. Apart from that, I’m here to make this branch more efficient and my record speaks for itself. Let’s get back to work,” she ends her speech.

The staff gets back to their seats. Sharma ji leads Rahmat to her cabin.

“Sharma ji you are the senior most member of the staff, so I’ll depend on you a lot for guidance,” Rahmat says.

“Yes madam,” Sharma ji acknowledges and steps out.

The branch deals with heavy cash once a month despite being small. Since population density in the region is high with almost 70% of people above the age of 60 years, the branch handles all their pensions. Then there are cash incentives by the government, which have to be distributed to the eligible candidates. Besides, the villagers are economically well off because they’re a landed community that generates good income through farming and other small-scale businesses. Therefore, Rahmat anticipates the first week of the month should be tight in terms of public dealing.

Rahmat steps out of the cabin to leave in the evening and overhears a conversation between some staff members.

“The head office doesn’t give us any importance. They’ve sent a hijra to be our bank manager,” a staff member rues.

“Sharma ji this is an insult. I think you should complain to the head office. We can’t work under a hijra. Wait till the villagers find out. Then see what happens. They will leave this branch,” Chowdhary rants.

“And where will they go Chowdhary ji,” Rahmat catches them unawares.

Sharma ji immediately staggers up from his seat. Others also do the same. They all look alarmed.

“There is only one branch in a 50 km radius. There is nowhere for them to go,” Rahmat clarifies.

“Madam he doesn’t mean it like that,” Sharma ji tries to pacify the situation.

“Never mind. I’ll see you all tomorrow,” Rahmat leaves.

Rahmat believes she did quite well. She has had nastier experiences in other branches. This was easy. Handling her overworried mother will be a greater task. She will have to deal with her in the night over their customary call.

As Rahmat had anticipated, the first week of the month is indeed quite stressful.

There is some disturbance at the cashier counter. Some elderly villagers are furious and Chowdhary is wrangling with them. Rahmat steps out of her cabin and approaches them.

“May I know what’s the problem?” She asks politely.

“We want to speak to Sharma ji,” demanded an elderly villager.

“Sharma ji will not come this week. He has gone to Delhi for his daughter’s exams. How many times do I repeat this?” he retorts.

“We will not go unless we meet Sharma ji,” the villager insists.

“What’s the problem?” Rahmat asks.

“They haven’t submitted their life certificate, so their pension has not been deposited into their account,” Chowdhary jarringly responds.

“I'm not deaf. Speak politely,” Rahmat admonishes him.

Chowdhary is taken aback by Rahmat’s tone. “Madam...Sharma ji handles it for them,” he says in a lowered voice.

“You can’t do it?” She asks.

“This is not my job,” he dismisses forthwith.

“No problem. This is a small task,” Rahmat professes.

“No madam it is not,” Chowdhary argues.

Rahmat gives a glaring look to him, “Now you all can submit your life certificate online,” she assures the villagers.

The villagers are confounded.

“How many days will it take? I need the money urgently,” a villager states.

“We’ll do it right now and the money will be in your account in two days. And from next year I’ll do it for you well in advance so you all don’t face any problems,” Rahmat adds.

A villager kisses her hand in gratitude.

She downloads the app on everyone’s mobile phone and finishes the process of submitting life certificates online in an hour. Her staff is gobsmacked at her digital skills and how easily she resolved the situation.

Rahmat had a very peaceful sleep that night. Every drop makes an ocean and this was a significant one.

Sharma ji has been looking disturbed for the past few days. He asked for leave a few times, which Rahmat refused. While passing him on the way out, she stops and retraces her steps, “Sharma ji if ever you feel the need to discuss your problem, you can always count on me,” she says.

Sharma ji nods tacitly and after a thoughtful silence responds, “My daughter wants to go to Delhi to prepare for her UPSC. Here she won’t be able to concentrate. I’m thinking of taking voluntary retirement and shifting with her.

Rahmat solemnly listens. “What’s the name of your daughter?” She asks.

“Jayanti,” he answers.

“If you don’t mind, Jayanti can stay with my parents in Delhi. We have a spare room that she can use and she will also be safe there,” she suggests.

“Really?!” Sharma ji chokes with emotion.

“Yes. Because I cannot allow you to take voluntary retirement,” she quips.

Jayanti starts visiting the branch to spend time with Rahmat. Rahmat is thorough in current affairs and becomes a bouncing board for Jayanti to benefit from. In return, she gets scrumptious food from Sharma's household.

Rahmat is getting ready to leave for work. A new month has started and she knows there will be chaos at the bank. Her mobile rings.

“Hello!” She answers.

“This is Inspector Bhatia. Am I talking to the bank manager Rahmat Ali?” A harsh voice asks.

“Yes,” Rahmat responds sceptically.

“There has been an incident in your bank last night. Please come as soon as possible,” he informs.

"What happened?" She asks nervously.

'Bank robbery," he states.

Rahmat turns cold. She drops everything and rushes out.

Since it was the start of the month the robbery amount could be well over a crore. The robbers were familiar with the branch and achieved their goal with finesse.

All the staff members have been called to the local police station and are being questioned.

“Bank manager is a hijra,” they overhear the inspector utter in his room disdainfully.

They are questioned individually and in different-different ways. Some psychological contrivances have also been employed to break them. None of it produced any concrete way forward.

It’s late in the night. The inspector appears. “You all can go,” he says.

They tiredly move to leave. “Not you,” the inspector stops Rahmat.

“We are not leaving without our bank manager,” insists Sharma ji.

“We have to question her some more,” the inspector says authoritatively.

“Then we’ll also wait,” Sharma ji asserts.

The inspector glares intensely and stomps off.

In the morning a constable appears and tells them that they are all free to go.

The police couldn’t solve the case of bank robbery. The money was insured so the villagers didn’t lose anything.

However, it resolved Rahmat's case. She has achieved her ordinariness. The villagers have complete access to her for not only bank-related problems, but counselling the youth, especially girls occupies a lot of her time after work.