Encashing a cheque
When I wrote out a cheque from my 88 year old mother to myself, little did I dream of the drama that was about to be played out on this mundane humdrum affair. I have been encashing cheques ever since I was this high and I did not expect this time to be any bit different.
At the branch of the Punjab & Sind Bank located in the Guru Nanak Market just next to our house, I went to the counter, where a young girl accepted the cheque, made me append my signature on the reverse and gave me a metal token. I handed over the three passbooks of our family, so that these could be updated. She asked me to collect these later.
I had some time to kill, till the cheque was passed by the Sikh Supervisor at the back. Idly I watched the crowd milling around the small room where the main business of the bank is transacted. I noticed with mild curiosity two females dressed in the typical saris worn by the lower classes, synthetic, shiny, gaudy, embellished with garish designs.
Soon I was in the queue at the teller’s window. When my turn came, he asked what denomination of notes I would like to have. I opted for Rs. 500 notes. Accordingly, he counted the notes, fifty of these, then verified the number in the note-counting machine and handed over the wad of notes to me, after extracting one more signature from me.
Here is where the drama began. A few years back, one of my friends had been given a hundred rupee note instead of a 500 rupee note. When he protested later, he was told brusquely that the customer was supposed to count the money before he left the counter. After that, the bank’s responsibility ceased.
Based on this single precedent, I had resolved always to count the money before I left the counter. I had done this religiously all these years and I proceeded to do it once again. So I counted the fifty notes and put the wad of currency notes held by a rubber band into the cloth bag I had brought along.
Now I committed my next blunder. Like a fool I went to the girl at the cheque counter. She very placidly handed over the three passbooks to me. Believe it or not, I started to verify the entries she had made, in order to ensure that all the important deposits had been accounted for. I did this for all the three passbooks, said “thank you” to the girl and started moving out of the queue.
How shall I put it? The two rustic girls in the garish clothes were standing next to me in the queue. Suddenly, many things happened simultaneously. I felt a tug at my bag and it suddenly seemed to become lighter. The two women broke suddenly from the queue and moved towards the exit. The gunman at the door asked them what they wanted. They mumbled something about wanting to deposit money in the State Bank. He told them that the SBI had shifted to Zamrudpur long ago.
Something clicked in my brain. I peeped into the bag. There were no notes in the bag. Galvanized, I looked around. I noticed the two women trying to make a precipitate exit from the bank. I moved towards them. As I neared the exit, I shouted (I thought) at the gunman, “Arre, inko roko. Inki talaashi leni hai”.
The gunman looked at me with a face devoid of any expression. He pretended not to hear what I said. I ran after the women who had by now crossed the exit door, went outside for a few yards. They melted in the crowd outside and disappeared from view.
I came back, stunned by the incident. It struck me that I had just been robbed of the princely sum of Rs. 25,000/-. It was a huge loss. I had behaved like an absolute nincompoop. For a few seconds I stood inside the branch. I spoke to the gunman and asked him why he had not stopped the women in order to search them. He said bluntly that he had not heard my so-called shout. If I had been robbed, I should have shouted loudly, “Chor, chor! Pakdo, pakdo!!”Then everyone would have taken notice.
I decided to tell the manager and entered his chamber. He was not very concerned about my predicament. He said that each customer was responsible for safeguarding his cash and belongings. The bank was not responsible.
I asked him to call the police. He was reluctant, but when I pressed him, he was forced to make a call to telephone number 100 and the Police Station Greater Kailash I. I called my wife for moral support. She came at once and gave the manager hell. How did he say that the bank was not responsible? The theft had taken place inside the bank branch, hadn’t it?
Soon a policeman appeared. He heard the story with a bored and unconcerned air. They would, of course, make the utmost efforts to trace the women. There was a closed circuit camera in the bank. It should not be difficult to take out the photographs of the two suspects and circulate these among the various thanas in the vicinity.
Unfortunately, the mechanic who maintained the CCTV in the bank was away and would be available only on the next day. No one else was trained in the art of replaying the cassette of the CCTV. I thought to myself that our policemen were always several miles behind the criminals. By the time the mechanic was located, the thieves would be back in Jharkhand or Chhattisgarh or wherever they had come from.
Next day we saw the footage and recognised the two ladies. I had entered the bank at 1.41 p.m. They had followed soon after at 1.42 p.m. The ladies were seen leaving the bank premises in a tearing hurry at 2.10, I followed a split second later.
The cop was happy to see the footage. Both the ladies had posed properly so as to give a front face to the camera. He was confident that he would be able to develop clear photographs which he would show around and send to the neighbouring thanas.
It has been two months since the theft took place. In between, the Head Constable has visited us several times to give us the situation report. He gave us a few copies of their photographs which we shall preserve in our family album as a reminder of this event. The cop says that I have to present myself before the Judicial Magistrate to say that I have no objection to the case being filed as untraced.
I have now to spend a whole day in the august company of the Hon’ble Magistrate on the date he fixes for a hearing. Raj has kept my best suit ready for this momentous occasion. We are eagerly waiting for the summons from the Court!
The lessons that I have learnt from this incident:
ü Never count the currency notes you receive from the teller
ü Do not stand too close to garishly dressed women
ü When your bag feels lighter, shout loudly, “Chor, chor,pakdo, pakdo.”
ü If the security guard fails to move swiftly, nab the thieves
yourself.
Of course, the snag in following the last lesson is that there may be no currency notes on their person. You might be nabbed by the police for outraging the modesty of a woman.
Here's hoping justice is met out soon..
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