Rural Posting

This is from my diary - life and times in rural India for a city-bred pseudo.

One of my first postings when i joined the State Bank was to a rural place - in Karnataka. Since i was presumably quite young, i was accompanied by a retired Sub-Inspector of Police, a family friend, who wanted to leave me in some safe hands as i began my career

It was a nice small village - some 80 houses and a population of around 300, 90% illiterate and the remaining politicians. There were three buses to this village each day from the district headquarters - some 20 kilometers away. The road was muddy for the entire stretch and i used to imagine the reason why there were only three buses per day -  the dusty smoke that a bus left as it passed on this road must have lasted for 5-6 hours for the next bus to gain visibility

It was a dry village, surrounded by rocky hillocks and barren lands. Apart from my bank, the next largest commercial activity was centered on arrack sale. There was a primary school where children took refuge to avoid rains or the tantrums of a drunken dad. Nearly 99% of the employable adults were unemployed and their main occupation was to take loans from the Bank, aided and abetted by a local aspiring MLA. Life was fun

The infrastructure was hilarious.  We would get power supply for a few hours during the day and for the rest of my working life, it was candle-light.  Maybe because of this, i hated candle-lit dinners ever after. Water was available from a few wells in the village - as a bank manager, it was a priority for the villagers to supply water twice a day in brass pots. People said drinking water from the well resulted in Polio, so i would avoid water.  

                     There was one small tea-shop that doubled as an (spurious) arrack shop in the dark. Every dignitary to the branch was treated to a hot glass of tea and Parle biscuits. It took me a few months to realise that Parle had its manufacturing facility in every village of the country.  Thrice a week the postman visited the village - he was as important as me as people expected him to get money-orders from the Government, as promised by the minister who visited some years ago. Two telephones linked this paradise on earth to the outer world- and both lines were almost always out of order

Each day when i walked into the branch from my house - which was one of the few solid concrete structures among those 80 houses and belonged to the village landlord who never allowed any manager to stay anywhere except his house - i would see dozens of people waiting outside the bank for me to open the doors. Initially i mistook them for the sincere savers who preferred their bank account to the expenses at the arrack shop. But they were all waiting with the same request - loan for purchasing cattle, growing crops, marrying children, constructing roof to their houses.  I also saw from records we had in the past given 'crop-loans' to landless laborers!!!

The people were poor, deprived and less-empowered. But they were wonderfully kind and innocent. Far less deceitful and self-centered like the city comrade. 

I could never understand why we opened a bank branch in such a place. It just required 3 months to give a loan to every eligible person in the village and for the next many years the manager's job was to chase for recovery.  But that is socialism. Banks are expected to take care of the financial linkages for economic activity and it is the duty of the leaders and educated citizens to have a continuum in that cycle. The missing part is the existence of the latter. We only have politicians but not leaders. Nationalisation is a great policy but it has been a failed experiment in emerging economies. 

My experience here will be like a scar in a body.  Initially painful but just a mark later. Everytime one looks at a scar, would recollect what caused that  but would feel  no pain when reminiscing.