Accounting for every single penny

Satish K Sharma

In 1982, I joined a branch of Allahabad Bank at Jabalpur as a probationary office at a princely salary of Rs 1,400. The branch was a mere 3 km from my home and working there was fun except for one thing: I had to sit with the branch manager after the close of the branch and tally the accounts (balancing the cash book, it was called). We could not go home until it had been done. So while the bank closed at 5 pm, I could leave only after 8 pm, or even later. 

Banking transactions were recorded manually in those day, and ledgers were a thick mass of leaves bound inside hard covers that made a loud noise when thrown (rather than placed) at the counters of insincere clerks by insolent messengers (peons). Discipline was at a premium because bank unions were powerful and there was no competition from private banks then. Some clerks would even leave the bank without completing their work, un-entered vouchers stuck inside the ledger in a bunch. The poor branch manager would sit down and complete the entries after the clerks had left. 

A probationary officer was, therefore, a godsend for him. A postgraduate in commerce, I found banking no rocket science and it made me even more useful to Shuklaji, the bank manager. He was a kindly man who would order snacks from a hotel below during extra hours we had to put to wrap up the day’s work, and finally tally the debit and credit sides of the cash book. 

One day, we could not match the totals despite repeated cross-checks; comparing the amounts written in vouchers with figures entered in books. The difference, which we were not able to reconcile was, believe me, of 1 paisa. It was a ridiculous situation and tedium was getting the better of us, but there was no question of leaving until the books had been balanced. 

Around 10 pm we commenced yet another re-checking. That is when I came upon a voucher written in Hindi — the amount in 27 paise, which in the ledger account maintained in English had been entered as 26 paise. The mistake had been committed because ‘7’ in Hindi is written quite like ‘6’ of international numerals. 

When I spotted the error, Shuklaji remarked: ‘Wah! Issko kahte hain pai-pai ka hisaab baithana!’ (That is how you account for each penny)! You will be a great banker one day!’ 

Well, that was not to be. A few years down the line I made a career switch and became a police officer. But now, when I recall the episode, I wonder how many Shuklajis are left. If only the bankers had continued to ‘balance’ their books with the same integrity, perhaps the crisis of trust which the banking industry is facing today would not be there.