38. A WOMAN BRANCH MANAGER? HOWZZAT? (YEAR 1979)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

CARE: This is Chapter 38 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book right from Chapter 01 onwards.

After I had spent about two years in the Head Office, they decided to transfer me as Branch Manager to a branch in a middle-class residential locality of South Delhi.

My name plate displayed my name as Ranjana Bharij, but would a customer bother to read the name before entering the room?

On the first day, a customer walked into my cabin and asked me, “Where is Branch Manager Saheb?” 

I was the only person in the room and sat on the plush high-back revolving executive chair. "Does he think I am the Assistant to the Branch Manager?" I thought but replied politely, “Tell me what I may do for you."    

“I want to meet THE Branch Manager.” Why did he sound so irritated, I wondered.

I was amused, “Tell me, please. I am the Branch Manager."

Shocked, he stared at me in disbelief for a few seconds and left the room in a huff. He went out and requested the Accountant to do the favour to him. As it was not within the financial powers of the Accountant, he had asked him to see me. But the gentleman returned and told him that he would not seek a favour from a woman. Finally, the officer came to me to plead his case. 

 

The next day, I was in my room and asked the messenger to file some confidential papers in my presence on my table. As he did so, standing there in his navy-blue uniform, a customer walked in, looked at the messenger, doubled up with humility, folded his hands and requested very humbly, “Sir, I have a request. Could you please permit me a temporary overdraft of ….”

The messenger pointed towards me and said, “Please speak to Madam.”

The customer repeated, “No Sir. I am requesting you. Accountant Saheb says only Branch Manager Saheb can allow this. Sir, please….” Embarrassed, the messenger repeated, “Arre Bhai Saheb, Madam is the Branch Manager, not me.”

“Ohhh!” The customer looked at me and realised that I, the Branch Manager, was a woman. His humble and polite demeanour vanished, and he turned into an arrogant demanding customer. “Hey, listen! Allow this overdraft! My cheque is in the clearing. There will be sufficient funds in the account tomorrow.” His humble request had suddenly turned into a command. He decided he could order me, as I was a woman and, therefore, an inferior species. 

 

The next one takes the cake. I was required to inspect a Lock & Key godown, which stored a few hundred helmets seized from a defaulter borrower.  

The godown was a room hired in an old house in a nearby urban village. I, along with an officer, went there. Driving the car in the narrow lanes of the village, trying to save rickshaws and hand-carts parked haphazardly on both sides of the road, and pedestrians walking in the middle of the road was a big challenge. 

The village urchins found it strange that a woman was driving the car and a man was sitting in the passenger seat. They started running after the car, shouting on top of their voices, "Dekho re dekho. Janani motor chala rahi hai. Bhai baitha hai." (See guys, see! A woman is driving the car, and a man is sitting.)  

When we finally reached the destination and stepped out of the car, the children surrounded me, staring at me as if I were an alien. 

The godown was a room in an old haveli-type house, access to which was through the courtyard. The officer knocked at the door, which was already open and stepped into the courtyard where an old lady was seated on a cot, enjoying the winter sun and shelling peas. She was the mother of the landlord and was hard of hearing. The Head Cashier accosted her loudly, "Ram Ram, Amma!"

 She had seen him earlier, but I was a new face. She was amused seeing me and asked loudly, "Kya re? Aaj apni janani ko bhee sath laya sai?" (What! Today you have brought your wife also along.)

The Head Cashier was embarrassed and replied, "Nahin nahin, Amma. Ye to hamari Madam hain. (No, no. Amma! She is our Madam."

"Haan, haan, wahee to kahein hain janani ko, angreji mein. main kya janoon na? (Yes, yes. That is what one calls the wife in English. Don't I know?)" 

He tried explaining again, much to his and my discomfort. But I told him to ignore the woman and proceed with the task.

We went inside and started counting the boxes. Bang! A sudden gush of wind forced the door and window to close. The room became pitch dark. I stopped counting and promptly came out. Standing in the doorway, I asked him to continue counting the boxes and checking their contents. Needless to add, I never went to that godown again.

 

Accepting a woman in a position of authority was not the problem of only the sub-ordinate staff: the customers of the Bank, that too in South Delhi, were no better. Everybody seemed to be saying, "A woman as a Branch Manager? Howzzat?"

(To be continued....)

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