(Note: For all those-if at all any-who venture to read this, let me warn you that this is a sequel to the previous post. To be forewarned is to be forearmed!)
Well, if I thought making a loan application was tough and involved a lot of paperwork, which was a one-time effort, I was wrong and how! That apparently was just the tip of the iceberg. Application filed, papers submitted, end of the story, I had naively thought. Now the moolah would come sprinting into my bank account and facilitate payment etc etc went on the happy refrain in my mind, but was I mistaken? It couldn’t have been further from the truth. Miles and miles away, come to think of it seriously. For about ten days down the line, on a subtle reminder from me (having found the coffers still piteously wanting) when I called the chappies at the bank, I was rewarded with a terse email. To the effect that my loan was held up due to deficient paper work, if you please! After I had sweated it out hunted high and low and coughed up every relevant document, not only had the fellows remained mum for days on end but now, when the monster was stirred so to say, had come up with this strategy of counter offence. No, they weren’t slow, my paperwork was incomplete; a fresh set of about five different kinds of papers were now demanded and the additional one-liner went on to add that the property I had applied for hadn’t been approved by them so this would take time. Could I please come to that site and submit the remaining documents for them to consider my application? This time I saw red. A clear, sparkling, mocking red, the kind used by matadors in friendly Spanish bull fights, I suspect. Not only was my project fully approved and hence the initial acceptance by the said bank-but I had never heard of this new project-the unapproved one-let alone have any idea of where their blighted site was. As folks close to me will vouch, when I see red, I see it well and proper-a shade too strong. The colour pretty much blinds the short-sight. Promptly, I called up the fellow dealing with this and made no bones about the way I felt. What did he mean by saying my application was found wanting? Where had all these new lists come from? Why wasn’t I given the list at one go? And why, if at all they were needed, had they waited for my reminder? Why hadn’t it come automatically? And, I thundered, warming to the theme as fresh details of the offending mail hurt the sensibilities yet again, what did he mean by saying now that my project wasn’t approved? I hadn’t even heard of this ABC project mentioned in his mail, mine was project XYZ. I then went on to add that I was not going to any site-ABC or XYZ-to hand over any documents. If they didn’t want to give the loan to me, they should just come out and say so and that would be it. There were other banks in the world. As I paused to take a breath, the long suffering fellow managed to get a word in, sideways. Profusely apologetic, he said the mail had been sent to me by mistake; it was meant for another lady who had applied for another loan for another property. Too many anothers, it seemed to me, except that this other lady-and the bumbling executive- had literally created havoc. Anyway, that did seem to get sorted out and I agreed to submit the additional 2 or 3 documents, by way of acceptance of the apology and ultimate display of magnanimity.
Then again, there was complete silence for days. Probably, these chaps work in fits or need constant reminders, I haven’t quite figured out which-but when I next called to politely enquire if my loan had been sanctioned (a considerable period having elapsed) I was shocked to hear that a lot of paperwork was needed before that happy day could dawn. In all the gibberish that ensued, words like non-judicial stamped paper, pre mortgage agreement, sanction letter trickled into the cerebrum but it was only when I visited their hallowed precincts did I realize that there was loads of stuff still to be signed and counter signed. When this was done, I was told only about half the work was done. Now armed with all the papers I would have to leg it to the builders’ office to get a third round of signatures, something called a TPT agreement, and 2 more vital documents from them, then return to the bank for the final ok. Only after this major song-and-dance act would I finally be eligible to get the cheque, whose date of payment was Monday May 31!! This was not all-before this could happen, the bank would first give me the loan sanction letter, which (here I could blithely have socked them) they could not issue that day, so would I please come the following day, collect it and only then proceed to the builders? Amazing, the amount of red tape that still exists, even in the private sector, and, in this world fast moving towards a paper-less existence where soft copies are the norm, why are we bogging ourselves down with these eminently avoidable hard copies, this fruitless paperwork?
A good point to ponder on, perhaps, but I'm no nearer a concrete solution........ Only the morrow will tell whether by pitching in personally, I will succeed in making a timely payment and not have to pay a penalty for late payment because the bank I went to couldn’t get its act together in time.
Whoever said Life was fair?? Or who knows, I might be eating my words tomorrow…..
The morrow: proved to be more hectic than I had envisaged: eleven AM saw me dutifully stationed at the bank, in front of the designated desk to collect the all-important sanction letter. Only, there was a twist in the tale. It seems there was this minor process of filling in a form, submitting it at the reception and then twiddling one’s thumbs till the powers-that-be (read the curt young lady at the counter) deigned to call your name. And what made the entire wait more killing was that i) one was aware that precious time was slipping by, the builders’ office where this sanction letter-among other papers-had to be deposited-functioned only half day on Saturdays ii) one could see that in between the numbered slips that she had-slips that she went through painfully slowly-there were hundreds of verbal queries that were being addressed out of queue. So while legitimate customers (reminded me of a rather off-key Hindi PJ which defined a customer as someone jo kasht se mar jaaye) stood around in the sweltering heat, biding their time, people kept popping in midway, gave their reference numbers and had their queries addressed with gay abandon. Anyway, every dog has his day, and finally yours truly managed to get her papers after a (im) patient wait. Eleven forty five, said the watch on my wrist as I raced out of the building. Twelve sharp saw me at the builders’ and here-contrary to expectations and earlier experiences-my work got done in a jiffy. The No objection certificate, the TPT agreement signed and stamped and the permission letter on a 100 rupee non-J stamped paper were all in my custody within twenty minutes or so. After duly signing at half a dozen odd places, I raced back again, on my way to the self-same bank, my third visit in two days.
More familiar with its ways, I zeroed in on the reception counter this time, asked for a form and filled in my ‘case’. Deposit of documents was the column I sagaciously ticked and without losing my patience or my cool, stood around quietly. Now, there was no hurry, no threatening timelines to be met. Let the lethargic system take its time. Of course, the need for the cheque to be made out by Monday was still there, but that was better than the half day closure deadline. Anyway, a good forty minutes later, I was summoned to the same desk as before and the three documents provided by the builders, the bank’s application form, copies of earlier installment receipts, the original allotment letter and a few others were all asked for. All that done, I was told that it would take at least Wednesday for the cheque to be ready. This meant way beyond the payment date, as I feared, but all my requests if this date could be advanced met with futility/shrugged shoulders. Finally, giving it up and giving in to the fact that things would take their course, at least I had the satisfaction that I had done the best I could, I wound my tired way towards the waiting car.
As I said before, Life isn’t fair. Though I'm still prepared to eat my words!
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Addendum, May 31: Just had dinner-ate my words!! And Life does seem to be fair, after all. :)
