Of Post Office Tellers, Kindles, and Driverless Cars

I count three people ahead of me. I reckon about five minutes per person, fifteen minutes more in all. I fish my Kindle out of my tote, and flip the cover. Wish you were here, the cover of the book I am currently reading, flashes on screen before coming alive to the most recent page I am on. I feel my position neighbour, someone who's standing fourth as well, in the adjacent queue look over at my device. I have often felt these inquisitive glances come my way whenever I switch to my constant companion - be it at a bank, the airport or the post office where I stand just now. People are used to phones, the Kindle - mm, well not so much. Not as popular as it should have been, what with reading as a habit declining as well.

I continue reading. The line inches along. Every page I turn, I let out a sigh. I shift my weight from one leg to the other. I glance up every thirty seconds, my attention span going down just as the rest of the masses, thanks to reels and stories and whatnot. Random fact: The average human's average attention span has now dropped to less than seven seconds, lesser than that of a jelly fish.

The gentleman in front of me, finally reaches the counter, hands over his passbook and there's some friendly banter. I look around, just taking in the ambience. To the far left, I hear the rhythmic thump-thump of a rubber stamp, shuffling between the ink pad and a sheaf of documents. At the counter to my right, a note counting machine whirrs. The gentleman ahead of me is done, and he exits. I step up, starting to explain the purpose of my visit to the teller. We discuss for a bit. I provide her the required info, she hands over a couple of forms to be filled. I realize I don't have a pen. I ask her for one, she hands one over. Minus the lid. I supress a smile. Twenty years later, some things never change. Forms filled, I hand them over. With the pen. She looks them over, types into the computer, does her work. My eyes wander around again. They come to rest at a framed quote on the wall next to her.

A customer is the most important visitor on our premises. He is not dependent on us. We are dependent on him. He is not an interruption in our work. He is the purpose of it. He is not an outsider in our business. He is part of it. We are not doing him a favor by serving him. He is doing us a favor by giving us an opportunity to do so.

The information entered, she turns to me, and asks me if there's anything else she can help me with. I request her to enable my internet access and get me set up with a set of credentials. She pauses for a beat. And then looks to me and smiles her most earnest smile. 

"Why do you need internet access ma'am? You come whenever you want, or you need anything to be done. We are here. We will solve your problem in 10 minutes. Tellers offer personalized service, ma'am."

I look at her. Who doesn't encourage internet banking these days? Which customer wouldn't want the convenience of internet access, to be able to just have a handle over the investments done, albeit one that does not need any intervention over the five year period. But then I look over at her, and I cannot put a handle on what she thinks. Maybe it's the fear of job loss running through her mind, in the era of customer self service. Maybe it's the personalized customer service that's drilled into her. I look at the framed quote again and I quickly make up my mind. I give her a smile, and say "That's fine, I will come by whenever needed." No harm. If ever needed, I can always walk in. She smiles back, upbeat. I take a seat nearby, waiting for her to confirm the deposit has gone through. It will take a couple of minutes, I have been told. 

As I wait, I just reflect on my internet banking setups across banks. The UPI. The technological advances in the country. I am a huge fan. I see them as boons far more than banes, with the caveat that those looking to manipulate and exploit will find ways to do so. But I also wonder does everything need to be automated? Out the window, as I see the number of cars on the road, my thought train jumps to the driverless cars introduced in a country of 1.4 billion with the a huge employable youth base, and I wonder - just because something can be automated (which in my mind, every single thing can be!), does it mean it SHOULD be? Do we need driverless car automations more than we need clean air, or cleaner streets or more future layoff-proof skills and education? 

Next to me, three people stay busy on their phones. The littlest of them being barely more than three years old, perhaps. And I realize, how fast the world is moving, from when we were children and how the years that gone by appear as a whirlwind - buzzing by, all blurry to when you realize the world you grew up in is so different in some aspects. And then somewhere in the distance, I hear her asking someone to return the pen. And I watch the pen being handed over. Minus the lid. This time I don't supress my smile. It's heartwarming to know some things might never change.