Mastering the Academic and Literal Obstacles
My banking journey began as part of the very first batch of twelve Probationary Officers. Our training was rigorous, but it was during this formative period that I learned a difficult truth: your desire for growth will not always be met with encouragement.
The Resistance of the Rank and File
While in my first phase of training, I noticed my colleagues discussing the CAIIB (Certified Associate of the Indian Institute of Bankers) examination. The fee was a mere ₹15 or ₹20. On a whim, I remitted the amount, only to be told later that I lacked the required six months of experience. To my surprise, a hall ticket arrived anyway.
I was thrilled, but the hurdles appeared immediately. The exam began early in the morning, requiring one hour of leave from the training college. When I approached my lecturer, his reaction was cold. "You are a rare recruit, a Probationary Officer," he scoffed. "You cannot simply ask for permission like clerical staff. Who will teach you what I teach from 10:00 to 11:00?"
I was crestfallen until the Principal happened to pass by. Upon hearing my dilemma, he beamed. "I am delighted that as soon as you join, you want to write! I am permitting you. Go."
The Price of Distinction
I wrote that exam on a Monday, rushing to the office without even a cup of tea. When I returned, the lecturer punished me with silence. He made me wait outside for twenty minutes, and for the rest of the week, he used a red pencil to aggressively bracket every tiny mistake in my practical work. He mocked my ambition, betting that even M.A. and M.Sc. graduates failed English, implying a "mere" PO like me stood no chance.
Months later, while training in Madurai, the news arrived: I had cleared Part I. When I sought permission for Part II, the "Number Two" at the branch was equally obstructive. Again, it took the intervention of a visionary Manager to overrule the petty resistance of the intermediate boss.
By the time I reached my third phase in Bombay, I received a telegram. The Manager there—a man known for his terrifying temper—summoned me. He had intercepted the message. "Did you write an accountancy exam?" he barked. "I cleared Part II of the CAIIB, sir. With distinction in Higher Accountancy," I replied.
He didn't congratulate me. Instead, he flung the telegram across the room. It fluttered and fell under his desk. As I crawled on the floor to retrieve my hard-earned victory, he shouted, "Pick up your paper and get out! You are giving me trouble in the morning!"
The Boulder and the Roadblock
My pursuit didn't end there. A few years later, while in charge of a branch, I sat for the AIB London examination. The center was twelve kilometers away, and the exams were held in the evening. One day, as I rushed toward a taxi, a homeless woman—harassed by local children—mistook my haste for a threat. She hurled a large boulder at me. It struck my chest with a sickening thud, knocking the breath out of me.
Passersby offered coffee and care, but my mind was on the clock. "Put me in a taxi," I pleaded. "I have an exam to write." I reached the hall ten minutes late, bruised and shaken, but I finished the paper.
The final blow to my academic pursuits came later in Poona. I had cleared the Intermediate Company Secretary exam and was ready for the Finals in Bombay. I begged my bosses for three days of leave and a substitute to hold the bank keys. The response was a flat, unyielding "No." Because I missed two consecutive attempts due to work exigencies, the rules required me to re-register and start from the very beginning. I decided then that my academic journey had reached its end.
This is a reminder to all of us to celebrate a subordinate’s achievements and always be the Principal who says "Go and write," rather than the boss who marks the page in red and flings the paper