Duty, Stoicism, and the Unseen Sacrifice
In the 1970s, my branch was a powerhouse of growth, but behind the glamour of our star-studded clientele was a crushing shortage of staff. To survive 15-hour workdays, my colleague Mr. Srinivas relied on a unique brand of camaraderie. There was a lot of banter and laughter in the branch and the time just flew by.
The Ultimate Test
Our "Bank First" attitude was tested during a frantic half-yearly closing. Srinivas received a call that his eight-year-old daughter was being rushed to a hospital with a delirious fever. In an era before mobile phones, he faced the agonizing choice of "Bank First" or "Family First." He left to find his child, promising, "Whatever the time, I will be back." I worked through the night in silence, scratching my pen against the ledger, realizing that the work must go on even when the world outside is crumbling. He called back later in the night informing us that the child was fine and recovering and ready to join us but we persuaded him to stay at home and take care.
The Stoic Dinner
Years later, when Srinivas was my Manager, we attended a lavish dinner hosted by a key client. Srinivas was composed, despite my knowing he was facing a tragedy: his eldest brother had died in a boating accident in Malaysia. His family in Bangalore was waiting for him to break the news to their elderly father.
When our host eventually discovered the truth, he was overcome with guilt for having delayed Srinivas. But Srinivas simply replied: "Sir, the tragedy has already happened. Breaking your dinner halfway through would only be another tragedy. Please, continue."
This remains one of the greatest lessons I ever learned. It redefined my understanding of "Pressure." To see a man balance the weight of a family death with social obligations was a revelation in stoicism. I learned that a leader’s strength is often found in what they choose not to say, shielding others from their own pain until the duty at hand is finished.
Professional Indispensability and the Sanctity of the File
"A signature is not just ink; it is the physical manifestation of one's word."
In the hierarchy of a Head Office, rank is usually absolute. As a junior officer in the Credit Department, I was well-aware of my place. However, I soon learned that in the heat of a Board Meeting or a complex credit audit, expertise often trumps designation.
The Boardroom Recall
For months, I attended every Board Meeting to assist my General Manager. I was up to date on all the credit files, ready to provide the data that kept the meetings moving. One morning, the Chairman’s PA approached me with a cold directive: "The CMD has decided that no one below the rank of General Manager should attend. You are not to be present in future meetings."
To be honest, it was a relief. Those four hours in the boardroom meant four hours of mountain-high files piling up on my desk. I returned to my seat and buried myself in work. Less than an hour later, the same PA rushed back, his face a mask of panic. "Please, Mr. Natarajan, you must come to the boardroom immediately!"
I learned later that the room had descended into confusion over a complex proposal. When my General Manager was asked for a specific detail, he realized I wasn't there. When told of the CMD's new rule, my boss did something extraordinary. He stood his ground and declared: "If Mr. Natarajan is not here to assist, then I am also not attending this meeting."
To clear the confusion, the "rule" was waived instantly. Walking back into that room, I felt a quiet surge of pride—not for the access to power, but for the immense confidence my senior had reposed in me before the entire Board.
The Red-Ink Inquiry
I once returned from three days of leave to find fifteen files on my desk, all marked with aggressive red ink by the Executive Director (the boss of my boss). His comment on every single file was: "Why was this put up to me without being seen or signed by Natarajan?"
It appeared that in my absence, my immediate superior had bypassed me to rush some key files upward which were potentially risky and pushed in haste to get them approved while I was on leave. I did not hesitate. I gathered all fifteen files and went straight to the Executive Director’s cabin. "Sir," I said firmly, "I did not send these files. I was on leave. If they were put up without my signature, it was done without my knowledge."
I wasn't trying to "expose" my boss; I was protecting the sanctity of the process. The Executive Director immediately summoned my boss to explain the lapse. It was an "eye-opener" for my superior, but for me and my colleagues, it was a defining moment.
It was a source of great pride for the department. Seeing a very senior executive stand by us and validate our ability and re-establish the protocol and process was a powerful motivator.