Behind the Nets, Behind the Desk, and Behind My Back

I joined the bank in the same year India lifted its first Cricket World Cup. It was a magical time to enter the organisation, because two members of that historic team were our own colleagues, the famous wicketkeeper Syed Kirmani and the all-rounder Roger Binny, who until recently (till September 2025) served as BCCI President. My childhood idol, Gundappa Vishwanath, was also on our rolls, working hard to stage a comeback into the Indian team. Another promising talent, Raghuram Bhat, who would later don the India cap, completed this star-studded line-up.

And we lucky mortals had front-row access. Every day from 4 pm, these legends would practise right inside our St. Marks Road campus. We would stand just behind the nets, barely a few feet away, soaking up every shot, every stroke, every bit of magic. Alongside them were many State-level players whom the bank supported wholeheartedly,  with time off, practice facilities, and plenty of encouragement.

The sports culture didn’t end with cricket.

The national Table Tennis doubles champions also worked in our office,  one of them, C.R. Anand, was in my own department and, as fate would have it, my college mate too. A couple of national hockey players were also part of the office, including Mr Vinod Chinnappa who sat a few desks away.

Our recreation club was excellent, Table Tennis, Carrom, Chess,  always vibrant. TT, which I had never tried before, instantly caught my fancy. I would cycle from home at least an hour early to watch the morning group play, secretly praying they would invite me to join them. They tried once, evaluated my “talent”, and gently advised me to practise with a beginner first, a polite way of telling me “Boss, thoda aur practice karo.”

Because the morning group continued into the evening too, newcomers like me got a table only an hour after office hours. That’s when a friend, my batchmate and an athlete, came up with an ingenious idea. Since our main work was typing and we finished everything well before time, he suggested we steal 10 minutes sometime before lunch and 15 minutes after lunch for TT practice. It worked beautifully, and within three months, it became our routine.

I was in the Personnel Department, headed by a strict, no-nonsense Personnel Officer feared by many but respected by all. He liked my work, and I shared a cordial, comfortable rapport with him.

One afternoon, while my friend and I were gulping down our lunch (the faster we ate, the more time we got at the table), a senior colleague, also a Union leader,  casually remarked that he had overheard my boss telling another department head that “Amarnath is not focused on his work; he is busy playing table tennis during office hours.”

The lunch room fell silent. Everyone advised me to be cautious.

I was stunned. And hurt. Especially because the Personnel Officer had always appreciated my work.

That day, I didn’t go to the recreation club.

I walked straight to his cabin, something even seasoned staff avoided doing uninvited.

He was about to go for lunch. I told him I wanted to clarify something. With all the courage I could muster, I asked him why he was complaining behind my back instead of telling me directly. He looked genuinely surprised and asked what I was referring to. I repeated exactly what the senior colleague had told me. He said we would discuss it after lunch.

So I waited. And waited. Every passing minute made me rehearse, and re-rehearse, my defence.

When he finally returned, he asked me calmly whether I played TT during office hours. My earlier aggression vanished. I admitted, yes, 10 minutes in the morning and 15 minutes after lunch, after finishing my work. He asked me whether I thought it was right. I said no, but added that he could have told me directly instead of speaking to others.

He absorbed everything silently and then asked me to bring the senior colleague.

When I conveyed the message, the senior colleague’s face changed colour.

He said, “Are you mad? I was only joking! I never heard the Personnel Officer say anything. I’m not coming. You go manage it.”

That’s when the penny dropped.

I had marched into a senior officer’s cabin and confronted him, all because of a lunch-table joke.

Returning to the cabin felt like walking back to the exam hall after seeing the answer sheet. But the Personnel Officer had already pieced it together.

He gave me three lessons that have stayed with me for life:

1. He had no idea I was playing TT during office hours,  but now that he knew, he would keep a watch.

2. He was known for being direct; never behind someone’s back.

“After three months with me, if you still haven’t learnt this, that’s on you,” he said.

3. Being in Personnel, I needed to learn how to assess people, and their games.

“You’re a mosquito on probation,” he added with a half-smile. “Why will I waste time discussing you with others?”

The lesson hit home.

From that day onward, I never played TT during office hours.

But I practised hard after office, eventually becoming a player of some reckoning and even winning a few inter-branch tournaments.

Looking back, I smile.

That day taught me more HR wisdom than any training program ever could.

Stories, not instructions. Experiences, not advice—medical or otherwise. Data, only what the internet quietly gathers anyway. Proceed with equal parts curiosity and common sense.