It began innocently enough—one of those lazy afternoons when our batch WhatsApp group was buzzing. The usual suspects were trading memes, someone posted a photo of their tea, and the nostalgia was flowing a little stronger than usual. After all, today (August 26) marks 40 years since we joined the bank together as the 1985 batch.

And right on cue, Amit, in his inimitable style, dropped a story—one of those gems that instantly transported us back to our early days at PNB, when punctuality was a religion and Chief Managers were its high priests.

Civil Lines, Delhi. Our Chief Manager (CM) treated punctuality like divine law. The man was stricter than railway timetables. For him, a staff member walking in late was equivalent to sacrilege in the temple of banking.

Why so obsessed? Well, the higher-ups lived across the road in the Central Staff College. They were famous for surprise branch visits. Imagine working every morning knowing your bosses could barge in unannounced—like pop quizzes in college. Except here, the marks were your reputation.

One fine morning, our hero—let’s call him Mr. Bike—was cruising to work when he spotted something unusual: CM standing by the roadside, looking lost. His official car had broken down.

Inner thoughts of Mr. Bike:

“Should I stop? Should I wave? Or should I pretend I didn’t see him and speed away?”
“Is that… THE CM? Without his car? This is rarer than a bank loan being repaid on time!”

But Mr. Bike was a noble man. He stopped and offered a lift. CM hesitated. His own inner monologue probably went like this:

“I am a Chief Manager. A leader. A man of authority. Riding pillion on a bike? The staff will never let me live this down!”
“…but if I don’t, I’ll be late. And then how will I scold my staff for being late?”

Dignity versus punctuality. Punctuality won. And so, history was made: the CM climbed aboard, clutching the officer’s shoulders like a nervous fresher on his first scooty ride.

They zoomed through Delhi traffic. Passersby must have rubbed their eyes—“Was that the CM… on a bike?” For the CM, every pothole was an insult. For Mr. Bike, it was the chance of a lifetime: chauffeuring the punctuality police himself.

At the branch gate, the CM dismounted gracefully, dusted off imaginary creases, and walked into the office like nothing unusual had happened.

Mr. Bike, being the law-abiding staffer he was, went to park in the chaos behind the building—an obstacle course of scooters, Bullets, and one territorial stray dog that thought it was the security guard. After this epic battle, he finally entered the branch… five minutes late.

And then came the kicker. The CM, who had just enjoyed a free bike ride courtesy of this very officer, looked him squarely in the eye and said:

“You’re late. You cannot join.”

😳 Mr. Bike froze.
🤯 The staff whispered.
😂 Our batchmates decades later? Couldn’t stop laughing.

Of course, Mr. Bike argued. Logic was presented, fairness invoked, even loyalty cited. But the CM was unshakable. Rules were rules. Late was late.

And Amit ended the story in our WhatsApp chat with a one-liner worthy of a standing ovation:

“This is PNB! Boss, in banking you can give your CM a lift… but discipline will still leave you behind.”

Praveen chipped in with an even funnier tale from the IT Division. The Chief Manager and an officer rode up in the same lift, walked in together, and reached the office side by side. But the moment the CM marked his own attendance; he promptly ticked the officer as absent—as if the lift ride had been just a figment of imagination!

As we laughed over these tales, it struck us: four decades have flown since that day in 1985 when we all joined the bank as wide-eyed trainees. The stories may have grown older, the hair grayer (for those who still have some left 😜), but the camaraderie—and the laughter—remain timeless.

Here’s to 40 years of memories, discipline, irony, and above all, friendship. Long live the 1985 batch. And long live WhatsApp, which keeps the stories flowing like endless cups of branch canteen chai. ☕