It was a normal day at college in Kerala. We were having our DBMS class, and the teacher was delivering his lecture. His name was Dr. Abdul Nazeer. We—my group of college friends—used to call him Nazeer Saab.
Nazeer Saab was one of the most senior faculty members at the institute. He had even served as the Head of the Computer Science Department in the past. He had a serious personality. I came to know that he had been involved in many significant research projects, particularly in the use of AI in the medical field. I had also seen him in a lighter mood sometimes, but it wasn’t very often. Occasionally, to make the class laugh, he would try saying a few sentences in Hindi. And since Hindi wasn’t his native language, it would always come as a surprise to us. But most of the time, he was a serious and dignified gentleman.
That day, during the lecture, he caught a student studying another subject in class. The student’s name was Mayank. Mayank was actually a brilliant student—one of the best technical minds in our class. But seeing him engaged in a different subject while Nazeer Sir was teaching made him furious. He asked Mayank if he already knew everything that was being taught in the lecture. As it turned out, Mayank didn’t. Nazeer Sir got very angry, took away Mayank’s notebook, and then resumed his lecture.
After a while, though, he went back to Mayank, returned the notebook, and apologized for getting angry. The whole class fell silent. Everyone was surprised.
Since Mayank didn’t know the topic being discussed, Nazeer Saab explained it again to the entire class—just to make sure Mayank understood it. He even told Mayank that if he faced any difficulty in the subject, he could come and ask him for help.
For me, this act—saying sorry to a student in front of the whole class and teaching the topic again after being so furious—was mind-blowing. And I’m sure moments like this aren’t something we witness often in daily life.
In all my years of academic life, I’ve barely seen a teacher apologize to a student—even when the teacher was clearly at fault and everyone could see it. Some teachers had grown so rigid that they couldn’t bend because of their ego.
And it’s not just about teachers. I’ve seen many people who, with age, grow more egoistic. The more they learn, the more their ego grows. They want to appear perfect. They want to show the world that they know more than others. And if, by chance, they make a mistake in front of someone who is younger, less experienced, or at a lower position than them, it becomes a real issue. They think that saying sorry will reveal their flaws—that they were wrong, that they made mistakes, that they are imperfect. And they don’t want anyone to see them as imperfect. In truth, they can’t even accept it themselves. So, they never say sorry.
I’ve learned that being sorry or saying sorry isn’t just about showing good manners. If you’re genuinely sorry to someone, it doesn’t just mean you’re polite—it means you’re brave. Apologizing takes courage. It’s not an easy thing to do.
Even in my own life, I’ve seen how ego has often gotten in the way of me apologizing to family or friends. At best, I made sure not to repeat my mistakes. But saying sorry? That has been difficult for me at times. I’m still learning.
When the lecture ended and Nazeer Sir left the classroom, I rushed out behind him and asked if I could talk to him for two minutes. He agreed. My only question was:
“Sir, how did you do it?”
He asked, “Do what?”
I said, “Say sorry after being that furious.”
I told him that in my entire academic journey, I had never seen a teacher genuinely apologize to a student in front of the whole class. I told him that what he did was a beautiful act. He smiled at me, patted my shoulder, said thank you, and walked away.
That moment too felt beautiful.