Knowing what we don’t know

Humility is a valuable trait that often develops with age. For much of our youth, exuberance and an inflated sense of self can blind us to the world around us. I was no exception.

I recall an incident from many years ago, when I was enthusiastically narrating a story to my paternal uncle, Rama Chittiya. After listening patiently, he said, “Dei, do you know what your problem is? You don’t know that you do not know!” In our family, we’ve always called a spade a spade. I grew up learning to maintain an unbiased view of myself and to take praise with a pinch of salt.

Over the years, I have been fortunate to cross paths with several real high achievers. An elderly specialist from Austria once trained us in electronic instrumentation. Some of our customers were technical wizards. A few of my college friends have done exceedingly well in both technology and business. I once expressed admiration to one of them, and he simply said, “Oh, I was just in the right place at the right time—otherwise nothing.” 

Reading the works of great thinkers has a similar humbling effect. Bertrand Russell, Jawaharlal Nehru, Ramachandra Guha, and Amartya Sen—each marked by scholarship and sharp analytical insight—broaden our worldview and gently deflate any illusion of personal grandeur. 

In science, the journey often begins with the simple acknowledgement: we do not know. Books like The Gene by Siddhartha Mukherjee and Why We Die by Venki Ramakrishnan show the enormous body of work built by scientists, with real and lasting benefit to humankind. Their work is a humbling reminder of how much effort, precision, and patience progress demands. 

The Tamil poet Kamban, author of the Ramayana in Tamil, opens
his 10,000-verse magnum opus with verses of humility, comparing himself with Valmiki. 

But perhaps the greatest teacher of humility is nature itself. Standing before the snow-capped Himalayan peaks, the dangerously beautiful Grand Canyon, or the majestic Niagara Falls, we realise how insignificant we are in the cosmic order of things. 

In recent years, I have been dabbling in Carnatic music. This has brought me closer to some of the giants of the art—R K Srikantan, T N Krishnan, T V Sankaranarayanan, and N Ramani among others. These stalwarts, despite their mastery, were genuinely humble. They revered the art form as something far greater than themselves.

Of course, the other end of the spectrum is also on display. The pompous declarations of some politicians and businessmen are, at times, amusing—perhaps in part due to their profession. Even in music, there are some who talk more about the wrongs of others’s renditions than their own. 

Finally, we must take inspiration from Saint Thyagaraja—a composer of genius, a devotee of God, and a model of surrender. In his magnificent Sree Ragam keerthanai, he pays homage to the wise and the noble with the lines: Endaro mahanubhavulu andariki vandanamulu—salutations to all the great souls.