Error is Human?

On his 78th birthday, the college organized a grand ceremony to honor Mr. Rao, a beloved principal who was about to retire after decades of dedicated service. Though his age suggested he should be slowing down, he still carried the energy and vitality of someone in his 50s. The hall was filled with professors, lecturers, and staff—many of whom had spent more than 20 or 30 years at the institution because of Mr. Rao’s leadership. They spoke one by one, recounting stories of how he had influenced their lives, creating an atmosphere of trust, security, and mutual respect.

The first story shared was one from a young accountant’s early days. Fresh out of college with a B.Com degree, he had joined a company as an accountant. Despite his inexperience, he was meticulous with his work, so much so that his accounts had no errors. His team lead, noticing this, began to take his work for granted, assuming everything would be flawless without needing thorough review. However, when the boss of the company found an error in the accounts, the blame fell squarely on the new accountant—even though the mistake had been made by the team lead.

The boss, a man of sharp intuition, sensed something wasn’t quite right. He called the accountant into his office and looked him over carefully but said nothing. The accountant, a mix of nervousness and frustration bubbling inside, feared this might be his last day at the company. When he returned to his desk after what felt like an endless meeting, he found an envelope on his table. His hands trembled as he opened it, expecting the worst—a termination notice perhaps. But inside, he found something entirely unexpected: a bookmark with the words, “Error is human,Nobody is perfect. Keep up the good work,” followed by the boss’s signature. The small gesture left the accountant in awe, realizing that his integrity had been recognized, even when others had tried to pull him down.

That young accountant, as it turned out, was none other than Mr. Rao himself, now the principal of this very college. The story of his resilience, humility, and fair-mindedness was just the beginning of many that would be shared on this special day.

Another professor stood to share his own experience with Mr. Rao. Years ago, during an exhausting exam invigilation, he had been feeling drained. Mr. Rao, who was then his senior, happened to walk by and, with a simple lift of his mug and a playful raise of his eyebrows, silently asked, “Some chai will help?” It was such a small gesture, but in that moment, it brought a smile to the tired young professor’s face. That simple offer of tea had made him feel noticed and cared for—reminding everyone how Mr. Rao had a gift for brightening even the most stressful days with his quiet acts of kindness.

Yet another lecturer shared a more challenging memory, revealing the undercurrents of office politics that often surfaced in academic settings. When subjects were split among multiple lecturers, it was natural for students to compare teaching styles. Some lecturers were more engaging, while others were perceived as less dynamic. These comparisons sometimes bred jealousy, and one day, this lecturer found himself unfairly blamed for leaving notebooks unchecked—a complaint lodged by a senior colleague.

Mr. Rao called the junior lecturer into his chamber, but instead of admonishing him, he first asked, “Is everything alright? Is something bothering you?” He then raised the concern gently, saying, “I’ve never heard complaints from your side, but this has come up. It’s not really a complaint—just a concern. Did you perhaps miss checking any records? If so, it’s okay. You can still fix it, and everything will be fine.”

With a smile on his face, Mr. Rao reassured him that the mistake wasn’t the end of the world. It was fixable, and there was no need to dwell on it. The junior lecturer left the office feeling supported rather than humiliated. This was the essence of Mr. Rao’s leadership—never looking down on someone for their errors, but instead encouraging them to learn and grow from their mistakes.

As one speaker after another shared their experiences, it became clear why so many had stayed at the college for decades, despite having richer opportunities elsewhere. It wasn’t just about the work—it was about the sense of peace, the feel-good factor of working under someone who genuinely cared for their well-being. Mr. Rao’s legacy wasn’t just in the institution he helped build, but in the lives he had touched, the confidence he had nurtured, and the humanity he brought into every interaction.

As the ceremony drew to a close, the room was filled with applause—not only for the decades of service Mr. Rao had given but for the kind of leader and person he had always been.

When it was finally Mr. Rao's turn to speak at the ceremony, he smiled warmly at the audience and began to share a story:

"There was once a king, known far and wide for his wise and benevolent rule. His kingdom thrived under his leadership, and his reputation for peace and fairness spread beyond his borders. People from other lands came to meet him, wanting to express their appreciation for his just rulership.

One day, an old man, a grandpa from a distant land, arrived at the king’s court. He had traveled a long way, walking slowly with the aid of a stick. Despite his age and frailty, he insisted on meeting the king. The soldiers allowed him entry, and with trembling hands, the old man presented a gift to the king—a leather bag filled with water, saying, ‘This is the sweetest water from my land, like nectar itself. I have brought it for you, my king.’

The king looked at the old man and could see the exhaustion in his eyes, but also the deep desire to offer this gift. It was clear to the king that this old man had come not just to give water, but to find peace in seeing the king drink it, to witness the satisfaction and happiness it would bring. So the king accepted the water, took a drink, and smiled. His eyes showed great contentment, and the old man, seeing this, was filled with joy. The king offered him gold coins in return, and the old man left the court, his heart full.

Later that evening, while walking with the queen, she playfully scolded the king, saying, ‘I’m upset with you! You said the water was so sweet, yet you didn’t even offer me a drop. I would have loved to taste it too!’

The king smiled and replied, ‘It’s true, my dear, the water was not as sweet as you think. In fact, it was rotten and tasted awful.’

Surprised, the queen asked, ‘Then why did you drink it all?’

The king replied, ‘That old man traveled so far, with so much effort and hope, just to offer me something he believed was special. If I had told him that the water was spoiled, it would have shattered his heart. He didn’t come to offer me perfect water; he came to see the joy on my face. That is all he needed for his peace of mind, and I couldn’t take that away from him. I drank the water not because of its sweetness, but because of the sweetness of his intent.’”

After telling this story, Mr. Rao paused for a moment and then looked around the room, his voice steady and filled with warmth.

"I won’t preach to you what’s right or wrong because all of you here, seasoned in life, already know the difference. But if you knowingly choose to do wrong despite knowing what’s right, then nothing anyone says can truly guide you. Sometimes, what matters is not what is said, but the grace with which we handle life’s situations—understanding the effort behind someone’s action and responding with empathy rather than judgment."

With that, Mr. Rao concluded his speech, leaving the room in thoughtful silence, a fitting end to an evening filled with stories of kindness and wisdom.