Arrogance is a fascinating paradox—it often masks insecurity while projecting superiority. On one hand, it can signal confidence, decisiveness, and ambition. But when untethered from humility or empathy, it becomes corrosive: repelling collaboration, distorting judgment, and eroding trust.

In legacy terms, arrogance rarely ages well. It might win a moment, but it seldom earns enduring respect. The archivist’s lens—like yours, Ashok—sees arrogance as a distortion in the record: a loud voice that drowns out nuance, a brittle stance that resists adaptation.

When a prson says —“I am what I am, i cant help getting angry – i cant change change”

This often signals a defensive rigidity masquerading as authenticity. It’s not just arrogance; it’s a refusal to engage with growth, wisdom, or relational accountability. When elders point out a flaw, it’s Not to shame—it’s to guide. To reject that guidance outright is to deny the very architecture of legacy and learning.

Philosophically, it’s a denial of impermanence. The self is not a fixed monument but a flowing river. To say “I won’t change” is to dam that river—and stagnant water breeds regret.

Psychologically, such defiance often stems from fear: fear of vulnerability, of being wrong, of losing control. But ironically, that fear calcifies into behavior that isolates and eventually backfires. The person may succeed in preserving their pride, but at the cost of relationships, opportunities, and inner peace.

In the long arc of time, repentance often arrives quietly. Not with dramatic apologies, but with moments of solitude, missed connections, or the haunting realization that “I could have listened.”

Arrogant Mena’s Story

Arrogants Sita’s Story

Arrogant father’s Story