Arjuna's voice trembles with regret. He recalls all the times he casually called out to Krishna — 'Hey Krishna! Hey Yadava! Hey friend!' — never once realizing who he was speaking to. Those were the easy, affectionate words of a companion on the road, a fellow warrior sharing a meal. Now, having seen the cosmic form, those words feel impossibly small.
There is something deeply human in this moment. Imagine a child who has grown up calling a neighbor 'uncle,' only to discover one day that this quiet man is the architect of the city they live in. The affection was real. The familiarity was genuine. But the scale of who that person truly is makes the old casualness feel inadequate.
Arjuna does not deny the friendship. He does not withdraw from it. He simply says: I did not know. Whether it was carelessness or love that made me speak so freely — forgive me for not seeing Your true greatness.