I was in a stationary shop one day to make copies of my assignments and purchase some material for binding it. It's a tiny shop that has multitude of facilities.
It's a stationary shop, a Xerox shop, an STD booth and a binding shop all in one. Only that much I noticed in the little time I spent there. A single man was there in the shop to manage all these activities. The shop was buzzing with crowd. Always four or five persons are there, the number too much for a shop of that size.
I was one of the customers and I was standing in one corner, waiting for the man to finish taking the copies. It was then a little boy came to that shop. He has come to buy a pen. May be the first pen he is ever going to use.
He was scanning all the pens that are neatly arranged in the show case for sometime. His eyes fell on a little golden pen and asked the shopkeeper for that pen. The shopkeeper with out paying heed to the little boys call simply said that the pen is a costly one and turned his attention to service other customers.
'What a reckless man he was', I thought and looked at the little boy. His face half shrunk looked at the ten rupee note he was holding in his hand. That was indeed a big amount for him, enough to buy this whole world.
With this new found confidence, he turned to the shop keeper and asked him how much does that pen cost. But he has to repeat that question four times to grab the attention of the shopkeeper who said 'twenty rupees' and turned to mind his own business (of servicing his customers of whom this little boy is one).
I had for long thought of helping somebody in need. But every time I had enough excuses not to pay attention to others problems. I never give anything to a beggar and my reason for that is beggary in any form has to be discouraged. It's not healthy for the society and people must work to earn their bread. But here is a boy who needs help for some genuine reason. Perhaps I am in a position to help him. Giving ten rupees does not mean anything for me. But for the boy, he can buy the pen of his dream.
I heard the shopkeeper calling me and I looked up to face him. He said that my copies are ready and asked me to choose the sheet to use for binding.
He showed a verity of sheets of different qualities and soon I got busy comparing the sheets to select the best out of it. I was absorbed in it for a while when suddenly I remembered the little boy. But it was too late, the boy was gone. 'Had he stayed there for some more time, I would have helped him', I reflected. Or is that another excuse.
