
There is a tide in the affairs of men, said the Bard of Avon in Julius Caesar, which must be taken at the flood. Truer words were never scripted. Those who miss that crucial tide 8212; and their number constitutes the majority of humanity 8212; live to regret it. I belong in that number, as does the unnamed innkeeper of Bethlehem who shooed off Mary and Joseph.
As a student of economics, I had aspired to a second class degree, a bit of a rarity in those days. But unwittingly, I let slip the golden opportunity when I walked out of the hall halfway through the examination. I had figured that I stood a better chance of bagging a second if I took the examination later in the year, with mediocre students. As it turned out, about half the candidates in the hall that I quit got a second-class degree. In fact, I had helped a lot of them prepare for the examination. One of them has a doctoral degree and now teaches economics at a famous institution.
Had the innkeeper of Bethlehem known that the pregnant woman on the donkey whom he had turned out along with her husband was to give birth to the Messiah he would, in the words of Amos Well, have turned the inn upside down and sent his more honourable guests to the stable. And his name would have been written in the gospels by the disciples of Jesus.
Judas and Peter were equally sinners. The former betrayed Jesus while the latter denied Him. The former then let go the opportunity to repent, whereas the latter did not. Had Judas wept and repented his actions as Peter did, he would have become the greatest disciple of Jesus. With him would have been the keys of the Kingdom. Similarly, of the two criminals nailed up along with Jesus, one made use of the last opportunity, but the other let it slip.
After writing a scientific article based on his findings, C.V. Raman gave it to his professor for his perusal. It was obviously meant for publication in an international scientific journal. The professor, like the innkeeper of Bethlehem, did not care to even glance over it. He claimed he was busy.
Not one to be dejected, the future Nobel laureate went ahead anyway and sent his paper to the journal. Not only was it published, but his findings drew acclaim from the scientific community the world over. The professor, meanwhile, regretted that he had not associated himself with it.
One day, I came across a leprosy patient begging for alms at a village bus stop. I had a bus to catch, but I decided to buy him something to eat from a nearby shop anyway. While I was at the shop, an overcrowded bus arrived 8212; and left.
I missed the bus, but somehow I wasn8217;t too put out. I walked up to the beggar and gave him the food I had bought. He accepted it with a smile. I, too, smiled back. Like Shakespeare8217;s quality of mercy, my action was twice blessed, blessing him that takes and him that gives.
In a flash another bus drew up, almost empty. I got to travel in style, with a seat all to myself. I would rather make use of whatever opportunities are at hand rather than wait for better options to present themselves. At times, the wait only brings on disappointment.
On another occasion, I was waiting for a bus at the terminus in Madurai when a blind man requested me to help him locate his bus. I did 8212; and found I didn8217;t have to wait any more for my own bus. The moment the blind man boarded his bus, mine drew up.
The next day, I found myself at a bus stand again, and I was eagerly looking for a blind man who needed to be helped out. In the process, I missed my bus, a classic case of missing the wood for the trees. Helping out a blind man was a selfless act; looking out for one wasn8217;t.
Let us be as Samaritans to those in distress, and not as the priest or the Levite who turned a blind eye to the injured man in the parable, for every good opportunity missed is an opportunity lost.