I was watching an Indian web series named “The Night Manager”.
Shelly, the main antagonist of the show, was a respected businessman in the agriculture sector, known for his philanthropic work. But behind this facade he was actually an international arms dealer, fueling conflicts across the globe.
Lipika, a determined agent from RAW (India's equivalent of the CIA), harbors suspicions about Shelly's illicit activities. She devises a plan to expose him, focusing her attention on Shelly's lawyer, GV. Her opportunity arises when she catches GV's son in a compromising situation, using illegal drugs in a car. Leveraging this incident, she blackmails GV into betraying his employer, coercing him to divulge sensitive details about Shelly's arms dealings.
After months, Shelly finally discovered the betrayal and confronted GV.
GV initially denied everything but eventually crumbled “They took my son and threatened to harm him. I just got shit scared. Trust me, I swear. I would never have done this to you, never in my life!”
Shelly responded calmly, yet with an underlying menace
“I understand. Anyone would be scared when it comes to their children.
But there’s one thing I can’t understand. You got scared of her but not me.
Well, it’s not your fault. It’s mine.
Luxury has softened these hands so much that they seem to have forgotten what they are actually capable of. And you seem to have to.”
In a swift, unexpected movement, Shelly uses the nib of his pen, not as a tool for writing, but as a lethal weapon, ending GV's life in a moment of calculated violence.
My story
I invited three of my friends to a movie during the last festive season. From the start, they hesitated, unsure if they would be free that day, juggling other plans.
Five years ago, I would have reacted differently in such a situation. Lacking self-worth, I would have quietly stepped aside, feeling honored just to be considered. If my friends hesitated or had other commitments, I’d bow out, believing it was my duty to ease their burden, even at the cost of my own wishes. Being an afterthought or a backup plan seemed justifiable then.
But this time, I responded with a simple 'no.' I recognized a long-standing pattern; I wasn’t a priority for them. Admittedly, I felt lonely during the festive season, but something crucial had shifted within me. Time has taught me to value my time and desires. It was essential to establish my own standards and to set boundaries that would eventually lead to the respect I deserve.
From that experience, I learned the power of choice in relationships. It was not just about asserting my worth, but also about shaping the dynamics of my friendships going forward. This newfound understanding has since guided me in forming healthier, more reciprocal connections.