Caesarean Rhapsody

A battle with ones own conscience is almost always the hardest fought. I realized this over the last week when I sent an email to someone I’ve recently been estranged from. It was about something that she is going through but is seriously in the dark about some things. And she’s been kept in the dark about it on purpose. I was made party to this information a little while ago and it sickened me to the core just listening to the designs the perpetrators had on the vulnerable woman. So I sent the information to her hoping that she would realize that she was being taken for a ride.

But after I sent it I got a response that was exactly what I had expected but the opposite of what I had hoped for. So doubting my own action I asked another lady friend, who agreed that what I did was right but the choice of taking the advice rested with the girl at the receiving end. Then our talks moved towards why people (not just women) make regretful choices. And we spoke about how nice people always end up cursing the world for their problems and wuss out when we have to be manipulative to get what we want. “You’re just a nice guy, Anup. You wouldn’t understand why and how people do these things. Nice guys just finish last.”

I don’t know when my lips moved and I said, “Nice guys don’t finish last. They just suffer less at the hand of their conscience when their whole life flashes before their eyes.”

Imagine a life where one gets what one wants by running all sorts of Machiavellian schemes. Great job, active social life, a long list of women/men to satisfy ones fantasies, every possible luxury on earth … the works. But when the reaper comes around what does one actually feel? Nobody’s ever lived to tell that tale, but if one were to believe in the existence of conscience, I’m sure the only feeling one would feel is pain; pain ridden with guilt. What would be worse is knowing that one has no time left for penance. I thought about this and came clean with this person. And I instantly felt lighter. Not only inside my brain which was working in overdrive but in my heart which was pounding at twice the speed throughout the period I had kept the information to myself. She may think I did it to set the record straight between us. I hope she finds for herself why I meant to convey her the information. Rather I hope she never has to go through the ordeal to find out for herself.

In sum I’d only say “Nice guys don’t finish last. They outlast.”