Short story

Short stories are often figments of imagination intertwined with truths, fiction merged together with facts to produce something which the writer would or would not have wished. Just as facts can be stranger than fiction, fiction can seem to be more factful than facts. Bits and pieces from the writer’s own life (experiences) and the lives of acquaintances and friends (observations made as a witness) are woven together to form a meaningful whole. It is left to the reader to sift fact from fiction, and differentiate between webs spun and truths stated. This is one of the stories from the collection...and it has a strong semi-autobiographical element to them. I have cast myself as the protagonist...wondering about my future, after losing my dear wife Varshita to cancer in early 2020. Grief and love, pain and loss characterise the story. 

Varshita’s passing away left an unpluggable vacuum in Venkat’s life. At 48, he was clueless. No progeny. Must he embrace his solitude in Sweden, and quickly come to terms with it, so as to live the rest of his life usefully, working hard to make the world a better place to live in – a purpose which had guided Varshita in her life? Or must he hope and yearn for true love to feature in his life again? True love which would be an exact replica of what he had got from Varshita.

‘Här är din cappuccino,’ the girl at the coffee shop called out to Venkat. Here is your cappuccino. He had sought and got asylum in coffee, so to say…sipping on the bitter brew which reminded him that life was not sweet. Love had not been a bed of roses, despite the fact that he and Varshita had tried very hard to make it so. They loved each other a lot, but that had not been enough to keep off the evil winds of misfortune from wreaking havoc in their lives, every now and then.........................................