When Inga’s husband dies, his estate makes her a wealthy woman. She settles into a million-dollar oceanfront apartment, and begins a new life. Enlightened, she thinks. Eccentric, her daughters insist. Still, Inga keeps on. Each week, she books taxis, and invites foreign drivers to dine with her at restaurants serving their national dishes. Her daughters are enraged. Then, Inga meets Abhaidev. He is a Sikh. He introduces her to Café Shahib.
We’re all spun into a web, and time is like a spider. The passing of the years works and works at the gossamer, makes more and more threads; they bind us here and there and everywhere, attach us to this person and that place and those things. Sometimes, a thread can be snipped after decades with just a liberating tickle; sometimes, we feel nothing at all. Sometimes, a new thread breaks after just a short time and we wobble and weep. Then, there are those momentous occasions when the ties to the defining anchors in our lives are cut – by choice, or by accident – and everything changes. We find that other people and places and things were also held by those very same threads and all that balanced our little world – that held our little web in place – is set adrift. There is much clutching and grappling. Then comes the realisation that no amount of insisting will fix what’s broken. What’s gone, is gone for good. If we’re brave, and industrious, we keep on. That's when time’s spider begins the spinning of a new web. Hangs it differently. Perhaps unexpectedly. Makes it newly wondrous.
Where can I read it?
Going Down Swinging #37 (Australia)