The Universal Language of Regret—and the Hope Beyond It
Regret is a language we all understand. It arrives late, but speaks clearly. In Different Worlds, regret is not a twist in the story—it is the story. Ramesh regrets what he did. Vandana regrets what she allowed. Their children regret what they could not prevent. And yet, within this regret lies the seed of something else—understanding.
I have long believed that fiction should not moralize. It should reflect. The characters in Different Worlds are not defined by their mistakes, but by their reckoning with them. Ramesh is not a caricature of male ego. He is a man who wanted more from life but did not know how to ask for it. Vandana is not cold. She is tired, having given too much of herself for too long.
And yet, even in their conflict, there is grace. Even in their distance, there is a desire for connection. This, to me, is the heart of the novel—not just the pain of what is lost, but the beauty of what can still be found.
Regret is not a dead end. It is a doorway. It asks us to look back, yes, but only so we can choose differently moving forward. If Different Worlds offers hope, it is not the tidy hope of resolution, but the quieter, harder hope of recognition—of seeing yourself in another person, and of realizing that it is not too late to begin again.