Short fiction: Young Aarav and his mother try to return to life after his father’s death

Aarav hadn’t liked the art class with the elephant. Suman ma’am had drawn one out on paper, then cut out its outline and traced it on a bar of soap. Even though his grandmother, Nani, had said that the elephant was Ganesha – very strong and lucky for people, Aarav’s drawing had come out all wrong: the body was too thin, the trunk too short, the tail too long. Only its ear had looked good – big, shaped like a heart. Suman ma’am had used a blunt knife to cut around the outline on the soap, then a paper clip to shave off the extra bits. Hers was a strong soap elephant that Nani would have liked. There hadn’t been enough knives to go around, so Aarav’s elephant had felt weak, more soap than elephant.

He didn’t like soap. It filled him with dread. Ever since his father had died suddenly in a road accident, Mama couldn’t stop washing her hands. He knew all the smells by now – rose, jasmine, neem, sandal – and each filled him with dread. He knew the smell of Lizol too. It was worse than soap for its smell stayed longer. It was all over...

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