by Tanuj Solanki
In my first short story this year
a woman gets to grief after smelling her shit —
it smells like her father’s.
She then cries for the first time
since the death, leavened in the knowledge that
even her intestines work the same way.
When asked about the degrees of truth
in my fictions, I sigh. Why, I am not a woman;
besides, it’s been two years now
and I have still not cried.
Tanuj Solanki is the author of Neon Noon (HarperCollins India, 2016). His next book, a collection of short stories, is due in January 2018.