22/08/2024
Khushboo Shah reads an excerpt from her short story, which was longlisted for the Asian Prize for Short Stories.
About the author: Khushboo Shah is an ophthalmologist by profession with a passion for storytelling. Much as she tries to keep the doctor and the writer in her separate, she ends up reading stories in the eyes she examines and treating patients with generous doses of anecdotes. Both her prose and poetry typically have a sprinkling of humour and introspection.
She writes for several platforms like Penmancy, Artoon’s Inn, and Beyond the Box; she has won several prizes in contests on these platforms. She also has many anthologies to her credit. She was awarded the Wordsmith-2022 award by Beyond the Box. She has self-published a novella for young adults- The Fairly Ordinary Princess, on Amazon. Her manuscript has won the Penmancy Pitchfest 2023 and is now in the process of being published as a novel. She lives in Vadodara, Gujarat, with her daughter, her poems and her puns for company.
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Benaulim, Goa. May 2023.
I sat in the graveyard, merging effortlessly in the background. When you have crossed your seventies, and you have mastered the art of sitting quietly without taking much interest in your surroundings, letting the hours slip away, it is easier to overlook you. In my case, I was worried the occasional visitor to the graveyard might think I was one of the inhabitants, taking a stroll to free their legs, cramped from lying in the grave for too long!
I glanced around. The place seemed deserted. So, I stared at the tombstone in front of me. It read, Lily Criado (1990-2012).
I began talking aloud to the tombstone, as I often did. I believed it would dispel all suspicions of bystanders. They would at best assume I was talking to a ghost.
It was then that something shifted behind me, causing the leaves to rustle. I straightened my stooping back, but did not dare to look behind. I shut my eyes, a strange tingling running down my limbs. Had I been young, I would have been covered in gooseflesh. Senile skin stays bald, and smooth, even when terrified. And then, I heard a familiar voice call out, the one I had waited for over ten years.
“Mrs Carvalho!”
I hesitated before turning in her direction. She sauntered towards me, a figure as graceful, if not as lithe, as before.
And the memories I had stubbornly packed in the darkest corner of my fuzzy brain tumbled out like dominoes.