A Curtain


There was a curtain dividing the corridor near the kitchen, and the dining room. Sometimes it was tied in the middle, and then anybody passing through the corridor could see anybody walking by the dining table. But, most of the time it just hung loose, like a lazy yawn. I loved to pass through the space covered by the curtain, letting the curtain sweep on and over me. Often there were bells tied to it, making it an effort to furtively pass by.

I don’t know why I remembered the curtain today. I like orange curtains, but this curtain was green, with white and green paisley patterns all over it. The bells were bronze and they tinkled like only tiny bronze bells do.

Photo Credit : http://www.flickr.com/photos/ajawin/3450763283/ via Creative Commons


  1. Curtains make nice memories…unless one overdoes the aesthetics. So pardon my prose amid your poetic mood.

    //I loved to pass through the space covered by the curtain, letting the curtain sweep on and over me…

    We needed to separate the living room from the great Indian living room intrusion – the guest wash basin.A curtain made of six foot strands of strings seemed so beautiful in the showroom that we promptly bought it and put it in.

    Living with beauty is a completely different thing, I see now.

    One can’t brush past it without getting encircled in strings. Alarms my reflexes awake in the morning – every time.

    oh what a tangled web we weave -when
    The washbasin from the hall we cleave/i>

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