Of Curtains

The chair revolved towards an open briefcase. If it were that of an optician's, it would contain a series of ugly lenses, that needed to undergo permutation and combinion to arrive at the right eye-sight. But this was not the case. Neither did it belong to a GP, or a Dentist. This particular one had a slim, quite obviously made somewhere not in India, and shining steel torch. Rohan was relieved when his ENT specialist chose that. The rest looked dangerous, like clippers and claws waiting to bite the curtain of the ear. As the chair revolved back towards him, Rohan's heart beating fast. That scared him more than the ache which had been bothering him over the past two days. When he finally mugged up the spirit to see a specialist, he behaved as if he knew the procedure by heart. 

The torch shone into the palm of the doctor and found its shining route inside his left ear. He shut his eyes in a deliberate effort as if the light would hurt him. While the doctor continued his check-up, Rohan was suddenly transformed into a small-sized Rohan, sliding down the tunnel of light into his ear. As soon as he landed, he realized it was a lump of gooey, brown accumulated dirt. Somehow managing to get himself out of it, he walked pass the drumming which reminded him of the carnatic music playing at Meenaxi Temple. Relatively relaxed with the familiar music, curiosity entered him, rather courageously. He wanted to lurk beyond the curtain. 

The curtain was exquisite, to say the least. Like a thin, translucent layer of a perfectly prepared Baklava, with each glide, the curtain allowed him a glimpse of the unknown terrain. He could see promise written all over the curtain. He took the plunge and touched it -- it felt like molten chocolate; blended yogurt into the perfect smoothie, shining diamonds, silky tresses, manicured meadows -- it was a buttery brilliance. Rohan went past it and was invited onto a cliff from which he could see a bloody waterfall, streamlined, choreographed, not gushing. His level of amusement reached a level which could only be compared with a two-year old's first visit to Disneyland. Upwards, there was a cloud of confusion. He had to undergo a brainy storm to differentiate the layers and decided that was not the road he would like to undertake. 

Beneath the waterfall were caves, each, once again promising treasures. He ventured into some. There were motors pumping emotions, and some filtering smoke. Even further were containers -- some devoted to shredding while others were smoothening. Motors were functioning automatically, waterpump, garbage dump -- it was a divine settlement, sheltered in a bony, boundaried skeletal. The atmosphere induced in him a bravery, which led him to do a Tarzan-trapeze all over. He was intensely involved and pleased with his findings. He had to return to the world and inform the rest of this mesmerizing space.

Just as the thought appeared, he realized that he had lost his way. Some shudders later, he found himself looking at his doctor, smiling a sad smile at him. Before he could say anything, he thought he misheard the doctor say, "semi-mute". He actually said nothing. Along with his visible illusion, an audible one accompanied him. Even as the prescription was getting filled, Rohan's mind was returning to the landscape beyond the curtain. 

Not at all eerie, it was an ear-y curtain.