The walls can talk...

If walls can talk... why not? It is possible. We do not understand the language they speak. I used to live in a small village and worked as a plasterer for a living. I painted many walls bright white. All I could do, and why so many others did, was sweep everything clean. The reason for this thinking is that one wall spoke to me - yes, it spoke - and made the mother living in that house let me hear its speech. Even thinking about it today gives me Goosebumps.

One morning, I knocked on that house's door. I had whitewashed many houses, and some were even whitewashed to celebrate functions. But as soon as I entered that house, I knew it was different. It was a big house, and I, one person, couldn't whitewash it all. I told the house servant who opened the door and let me in.

He replied, "No, brother, not the whole house, go upstairs. Sir will tell you what he wants." I went up the stairs and stood at the door of the room upstairs and called out, "Sir, Sir." "Come in," a voice called out.

It was a bedchamber, and a woman was crying while a man stood beside her. I could sense that he was her husband.

He said to the woman, "That's all we have been given. How come you always cry looking at this wall? There is nothing on this wall. If you want, I will ask him to whitewash this wall. Please forget everything and return to a normal life."

I searched with my eyes to see what was on that wall. Nothing caught my eye, and it looked fine without the need for whitewashing.

When her husband said this, she suddenly got up and hugged the wall, crying, "I will not let my son destroy what he has written." This confused me.

Her husband stared at her worriedly. She did not stop crying. "I will not allow him to destroy what my child has written," she cried, embracing the entire wall with both arms.

Seconds later, her husband apologized to me and brought me out of the room. I said to him, "There is nothing on that wall... I'm sorry, is your child dead?" I asked.

After a moment of silence, he said, "No, we don't have children, and we can't have children."

"What are you talking about? I don't understand," I further inquired. "We are not lucky enough to have children," he said.

And I said, "But your wife, on that wall...?" He looked at me and stared at my confused face. Then he left me with a sigh, saying, "When her children are born, she will enjoy telling me stories about how the children will scratch the wall, and she will make me laugh too. When she found out that it was not going to happen, she couldn't accept it."

I asked him, "Can I have one more look at that wall?" He stared at me, then allowed me to see.

I went back into that room. She rubbed the wall affectionately and was crying silently. She didn't notice and didn't realize that I had come in. I saw that wall. Yes, it spoke. Sorry, it's their privacy. But who can't enjoy a mother cuddling with her baby?

I walked quickly and reached my home. I saw the scratches that my child had made on the wall of my house. Sorry, I heard my child talking to the wall, and the wall started telling me the conversation that had happened between my child and the wall.

Guys, watch the wall; it tells many stories. Let the kids talk to the wall, and it will expand their imaginations. We have shrunk the world of today's kids into a 6" tablet. Encourage them to play on the playground, draw, and talk to the wall. It's the only way to prolong their health and life.

My child returned from school, and my son and I started talking to the wall.