When the walls have ears

Have you ever lived in a house that is just a little too close to your neighbour's? Like it or not, you get to hear exactly what happened when they went to a family get-together and who said what about whom.

None of which has you interested, but you're forced to listen - unless you raise the volume of your music to drown out the details and risk taking over the title of 'the loud couple on the block'.

In our wanderings through small towns and army barracks, we encountered many thin walls and learnt to take it all in our stride. Sometimes, we'd turn a deaf ear to the rantings on the other side in the hope that they'd do the same when it was our turn to lose our cool. At other times, we'd stride out into the open air and clear our grievances under the trees, or anywhere where there were no eager ears.

We'd muzzle ourselves, resort to whispers, or not talk at all - which after about a decade of married life, was incredibly easy. But when the son of the house progressed from innocent and happy infancy to demanding toddlerhood, all restraint was thrown to the winds and the silencers in the home were switched off.

When he was confined to his corner for not finishing his meal, he'd scream at the highest decibel his vocal cords could muster. We'd ignore it, convinced that his screaming was of no consequence and he'd tire of it in good time - which he did.

We didn't think twice about it until we began to get dirty looks from everyone in the barracks.

At last, one of them couldn't hold it in any longer and burst out when we were walking to the park, "So what do you do to the poor fellow? Stick pins in him?"

Open-mouthed we stared at him. Here was a believer in what was heard rather than what was seen!

So the din of the small chair being jumped upon, the shrieks of effrontery at being disciplined - two and two had been put together and the sum was totally out of proportion to what actually happened on a more or less daily basis.

Who but us knew that this was just the early morning anti-breakfast protest, after which our toddler, the noisy episode in the corner quite forgotten, went about the rest of his day happily while our neighbours looked at us and wondered, "When do we call in the cops and get them arrested for child abuse?"

There were other kids on the block, but none of them seemed to have the same lung power as ours.

Our morning show began to get talked about and we knew it was time to do something about it. Short of giving in to the toddler we couldn't come up with a solution - until we accidentally murmured an endearment at the time of his being most vocal.

The noise stopped.

He wanted to hear what came next.

The relief to our ringing ears loosened our tongues and endearments flowed out - one more appealing than the other.

The little one sneaked a spoon into his bowl and began to eat, totally engrossed in this tale of wonder in which he was the super angelic star.

I won't say that the rest of his childhood was a breeze - arguments were loud, long and frequent - but at least the lesson of the thin walls was learnt.

Sweet nothings disarm listeners on both sides.

It only remains for us to learn how to use them when we have no one to impress or bring over to our point of view.

Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.