She patters down on cherry keys –
Untimely rain on hot granite –
The “Silence!” symbol on her desk
Ensures that no one puts a fight.
I break the rule and wave at her,
Admiring her keyboard choice.
She smiles and shoots another burst
Of AK-47 noise.
“It must be hard, no, Sister Miss?
These patients just complain a lot.
You’re working hard throughout the night
And they just say you rather not.”
“They’re jealous of my honest work,”
She feels her string of plastic pearl.
“They’re threatened by my confidence.
They cannot stand a working girl.”
“If I could type as fast as you,”
I take a seat beside her chair.
“I too would have your confidence.”
She tucks a strand of errant hair.
“He’s sleeping well?” she turns to ask.
I smile and nod and feign a snore.
“I’ve heard him, yeah,” she giggles out.
“There’s no one louder on this floor.”
“You have so many underlines,”
I point towards her desktop screen.
“Just spelling errors, no one cares,”
She doesn’t mind me leaning in.
“I want to try your keyboard once,”
I brush against her Savlon hands.
“Your index on the F and J,”
She tucks another errant strand.
I gently tap the tactile keys
And type the words that she had typed.
I “sign” her “sine”, and “claim” her “clem”,
And wipe my hands as she had wiped.
“It’s quite the keyboard, Sister Miss,”
I start but cannot end my line.
She cuts me with a wounded stare,
“I’ll do my work now, please don’t mind.”
No more the thunders of her keys.
The ward enjoys its silent night.
I silence down my conscience:
“I only did what I felt right.”
Minakhi Misra 