the teacher

i sat there quietly as you 
meticulously explained 
what a poppadom was. 
I did not interject as you explained 
the difference between 
a prawn curry or a madras curry. 
I listened, 
hand squeezing my husband's leg
hidden beneath the table
as you slowly painted a picture of what a
tandoori oven was and how it worked. 
sigh. 
you are always a teacher. 
always. 
yes, your words are carefully chosen, 
said with fact and not a 
hint of question. 
you feel you have something to offer, 
and of course you do, 
you are one of the most 
brilliant minds
of our time. 
and yet, 
is there still room for you to learn too?
to listen?
did you ever stop to think you are explaining 
Indian food to a 
little brown foreign girl 
who eats, breathes, and lives for 
indian food?
i like to eat and cook indian food also:)
please know my heart is soft
as i understand this was your gift to me.
researching the best indian restaurant in the city, 
one of the top 5 to be exact, 
offering a generous gift 
of take away boxes mounted just past 
your head, 
and the boy in your eyes 
asked me if i was pleased. 
yes, yes of course!! 
i felt so loved. 
please don't get me wrong, 
kind sir. 
I just thought maybe, 
instead of you telling me all 
you know,
maybe we could both share what we
both know?
maybe, just maybe i could 
teach you,
o kind and  respected master of 
all information?
just maybe?
but for now, 
i am happy to listen. 
please, please
continue in what you 
were saying...