Live Like You Poem by Maya Patel

I don't live like you.
In the midst of my I.T Job
That I work for my family to be supported so many miles away in a village,
I can tell you that I don't live like you.
I wait in a line to take a cheap shuttle to go home,
And when I do, I take a bucket bath,
Like most of my relatives.
As opposed to eating gas station pizza,
I chop up my veggies with a serving of rice, a perfect flavor of fenugreek and turmeric powder,
And though the man above my floor is blasting rock music when I'm trying to sleep,
I can tell you that I can't oppose him,
Because I don't live like you.


I don't live like you.
In the midst of white women in pencil skirts,
I can tell you that I don't live like you.
I do not make eye contact with random men, because I was raised as such,
And it isn't that I'm socially awkward,
It is that you care more about the salwar I wear to work as opposed to the jokes I know I'm able to crack.
I wear my bag around me,
Like I wear my pride,
When I walk out out of this establishment,
Waiting for them who always remember to call out,
"Oh my god she smells like curry."


"Ma, I'll call you back later."
I don't live like you.
In the midst of people who judge me for speaking my language,
I can tell you that I don't live like you.
Maybe I don't roll my r's like you, but come hear me in my college back home,
Giving a speech in my language,
My words used to spark inspiration in my peers,
And now, I stand in front of the damned mirror, trying to revisethe sentence, trying to sound like a normal American,
"I'll take a small iced coffee with caramel drizzle and cream."


I don't live like you.
In the midst of puzzled people at my presentation at work,
I can tell you that I don't live like you.
You fail to realize that I can absorb any information I read when I pick up a book,
And my accent, my appearance, and the fact that I'm named in a strong shade of Southern Asia,
Does not determine my ability to
Read off that PowerPoint,
Pose a solution,
Or impress that client.

Has it ever occured to you that I don't want to live like you?
That I want to bring the foods of my country to lunch,
That I don't want to know how to pronounce your name,
Because you sure as hell cannot pronounce mine.
Has it ever occured to you that I stay so silent, not because I'm Indian, not because I don't comprehend you, but because words can't dilute your ignorance?