Some people want to be teachers

I remember a small incident from the year I spent on exchange in France. I was in Lourdes for a few days and I recall I was looking for a cemetery as I was coming down from the fort. I found a lady at the tourist counter and asked her "Excusez-moi madame, mais où est-ce que la cimetière?" ('Excuse me madame, where is 'la' cemetery?)

Her reply was "Non non monsieur, c'est "le" cimetière." ('No sir, it's 'le' cemetery.')

Now I had mistaken the noun cimetière as being feminine (like a number of other nouns ending in -ière) that needs the article la, when in actual fact it is a masculine noun. Of course, at the time I was tired, hungry and really not in the mood for a French lesson, but it's something that has stuck with me since, and I haven't forgotten the gender of the noun cimetière. It wasn't the first time I had been corrected by a complete stranger in France, and it's something I've actually come to appreciate.


But there are ways to teach and there are ways to teach. Fast forward to this week, here in the Guwahati University guest house. A few days ago I met a visiting Assamese writer from the nearby town of Tezpur (where I'm heading tomorrow). The instant he found out I was learning Assamese, he started telling others at the guest house that the only reason I came to Assam was to learn Assamese, which just isn't true. Making conversation has also been difficult with him - he's quite pretentious and is certainly very proud of himself and where he comes from. To him, Assam is the most beautiful state in India, and Tezpur is the most beautiful town in Assam.

But what really got to me was when he started talking to me about a certain kind of banana that they gave us at breakfast yesterday. It's a local variety that they've been feeding the guests here (or trying to feed) that's quite starchy and has the texture closer to a plaintain. It's not very sweet either and feels like it needs to be cooked first. Suffice to say, I really don't like it. The Assamese writer started telling me it was very good Assamese banana and very good for digestion.

I refused to comment.

Then he said to me, 'In Assamese, they are called malbhog. Malbhog. Say it.'

The first thought in my head was actually, "F*ck you, you pretentious wanker". I mean, who the hell did this guy think he was? But in the end I mumbled something with my mouth full, which made him repeat what he'd just said.

So rather than continuing the conversation, I just took a small bite out of my malbhog and left the rest on my plate for him to see.

(And in case you're wondering, I didn't actually remember the name of the banana after this conversation. I had to ask my tutor for the name again.)