To our parents' delight and surprise, Benjamin and I are now married -- our names, here in India, Mr. and Mrs. Pen (a mispronunciation of Ben).

Our marriage was quiet, not the traditional raucous way of India with a marching band and wedding parade winding through the streets, with horns wailing and drums beating excitement into the air. Rather, our marriage was one of unceremonious convenience. In a culture where a single woman of my age is considered a sad, pitiful spinster, and in a country where men and women live somewhat segregated lives, it seemed best for us to lie and tell our Indian hosts and friends what they'd prefer to hear, that we are married.

Most conversations here start the same way. They used to go like this:

"What country?"
"California."
"Are you married?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
"5 years."
"Children?"
"No."
"Why not?!?"

Now they go like this:

"What country?"
"California. We've been married for 5 years and don't have any children. It's not that we don't like children, but there are just a lot of things - like travel - that we want to do before having kids." 

To hear that we have no kids, one might think that the Indian we're speaking with were told that we are allergic to our own skin. The reaction is always one of awe, shock, and mild horror. I don't bother mentioning that I may never have kids, I think that might be too much for our acquaintances to bear.

The way it works here, when a couple gets married, they 'get busy' on the wedding night. A child usually arrives 9 - 12 months later. There's no reason to wait. Children are important as the culture is built around the family, maybe like America back in its founding days, when children and parents and grandparents all knew each other well, throughout the entirety of their lives, living with or near each other, all pitching in to one single cause: that of the family. In India, family businesses are handed down from one generation to the next and children are expected to take care of their parents when they are old. A child insures there will always be a household income.

Of all the 'boys' we've met -- they call themselves boys when they want to avert some 'manly' duty, but call themselves men when it suits the situation, a dual role of innocence and independence -- of all the 'boys' we've met, none want to get married. When the topic comes up, they assume the innocent role, "Me? Married? (nervous chuckle) No way! I am too young, just a boy..." This said with a practiced smile of sweetness and a coy cock of the head. I've not had the chance to talk with girls/women about their point of view on the matter since being in India, I've not spoken to one Indian female -- they are just not 'available'.

We learned from our friend Rajeesh that boys aren't expected to marry until 25 years of age -- probably about the time that women might be nearing the beginning of the 'danger zone' for spinsterhood. An acquaintance, Azar, told us he won't marry until he's 40 so he can work on his family's business without the distraction of a wife who might want earrings one day, an expensive sari the next... He liked his independance too much for marriage, it could wait until he was done pursuing his interests.

I asked Azar what would happen if, say, his sister felt the same way as he did, wanting a career or a least some freedom instead of marriage. I asked him if it was possible for her to pursue independance like he was. His eyebrows furrowed as if I'd asked him to answer the riddle of the universe.

"Women don't work," he told me, "they stay at home with the children. My sisters' husbands have good jobs, make good money so they are fine. My sisters are happy."

Another usual question in conversation is in regards to the size of our families. Many people appear sorry for Benjamin that he is an only child, as if some great curse was bestowed upon him at birth. Some have offered to be his surrogate brother, so Benjamin does not have to live out a life of solitude in the world. In India, a small family consists of 3 children, so 1 child must seem like a tragic mistake.

I wondered if Indian families were large because when the girls grow up, get married, and move in with their husbands' households, they leave the family... literally. Azar told us that he had 3 brothers and 2 sisters, but later told us he had a family of 5: he, his 2 brothers, and his parents. Apparently when his sisters married and moved out of the house, they were no longer considered or 'counted' as family members per se.

I assumed Azar's sisters' marriages were arranged, a tradition still widely practiced in India, but I didn't get the chance to ask. When we were in Varanasi, I'd read about attitudes towards arranged marriage in the paper. A couple was interviewed -- the husband, a romantic, believed in the strength of passion that a 'love marriage' has. His wife, pragmatic, believed in the durablity of an arranged marriage. She felt that more 'love marriages' ended in divorce (uncommon as they are in India). I was surprised that the husband was for love and the wife was for arrangement because of simplistic male/female stereotypes. I figured that the man would be more inclined to the business aspect of an arranged marriage and the woman would be more inclined to the fairy tale of romantic love in a 'love marriage'.

As for our marriage, that of Mr. and Mrs. Pen, ours is one of both love and arrangement.

Yes, Sir...
"Good morning, Sir."
"What is your good name, Sir?"
"Are you finished with that, Sir?"
"Yes, Sir..."

India is a man's world. Everywhere you look, you see men: men working in the restaurants, men working in the hotels, men working in the internet cafes, souvenir stalls, at the train stations, as cab and rickshaw drivers, as tour guides, at museums, any other business one can imagine. Everywhere, men. And it seems that for every one job, there are 3 men to do it. There are always 3X the amount of employees necessary milling about in restaurants, for example. 

When we first arrived in India, I noticed when we were greeted in the morning, it was, "Good morning, Sir," directed to Benjamin, rather than just, "Good morning," directed at both of us. I noticed when we were finished with a meal, the waiter would ask Benjamin if we were done or if we'd like anything else. When I paid a bill with my credit card, the hotel clerk would watch me remove the card from my wallet, yet would return the card and transaction slip to Benjamin. I began making a big show of noisily sliding my credit card across the counter and writing my name with a conspicuous flourish on the receipt. When someone would ask Sir Benjamin a question, I would answer, "Yes, I would like another Pepsi," or, "No, I'm not interested in a tour guide."

Once in a while the men humor me. They'll notice me standing there and after shaking Benjamin's hand, will extend a limp hand out towards me, a hand limp like a dead fish. It's more like a finger shake, really, as no full grasping of the hand takes place, as if I'd been out making cow paddies with the locals. 

Occasionally, I've noticed at various guesthouses where we've stayed, that when I slip away to use the bathroom or retrieve something from our room, I come back to find Benjamin in a conversation with the hotel proprietor. When I sit down, he invariably departs our company. "What did he want?" I'll ask. Usually he's filling Benjamin in on the sites and things to do around town. Apparently, things I need not know or would not be interested in...

Of course, this invisible role I play here in India sometimes works to my advantage. I don't have to deal with the harassment of the touts, vendors, and rickshaw drivers near as much as Benjamin. I don't have to hold conversations with people when I'm not in the mood to chat. 

Where are all the women? Most are at home, with the chores and the children. The only women I saw at work were out in the fields or hauling baskets of rock on their head at construction sites. The women, it seems, are doing all the manual labor... and they do it in style, wearing their elegant saris whether they're herding water buffalo or working at a gravel pit.

I've read in the newspaper about women's initiatives, getting them out in the work force and all of that. It would be a good thing, I think, to have a woman's touch in the cafes, restaurants, and hotels. Often, and this is from my perspective as a 'backpacker' so I'm not visiting top end places, but often the restaurants and internet cafes and shops are in disarray, with torn furniture and cords and empty wrappers and dust bunnies in the corner... Entering one is like walking into a giant gym locker with no thought, no attention to detail, none of the 'little things' that give a place atmosphere and charm.

India is a man's world, inside and out.

I am an American
We haven't met any other Americans on the road. We've heard about one in the travel circuit gossip circles, an American riding a Royal Enfield through India, but we haven't actually met him.

We met a couple, a Swedish girl with a Malaysian boyfriend, in Udaipur who told us of this American -- they had gone on a camel safari with him. It becomes a point of conversation when people meet us. "Oh, you're the first Americans we've met on the road," or, "There aren't many of you traveling, are there?" When we met our Dutch friends several days later in Jaisalmer, they told us of the American as well -- they had met him in Vietnam some months earlier and saw him again the previous day. Funny thing is that he'd told them about the Swedish/Malaysian couple. The travel circuit reinforces the notion of a 'small world'. It's also a bit of a 'bubble buster' -- making the exotic and adventurous world of extended travel seem almost commonplace as everyone is running into each other, directly or indirectly. 

The first question asked of us by every Indian we meet is, "What country?" I've heard other travelers complaining about this -- it gets tiring to be asked the same question all the time -- this one is usually followed up with 'first time in India?' or 'how long are you here?' or 'what do you do?'. We might as well wear t-shirts with all of the answers printed on them so we can skip all of this inane small talk and get to the point, which most likely has something to do with their pockets and our money going into them.

When Indians ask us what country we are from, we usually say, "California."

"Oh, Copeecorneea," some reply with a look of confusion while nodding their head, feigning knowledge of this strange land. Some have asked to see our Copeecorneea currency.

We don't say this to play with peoples' minds or to confuse them on purpose. We answer the question in a roundabout way because we don't like the association made between us and President Bush, war, and global imperialism. In addition, I believe that this conversation starter, "What country?", is a way of sizing tourists up. Every tourist leaves an impression in the locals' minds on the nature of their compatriots. I've heard from Indians how the British spend a lot of money and how the Dutch are cheap. I figure if they're going to scam me out of money because I come from a rich country, they should earn their pay... so I'd prefer to keep them guessing. 

The more educated people know that when we say 'California', we are from the U.S. "America..." they say, "you're the first Americans I've met in a long time." Most people accept us with friendliness, despite the fact that to everyone BUT Americans, America is a country to fear for its power. One Indian told me that many in his country consider Bush the biggest terrorist on the planet. 

When people find out we're Americans, the conversation inevitably leads to the reelection of George W. Bush. No one -- people from North America, Europe, Asia -- can understand why the American people put him back in office. They look to me and Benjamin for some answer, some nugget of information that will suddenly make it all clear... like those pictures that they sell at cheezy art stores in the mall, the ones made up of a bunch of fuzzy dots where if you squint your eyes and stare, an image of a boat or a spaceship or some such thing will appear. I've never been able to make out the picture -- and I've certainly never been able to figure out what Americans see in Bush.

The Indians always express their dislike of Bush. We tell them we don't like Bush either, while pointing at our heads to make the international 'he's cuckoo' gesture with our fingers. They tell us that all of the Americans they've met say the same thing, that they don't like Bush. "If no one likes him, how can he be president?" I guess it boils down to the fact that Indians don't meet Bush supporters because they won't admit it or they don't travel... or maybe they are telling people they are from Canada, as many Americans are doing these days.

I just met an American woman in the hotel lobby as I was checking in. The hotel clerk pointed at my passport and said to her, "Another American." She replied, "I see that, the poor girl..." Then she turned to me, "Aren't you embarassed? I tell people I'm from Canada. It's just easier that way." Apparently a few years ago, when the war was in full swing, she adopted Canada as her country when she got off a train to find someone painting 'Down with American imperialists' on the wall. 

But I am bad at telling lies... the only time I used Canada as my country, I was asked what province I was from. Geography lessons from the 4th grade failed me. Luckily, I was offered the answer... after a pause the shop keeper asked, "Toronto?" While it's a city rather than a province, I said, "Yes! I'm from Toronto."

Aside from being bad at lying, I'm also proud to be from America -- the idea of America, that is -- maybe it's not the America the world knows today, but I'm not one to desert a friend who's made a mistake. Every time I travel, I rediscover the great things about my country... from simple things like clean air and paved roads to the more complex things like social structures that allow women freedom and people to deam of a better future. I don't want to turn my back on America by pretending I'm from Canada -- maybe if people meet Americans who are traveling, their opinions of America will change.

A shop owner in Rajasthan told me, "It's good that you are traveling from America, so people will meet you and know they should not be afraid of you (Americans)."