Although every man in India seems to call out, "What is your name? Where are you from?" I could count my conversations with Indian women on one hand. Even at our friendly, welcoming guest house, the proprietress always refers us to her brother.
In fact, I haven't even seen that many women. At Delhi's subway security checkpoints, I would always breeze through the empty female side, only to spend ten minutes waiting for my dad to catch up. Sure, that's karma for all the long ladies' restroom lines I've waited in, but it's also disconcerting. Like most teenage boys, I clearly don't understand girls. They're especially scarce on the streets at night; could it be a massive slumber party? Where are they?
While I may feel like a pubescent male human, most people here assume my blond hair means I'm a visitor from Mars (Ahem. Venus?). Out alone, I meet plenty of guys who want to practice the Martian words they've picked up from TV, starting conversations with, "Hey baby!" and, "Hello, beautiful!" I tell them I'd love to chat, but I'm late to meet my husband, a US ambassador who looks like John Rambo, except manlier.
Even those who speak more polite Martian don't know what to do with me. There are special subway cars for women, but when I took the main train with my dad, two different gentlemen urgenty offered me their seats. I finally realized they were in clearly marked "Ladies' Seats," which users are supposed to vacate for the Y chromosome deficient.
While I don't really mind being "Beautiful" or getting a seat on the subway, the combination teenage boy /alien outfit makes this feel more like Halloween than Valentine's Day. Nobody said India was going to be simple.
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