A woman travelling alone gets all kinds of attention, a small fraction of which is either warranted or welcome. Most of it comes gratis, garnished liberally with advice, suggestion, warning and, on some lucky occasions, good parathas.
The food-givers are usually concerned aunties. They worry at my lack of a companion (very sad in a woman), my obvious lack of concern about my lack of companion (&ldquoso innocent&rdquo, said one), and my biological clock. However, all of this unnecessary conversation comes accompanied by good food from well-used tiffin-boxes. Unfortunately, I tend to ruin this sort of encounter by being flippant, usually about a woman&rsquos place in family and society.
The non food-giving categories are more annoying, and don&rsquot offer any mitigating savouries. There is the over-friendly older man wanting to tell his life&rsquos story (&ldquothen, in 1968, I decided... &rdquo etc.). I used to think that this category just wanted somebody to listen to them. I have come to the conclusion that they are looking specifically for younger women listeners, whose intermittent inputs can presumably be ignored in favour of a one-sided monologue. This category is boring and somewhat self-obsessed, but essentially harmless. The most annoying is the younger man who will offer his services as a friend, companion and guide with immediate effect. &ldquoYou are travelling alone&rdquo &mdash a sleazy gleam appears in his eyes, and he is stuck to you like glue. This is the hardest sort of co-traveller to get rid of. Pointing out gently that you are not afraid, and that you certainly don&rsquot need his protection rarely works. Neither does being distant, or moving away. In my experience, outright rudeness is the wonder formula in these cases &mdash try &ldquoI don&rsquot like men who talk to me&rdquo.
