Diary,

In 1989, the divorce rate in Kenya was 4.6 per cent. In the last three decades, it has more than doubled to 9.3 per cent. This statement alone has bought me countless bottles of beer at my local pub.

“If you heard that death from eating meat had doubled in the same timeframe,” I would add for emphasis, “wouldn’t you immediately convert into a vegetarian? Why would anyone want to join a losing army?”

Even married men like this argument, attributing the growing trend to whatever ails their marriages and probably justifying its eventual doom. In India, where I’m attending a study to determine why so many people are choosing to stay unattached, this argument has been rendered moot.

“Divorce rate in India, with a population of one and a half billion,” says Penelope, the lead scientist on the study, “is only one per cent. Isn’t it true, then, that the problem might be cultural rather than personal?”

The eyes of the study participant sitting next to me bulge in real time. “You mean arranged marriages are better?”

Penelope smiles. “We have a saying here in India. ‘Romance results out of marriage but not marriage out of romance.’ Seems to be true, don’t you think?”

I search my mental database for a comeback and raise my hand. “Well, like you said, I think the problem here is cultural.”

Surprised, she says, “You think a lower divorce rate is a problem?”

“I think people sticking in bad marriages because tradition forced them into the arrangements is a problem. If your parents choose a groom for you, leaving the marriage is like going against everything they believe in. Like disobeying them or proving them wrong.”

A round of applause signifies the room’s general agreement with my assessment.

“I hate to say this, but Tom might have a point,” Anika, a female Indian participant chimes in. “In India, getting married is one way to honour one’s parents, in complete disregard for personal choice.”

Penelope makes a note on the file in front of her then looks up, seemingly unfazed. “But going back to the statistics, it’s undisputed that the system works, no? If it’s all about personal enlightenment, how come the divorce rate hasn’t grown in tandem with what you might call modernisation?”

“Same way the caste system has persisted despite government intervention,” Anika persists. “We’re still bottling people based on the social strata in which they were born. Simply because something has always been there doesn’t mean it’s good.”

“Hear, hear,” I support her. “Same with female circumcision in my country. Even while outlawed, it’s still being practised.”

“Or honour-based killings in Arab countries,” shouts a man from the back.

He looks like he might know what he’s talking about.

“The other day you asked us why we chose to stay single. Back in Riyadh, I had my first girlfriend at 16. She was the same age. When her father discovered that she’d sneak out to come see me, he drowned her in the family swimming pool.

“So, yeah, maybe it’s stupid of me to think I can make any significant change, but I decided to go against tradition and stay single as a form of protest.”

The man’s miserable anecdote kills the previously jovial mood in the room. Suddenly, something troubling occurs to me. Of all the participants in this study, the “my life, my choice” argument that I brought to the table is a leaking vessel that holds the least water. Most of my colleagues here appear to have been deeply traumatised at some point in their earlier lives.

I raise my hand once more. “I think I should be excused from this study.”

“And why is that, Tom?” Penelope asks.

“I don’t think I’ve been through anything as disturbing as any of my fellow participants here.”

She nods or shakes her head (It’s proving difficult to tell some Indian gestures apart).

“Which is exactly why you make the best subject of this study. If you may forgive my brashness, Tom, you have the flimsiest reasons for persisting with the argument for being a perpetual bachelor.”

Like a chided child, I put my hand down and shut my mouth.