When Tinder debuted in India in 2013, we all had butterflies. Romance without the awkward parts? Yes, please. No more sweaty-palmed rejections or mustering up the courage to ask out a stranger. The app pulled potential matches from Facebook — friends of friends, people who liked the same music or movies. The circle felt close-knit, the vibes legit. Then came Bumble, Hinge, the homegrown QuackQuack and more. Suddenly, there were plenty of fish in the sea. Swipe left, swipe right, repeat. Easy. Like it was meant-to-be.
Twelve years on, online dating is more hellscape than honeymoon. Until 2018, only 20 million Indians used dating apps. By 2023, sign-ups had jumped to 82.4 million. Most users have given up on Tinder because it’s hard to really gauge a person beyond that basic bio. Hinge and Bumble have nudged users to paint a fuller picture of themselves via prompts (My typical Sunday, The best way to ask me out). Even those efforts have flatlined. Every second user describes themselves as an adventure junkie, a fitness fanatic or a sapiosexual, looking for a partner that makes them laugh. Raya, which started off being exclusively for influencers and celebs, has quietly begun letting in the merely rich.
Besides, the numbers are skewed. Dating service Woo’s 2022 survey of 20,000 Indians shows that only 26% of users on the popular apps are women. So, men struggle (even with paid VIP upgrades), women are overwhelmed.
There are more fish in the sea. But you’ve probably swiped through them all. A new slew of apps is hoping, again, to clear the clutter and offer just a little bit more transparency, a little more optimism. Does that mean love has a fighting chance?
Showing some spine
Bookmark, a year-old dating service, aims to match users through their reading tastes. The idea, say founders Harsh Snehanshu and Shruti Sah, is that books reflect a person’s “worldview, temperament, and emotional depth,” all better markers of compatibility than a professed interest in Hyrox and Brooklyn Nine-Nine reruns.
The two also founded the silent reading club, Cubbon Reads. For Bookmark, Sah says they leaned into the current disillusionment over dating apps and asked: What would dating look like if it moved at the pace of a good book? They’ve done away with profile photos. “We wanted people to lead with their thoughts or personality,” Sah says. “A profile that says, ‘I re-read Little Women every year to feel less alone’ tells you more than any filtered selfie ever could.” Users share their current read, what they’ve finished, highlights from the TBR.
“People don’t open with ‘hey’ here. They start with ‘I’ve never heard of Laughable Loves. What made you pick it up?’” Sah says. “It’s not like the app is only for people who read 50 books a year. You could have just read a handful in your life. Or you might be a baker or a gardener, who collects books on those topics. The books are just a conversation starter.”
You can still reveal your picture, but only after a conversation has started. Bookmark limits users to five profile likes per day to prevent superficial mass liking. The founders claim to have a 60:40 ratio of men to women nationwide. It’s been installed by over 15,000 people, with over 50,000 matches so far.
Vault lines
Indian apps also have a scamming problem. Every now and then, a user will excitedly match with a tattooed hottie, who eventually makes a request for money. Bot accounts typically rope unsuspecting singles into a fake cryptocurrency racket or catfish them into sextortion. Most apps don’t have more than a block-and-report button. AI-generated profiles abound (imagine realising your soulmate is only a bunch of code). And few users bother with verifying their own identities to confirm that they look like their profile photos.
It’s why homegrown apps advertise stricter verification checks. Flutrr, four years old, is geared towards singles hoping to choose their own partners in conservative small towns. It supports six regional languages and allows users to block known contacts, so those who know them are less likely to spot them on the app. Another privacy feature is a Ghost Mode, which hides a user’s location to prevent them from being tracked and outed within their communities.
Smingle, which launched in Bengaluru in May, highlights offline experiences. “Users are tired of bots and fake profiles. They want a connection that is real,” says founder Shaurya Anand. So, instead of an avalanche of bios, users pick an activity — painting, bowling, a music fest — and get matched with someone who’s also up for it. “You only get one match at a time, whom you can chat with for a few days, before meeting in person over the weekend.”
Once a couple meets, the app has served its purpose and the chat expires. “Both can continue offline. If it doesn’t work out, they can request another match,” says Anand. They have 1,400 verified users, with a 4:1 male-to-female ratio, and 150 meet-ups so far.
The switch to IRL events is an ‘I told you so’ moment for Sirf Coffee, an offline matchmaking service that has been around for 15 years. “When we launched in New York and Mumbai, the only big player was Shaadi.com, where even the domain name felt loaded with expectation,” says co-founder Naina Hiranandani. “There was nothing for single people who only wanted to date.”
Their model has remained the same. Every client is interviewed. “By the end of it, I should be able to tell you about each member of their family, where the person last went on vacation. What kind of person he or she wants,” Hiranandani says. Their background check can include a deep dive into legal records. Then, a team of human matchmakers (“We don’t use algorithms”) sets them up on a date. There are rules: “No chatting beforehand, no stalking, no sharing pictures or surnames. That way, you don’t waste your energy on someone endlessly.” They started with two matchmakers, and have now expanded to eight, with over 2,500 clients establishing long-term relationships across 27 countries.
Love at a cost
Most online apps build their buzz by offering services for free. They make their money by charging for frills – a finer filter, curated match options, more visibility, zhuzhing up the bio and profile pic. On Tinder and Bumble, premium packages can cost ₹450 a month. Sirf Coffee’s offline service comes at a steeper price of ₹98,000 for four months. Their most premium plan costs close to ₹3 lakh for 18 months. “It ensures that both parties, the members and the service, have skin in the game,” says Hiranandani.
Meanwhile, the year-old Andwemet operates entirely on WhatsApp — and not everybody’s invited to the party. “We accept members after doing a background check”, says founder Shalini Singh. Those accepted are encouraged to discuss such dealbreaker topics as wanting children, sex drive and long-distance relationships. “Sometimes, people will say, ‘What if my parents don’t like my partner? How do I handle it?’ Other members will offer advice.” Should any user vibe with a fellow-member’s views, they can request an introduction, which leads to a private chat. About 65% of their members are women. They say that 148 members have built a committed relationship.
With Andwemet, Singh also offers relationship guidance. “Many singles over the age of 28 are highly educated and professionally successful, but have never reflected on what truly matters in a partner,” she says. Apps don’t help in this regard. “It takes time to get to know someone. Rather than finding out if you are physically and emotionally compatible, people tend to nitpick. ‘Oh, he eats with his mouth open’. ‘Oh, her nails are chipped’.” It’s why those group chats go in heavy. “That’s how meaningful connections happen.”
From HT Brunch, August 23, 2025
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