I’m going to try and use as much humour as possible to defuse the stinging truth that Tinder is indeed a meat market, no matter where you are. I’ve swiped in Delhi, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Amsterdam, and Geneva. Creeps and nice people go places.
I strongly advocate for signing up and having fun, rather than impressing yourself with your own loneliness. It won’t always be amusing, but you’ll develop a thick layer of a solid protective substance called “cool indifference” (like I have) over my easily bruising skin. That’s how I’ve learned to take my dates with a grain of salt!
I must mention here that I am visibly disabled, not quite as photogenic as most women my age, and I often evoke feelings of either awe or pity in people. A morbid sense of curiosity always accompanies those two emotions. So, people waste my time, asking me all sorts of “basic bitch” questions to which answers are easily found on Google. Dodging that was a bit of a challenge.
I let my sister post a bunch of Tinder-worthy pictures of me. And I wrote a bio that conveys my standards while not looking like a CV:
“Named after a dagger ?
If you have a dog, I am walking it ?
Always on the search for the best hot chocolate in town! ☕️
Why didn’t I get my letter from Hogwarts? ?
If our conversations don’t bang, neither will our genitals‼️
If you have a sexy voice, I’m putty in your hands ?
Love is blind and so am ??
Please don’t ask me how I use this app, Google it ?
Love being driven around with the windows down and music on full blast ??
Will always be on time, honest and kind ?”
Boom! I then set about Tinder-ising my city!
Michael was the first to message.
“Can I just be honest?” He asked.
Hell, yeah!
“I’m into brown booties. Oops, I meant brown beauties!” followed by eggplant and water droplet emojis.
Just when I started building castles in the air with Michael! I wrote back anyway.
“Aww, I’m honoured. But there are three terms and conditions that must apply. First, I’m Indian and we don’t commit the sin of pre-marital sex. Second, when we’re married, you’ll be one of us. We don’t eat steak. And third, my family is massive. If you assist in cow slaughter, we’ll come after you with our ancient swords and you won’t see the light of another day.”
He managed a meek “Lol” before I blocked him. If you’re a brown beauty with a brown booty, own those stereotypes.
Then a Brazilian with an unusual name came by; he was convinced he was being clever.
“So… are you a living example of blind swiping?”
“You tell me, you’re the one that swiped on a blind woman!”
“You think you’re being clever, eh?”
“You got it, dude!”
Then he blocked me.
I don’t remember this next guy’s name, but he messaged at 2 AM.
“Address?”
I took a leaf out of Chandler Bing’s book.
“15, Yemen road, Yemen. Come hither.”
And… he blocked me.
On occasion, I took the piss when I wanted to get up to some shenanigans. I messaged random people this:
“Oh, hey love, I’m afraid I was blinded by your beauty.”
Conversation rarely went far after that one. Another of my favourite pickup lines was “On a scale of one to popping champagne, how excited are you that we matched?” and Jamie responded “0”. That instantly deflated the cockiness I was feeling.
There was Mathew who asked me if I wanted to “Audio describe and chill” with him sometime and my heart escaped from its impenetrable fortress and ended up on my sleeve. That was so clever. I can’t resist a juicy, plump brain! I met him. There wasn’t so much chemistry in person, so we stayed friends until he blocked me after I started seeing someone else. Turns out he hogged all the chemistry and there was none left for me.
And then I met a beautiful trans woman who quickly told me her story. She wanted to Netflix and chill, hand in hand. She was so captivating that I was compelled to buy her flowers. Until, after dinner, she insisted on doing the dishes. She filled a dish with water, dunked dirty dishes in it, put soap on them and dunked them back in the same grimy water before rinsing them off. Of course, I intervened! I could never tolerate that method of doing dishes. Her justification was water conservation. But how could I not forgive beautiful women I wanted to be friends with? I was so willing to do the dishes if she would take care of the cooking in our future together as flatmates. But then she said “I told people I had a date tonight, and they asked if my date was blind. I said yes and showed them your photo.” I forgave her again. And she stood me up on a date the following Saturday! We never spoke again.
See, the world is grim and I’m a hopeless romantic. I’ve always thought of myself as a solid vibe with a great personality. So, my wants in life were simple; some expensive perfume, lipstick, and dim lighting to land a big fish; but I got Tinder instead. To me, all that glitters is gold. And that’s why when a Tinder match asked me what kind of music I listen to, I did not consider the possibility that this guy could be sitting at McDonalds after drinks, using my profile as an example to show his pals the kind of woman he’s looking to date.
Meanwhile, I was exhausting my ‘likes’ by blind-swiping on every profile I could out of sheer boredom. Also sheer dumb luck, it turns out. I sent him a reprised version of an old Bollywood song that I thought was playful. He asked for more. I sent him more music.
I wish I had our tinder chats to refer to while writing this, alas my now boyfriend K* decided to delete his account after realizing he doesn’t need it anymore because he has a wonderful girlfriend. He told me he was going rock-climbing on a sunny afternoon while I wrote an essay at the park. I thought it was sweet that he fed ducks “way too much bread”. We talked about curry and I offered to teach him to make it on date number 5 if we get there. Clichéd flirting–I went that far with all the men who continued to chat with me past “How’re you doing”. The rule was to assign the plan of ‘cooking together’ to date number 5 at the earliest. So, most cooking promises remained incomplete, even with K. Except, K persisted to see me more than five times. Man, be still my beating heart…
“Do you want to exchange numbers to see how we get on over the phone?” I asked one morning, after he wrote me a long message about summers, animals, and, I believe, even hot chocolate. We talked for close to an hour, both in (separate) bed, both slowly dozing off. He likes dogs, so we had decided to meet the following Thursday at a Guide Dogs fundraiser I was organising.
It was nice. ‘Nice’, to him, is a superlative while ‘Nice’ to me is ‘Nice’. The conversation was nice. And I told him that.
He responded a week later, on the following Tuesday. To me, no news is sorry news. So, in my mind, there was no ‘us’. Also, there was a lot of debris to clear after gluing a broken heart back together.
“Hey sorry meant to message you before! I’m definitely free on Thursday if you still want to meet up, your dog thing is early afternoon, right?”
I wrote back a day later.
“Hey! I’m so sorry for a late response – been snowed under piles and piles of work! You’re still very welcome. There will be cool people you could meet. I made plans with a friend – I wasn’t sure if you were coming. So, we can hang out at the Guide Dogs event while I’m working, but I won’t be able to hang out afterwards. We could schedule another day for hot chocolate or something! Sounds cool? I’m sending the event bright page and the fundraiser link.”
Quick response: “Ok that’s alright, I’ll come through for that anyway and yeah maybe another day we can get hot chocolate, sounds nice.”
Spoiler alert: we haven’t gotten hot chocolate together, although I made him chai one night.
He got here. I greeted him with a hug. He was slim and tall, and smelled like freshly washed fabric. Very Noice, indeed.
I quickly lead him to my favourite dog with the softest coat and squishiest paws. People from my class got to meet him during goodbyes. I asked him to help me find another friend lost in the crowd. While I continued to work, he socialised. When I heard him next, he was chatting away to the gentleman with a gorgeous German shepherd.
By the way, I was not lying about having plans with a friend after the Guide Dogs. Ladies and Gentlemen! Hold your breath… Enter, E*!
E knows food. E feels politics. E has a bleeding heart. E taught me a trick for tipping the velvet more effectively. E and I also met on Tinder. E is my friend and K’s wingman. Yes, E deserves a grand entry. He helped! And his contributions have engendered profound appreciation and eternal gratitude in both of our hearts!
“E and I are going to get Korean; do you want to go with us?” I asked. I told you he persists.
An agonisingly hungry half hour later, we were gathered in the cinema room of my student hall. E and I were out there, with a three-course meal spread out in front of us while K settled for a portion of veggie glass noodles. Frankly, my eyes are bigger than my stomach!
“The man is one-third my size,” E announced. So, I posed that blind girl question!
“What do you look like?”
Did I mention that E and K went to the same university? Sentimental Trivia: universities are like fraternities, it nurtures patriotism! While they chatted about ducks and vicious swans on campus, one could witness brotherhood. And they might have even walked past each other before.
E was the instant wingman. And he did a rockstar job of describing the sexiest man alive. I struggle to recall his exact words–I may have been blinded by K’s beauty. This time, for reals!
Glorious long hair – check.
Neat beard – check.
Dimples – check.
Washes dishes under the tap – double check.
But I was eating chicken wings with my fingers. When E tried to assure me that the man was into me, I couldn’t, wouldn’t believe him. Until, there were signs.
During a game of scrabble, I got a rack of vowels while K was dealt a hand of consonants.
“Kill me!” I held up my rack of letters.
“Okay. How would you like to go?”
That cracked me up. I knew I had just lucked into this, and when your friends approve, and sister cooks you a chicken curry for dinner…
Conversation had slowed down at first, moments after E referred to himself as “the third wheel” before leaving. But we got wet together in the rain when we had gone to get drinks. I was on cloud nine, grinning–I’d have whistled if only I knew how to! I was also slightly buzzed from all the beer. I gave him several outs, as I was vividly conscious of the debris in my own life, and to not creep him out. He persisted. He missed his train–despite all my reminders.
So, we made our way to a beanbag. I stood there awkwardly, not knowing where to sit, wondering whether I should leave. I will never learn. He took my hand and guided me on to the beanbag next to him, and moments later, I was relieved he reconciled the confusion with a kiss.
The man has a death grip, and I’m the happiest little spoon. I woke up aching everywhere yet feeling so cheerful in his arms. That was the first of many nights of snuggling together on beanbags.
The purpose of writing this story, originally was to give him more reading content while dousing him in nostalgia. That first night, I had slipped away to the bathroom–when I was back a minute later, he had a book in hand. It was Chinese philosophy. He had apparently expected me to take longer while he enjoyed his book. I think his Tinder bio said something about reading while drinking beer.
He drops trivia bombs from time to time–”Cows have best friends”, “Bread is bad for ducks”—and my memory fails me. He also read me a book on mushrooms while we sat on a park bench the other day. I should have known he’d appreciate the gift of words. Finding that perfect gift is one of my greatest talents; I have flattered people with flowers, trays of mezze, pick-me-up gift bags with age-reversing effects, replicas of swords, outrageous coffee orders at Starbucks, and more, but I have struggled to find the right thing for him.
I’m trying to suppress the “ah-ha” in my head as I imagine him reading this!
There’s no looking back;
Notes:
- Names have been changed or shortened to initials for protection of people’s anonymity.
- Audio description is a service for visually impaired audience where a narrator explains the film during gaps in dialogue. Now available in cinemas around the world, Netflix, Pornhub and more.
- Credits are due. “love is blind and so am I” was coined by the wonderful Nidhi Goyal. Check this out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9QBF23j0uT4
- I love K. This is just the first chapter to our story. I’ve ended this post with a ; on purpose, signifying continuation.