If there was a Modern Love-type show on first dates, it would defeat Love Island in the TRP race. There may be some overlap with Crime Patrol, but that’s inevitable.
The first date rides the highs of expectations and plumbs the depths of despair. But first there’s always the hope that it won’t go downhill from, ‘Hello’.
And so, with my perfect anecdotes and a list of intelligent trivia, I prepare for the in-person banter. I mix two lipsticks to make the perfect shade to go with my outfit, run a heated comb through my hair to give it the right volume and bounce, and smile in the mirror; just to check any remains of the last meal.
But in most cases, the guy shows up in ‘house clothes’, only to narrate the story of his “tragic” decade-old break up with his college girlfriend.
I’m aware that a planned first meeting can be much worse. Which is why my friends are settling for average first dates these days. They follow the usual vibe-check ritual by eating casual-croissant, drinking casual-caramel macchiato. One plays a good listener, the other overshares. It’s a peculiar mating dance. If it’s going well, it can last forever (one night). If it doesn’t, we wait for it to end.
Also read: Your place or mine? This dating question comes with extreme risks, dirty pillows & toilets
Chemistry test
It’s amusing how people, with no intention of staying in touch, end up laying bare their entire closet of skeletons on the bar table—“I am an alcoholic”, “I’m actually not 5’9”, “What’s Mysore, anyway?” The spectrum of revelations is wide. For instance, one guy—who should start a podcast on self love—brought a small banana for a snack, for himself, on a first date in a park. He then started to clip his nails, while sitting next to his date. Another guy in Ghaziabad’s Indirapuram humiliated himself—fell flat on the floor, grabbed his date’s ankles and begged for a kiss.
It is the kind of lore that keeps my group-chats buzzing like the BollyBlindsNGossip subreddit.
Even the lousy ones carry the potential for deep character analysis.
On a movie date, a Delhi boy, who obviously lied about his height on the app, confessed to my colleague his obsession with his ex-partner’s father. “He looks like Sonu Sood,” the jilted lover kept repeating for an hour. Apart from being an ideal candidate to revive Freud’s theories, his words were like a confetti of boredom.
The Dadar guy in Mumbai kept things interesting. He took my friend and her roommate on a first date drive around the city. It was the only appropriate thing to do when he saw that he had matched with two girls who were posing together in photos on their respective dating profiles. While one yapped with him throughout the ride, the other dozed off in the backseat of his car. He counted himself lucky and dropped the double-trouble at their dorm before curfew time. He didn’t get a second date—neither of the girls thought of him as their type.
The test of chemistry is unforgiving, hardly ever giving second chances. When I am interested enough to participate in it, I can chat my date up on male pattern baldness. And if he comes up with brilliant comebacks, offers to pay the bill, and doesn’t make me uncomfortable, I ask, “what’s the catch?”
Views are personal.
This article is part of a series of columns on modern dating in India—the good, the bad and the cuddly.
(Edited by Theres Sudeep)