India’s official cuffing season has kick-started with Diwali. After all, nothing says “festival of lights” like reigniting an old flame who was a ghost for months. Twenty-something singles get decked up like they are walking to their mandap and make their special offering to the engagement goddess on Instagram—that same old overdone pose with diyas and fairy lights.
What for? For that almost-lover to react with a fire emoji. Everyone’s angling for a party invite—to lose unnecessary cash, wear itchy ethnic wear, and burn the firecrackers of romance. That’s why, like clockwork, Hinge matches started saying “Happy Diwali” a full week early. Their success rate is mid at best, but I would give them an A for effort.
It’s no laughing matter. Something really changes in the air as soon as the city gets covered in floating sheets of fairy lights. The smell of autumn almost haunts urban hustlers with seasonal loneliness. Being away from home in a metro city can turn one feral for indulgence—be it kaju katli or a situationship. Newly coupled want to seal the deal with ‘sanskari’ optics, attend gatherings together, post pictures with captions on the lines of best wishes from me and mine. It’s a slap in the face of those who can’t even finalise a second date. The unfortunates end up texting their exes. Or whoever can offer emotional familiarity.
A Delhi boy was accidentally too successful in scoring dates for a Diwali party. Not one, not two—he invited all four of them to the same card game at his place. It took precisely 30 minutes (and one very tense round of Teen Patti) for the women to realise they were part of his roster. Meanwhile, across town at a Sainik Farm party, a strong, independent woman had to grab her clutch and make a run for it when her two-month-old hookup decided to “show her off.” In front of his friends, he told her, “Play the game or serve everyone drinks.” The festival of lights can really expose the dim ones, huh?
These rejuvenate jaded romantics
In the dry desert that is modern dating, it is these gatherings that rejuvenate jaded romantics. Who knows what hottie you might lock eyes with from across the room? Best part, he’ll already be dressed for roka. There’s a reason South Delhi girls raid wholesale stores in Lajpat Nagar, Amar Colony, looking for that perfect blingy outfit—the man of their dreams is waiting for them at the open bar. Or so they think.
I have one success story for you. A 27-year-old writer met her now-husband in 2023 on a rather depressing Diwali. She was supposed to be working from home when a Hinge boy invited himself to her house. Clad in a blue chickenkari kurta, her date influenced her to play a game of snack roulette. Between too many Lays packets and Lotte Chocopies, sparks flew. They ended up spending the whole weekend together. This whole thing supports my hypothesis, yet again, that calories are good for the heart!
Then there are the Rahul Raichands and Anjali Sharmas of our world, pining for a K3G-level meet-cute this Diwali. They’re tweeting “I am coming home” like it’s a mating call, hoping someone slides in before Bhai Dooj. The eldest daughters may already be pre-tired from the impending domestic labour, but thank god for the neighbourhood flirt who’ll sell his soul for a selfie with her by the rangoli.
A 29-year-old Kashmiri woman in Delhi says her phone has been blowing up with texts from old flings and recent rejects. All of them are suddenly aching for a good time. She has decided to leave her NCR fan club on ‘read’ and head home instead. Her annual Diwali ritual with the hometown friend-with-benefit is way cooler. It’s the boy next door—literally. The two have choreographed a perfect routine. She changes into her drabbiest pajamas after 10, sneaks out, wraps a dupatta around her face, and hops on his bike for a ride to the hills. At the top, they crack open a couple of chilled beers and watch the valley light up.
Don’t get too excited on her behalf. What happens at the hilltop stays at the hilltop. After coming back to Delhi, she’s going to keep his social accounts on mute. His Samay Raina-type jokes and Pragya Thakur-like political views practically make him pretty undatable.
The point is that the emotional kabaddi of modern dating turns a little festive with the season. It’s a fresh and legal opportunity to shoot your shot. Not for me, though. I am too much of a control freak about Diwali fun to let a new person, or any of the dusty old ones, to make it unpredictable. I’d rather stuff my face with soan papdi and dance all night with my pataka friends.
This article is part of a series of columns on modern dating in India—the good, the bad and the cuddly. Views are personal. The author tweets @ratanpriya4.
(Edited by Saptak Datta)