Disclaimer: Not me
“Few days ago, I was part of a very interesting AMA at the Bangalore Literature Festival titled “Love me Tinder.” Given that my dating experience came to a complete standstill circa 1996, I am probably the dating equivalent of a Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Back in our time, it was coffee and sweat smell that made matches. I’m guilty of hanging onto a sweat drenched T-shirt of the then to-be-spouse for yonks before he became the spouse, after which I got very prompt about doing the laundry. And of course, there was the “Get me an introduction,” whine on a loop of the newly besotted that plagued the immediate populace.
For much of our generation, dating was a thing of chance and location. You bumped into someone at the bus stop, railway station and exchanged phone numbers. Then, if you were a girl, you grew roots into the chair next to the phone. Sometimes you wondered if you would set the world record for bladder control, because you were terrified to move from the spot in case the phone rang.
Dating today is easier. And then again, not quite.”
Read the rest of the column here