Queer dating in India is exhausting—not a hot take but a lived reality

Being queer and single in India is hardly just about swiping left too often or being “too picky”. Dating here is rarely private or pressure-free. It becomes harder when one’s identity is questioned, when going to a bar feels “safe” but still not welcoming, when dating apps flatten self-expression, and when events prioritise a narrow version of queerness. Every interaction carries the quiet calculation of whether one will be seen or judged.

There are few spaces built intentionally for queer dating in India. Most gatherings take the form of late-night mixers or parties, usually at venues that don’t identify as queer but are considered “queer-friendly.” This kind of soft inclusion, while valuable, fails to create a safe space of belonging for India’s queer community. 

Queer-affirmative psychotherapist Shipra Parswani sees this reflected in her clients’ emotional lives. “I have clients who may be introverts or who may be going through so many concerns that they may not look forward to a party,” she says. “But this is where they would have met more queer folx. So loneliness then creeps in, bringing a lot of isolation as well—not just because of their choices but also because of how the system is.”

Queer mental health in India and the impact of being single

Quantitative research on queer loneliness in India remains limited, but what exists is telling. A 2020 review by Jagruti Wandrekar and Advaita Nigudkar in the Journal of Psychosexual Health found a high prevalence of depression, anxiety, and psychological distress among LGBTQIA+ participants, linking these outcomes to minority stress factors such as internalised stigma, familial rejection, and the absence of safe spaces. Together, these structural pressures amplify the conditions for sustained loneliness.  

Community is especially important for LGBTQIA+ folx, because there are challenges on every front. Legally, although homosexuality was decriminalised in India in 2018, gay rights still have a long way to go. Families and friends might often be skeptical, or even homophobic, and having a community that loves and accepts you is paramount to filling that gap. 

Tanya (she/ they; named changed), a 29-year-old bisexual woman from Mumbai, once signed up for a group trek, not because she enjoys hiking, but because it was organised by and for those from the queer community.  “I met some really interesting people who’ve become my friends,” she says. But forming friends wasn’t the intention. Tanya had simply run out of places to meet someone she might actually want to date. “If you don’t drink, as a queer person, there’s very little for you to do,” she adds. One will be hard pressed to find meet-ups over coffee, book clubs, or other calmer spaces for queers looking to build connections.

Tanya has friends who support her, but in her search for a partner, she’s treading a lonely path. “When you’re bi, a lot of women will assume you only want to date men, and that you’re only calling yourself bisexual for street cred,” she says.

Why dating apps for LGBTQIA+ in India are not enough 

Tanya meets new people through dating apps like Hinge and Bumble, or through mutual friends, singles mixers, and LGBTQIA+ events, but hasn’t found anyone she’d want to build a relationship with. “I don’t think it’s intentional but a lot of LGBTQIA+ spaces do get dominated by homosexual men,” she says. And when women are present, Tanya notices a focus on casual encounters over serious relationships. The stigma toward bisexuality within the community feels like an invisible barrier. Tanya’s very identity, then, is working against her.

“Being single long-term directly ties in with a person’s self worth,” says Parswani. “It strengthens the doubt of whether they’re going to be good enough or worthy of a relationship.” For queer people, putting themselves out there is already a challenge, especially in a society that still largely stigmatises homosexuality. Moreover, to be single not by choice can deepen loneliness and create coping behaviours that are difficult to break. Over time, these habits can feel safer than risking rejection, creating a dangerous loop that is hard to escape.

While dating apps and gatherings appear to open doors, many LGBTQIA+ people—especially bisexual and trans individuals—feel more alienated than empowered. Meera (she/ her), a 33-year-old straight trans woman, has been single since 2023. She has tried meeting people through dating apps for LGBTQIA+ folx in India, but the results have been discouraging. She finds that there’s a lot of ambiguity among people around the term ‘trans woman’.“There are a lot of myths about trans women in society, and men have these misconceptions that prevent them from being with a trans woman,” she says. 

These patterns aren’t isolated. In a recent report by Hinge, 39 per cent of queer users said others make assumptions about their relationship roles based on appearances—a number even higher among non-binary and trans users. Identity, on these platforms, is rarely fluid; it’s boxed in by design, often forcing users to simplify how they present themselves just to be seen. 

For those navigating trans dating in India, the experience becomes a negotiation between honesty and legibility. It’s not about the fear of rejection; it’s about never being recognised as a possibility in the first place.

Friends who help heal from queer loneliness in India 

Aditya (he/ him), a 21-year-old gay man, describes an  unspoken hierarchy within the queer community itself. “People are more accepting of straight passing people and are worried about being seen with femme people,” says Aditya. Tired of navigating this dynamic, he’s chosen to step away from dating altogether, focusing instead on friendships he’s formed online that have grown into a supportive network. “In a sense, you can say that they are like my found family,” he adds. 

Sonal (she/ her), a 20-year-old  bisexual woman has also found fulfillment outside of romance. After  a traumatic relationship, she’s leaned into her circle of queer female friends. “Romantic relationships aren’t the only way you can find love in your life. Platonic relationships are also a portal of love,” she says. She attends LGBTQIA+ events for social connection rather than dating, choosing to be open to love if it happens, but not actively seeking it. In India, queer dating is still a negotiation between desire and safety, visibility and erasure. Until the architecture of who gets to be seen, welcomed, and wanted changes, this loneliness will persist. It’s not a personal failing, but proof of how incomplete inclusion still is and how much further there is to go.

Curated by Gaysi Family