Dating Horror Story : Delhi
I don't usually make posts like this, but I think this is worth talking about because it made me realise, once again, that the whole "₹370 biryani incident" wasn't some funny internet joke. It's a very real pattern, and I don't think enough people take it seriously.
So, here's what happened.
I matched with someone a while ago. Right from the beginning, I told him that I have a partner. It came up naturally in conversation, and after that I brought it up again whenever there was even the slightest possibility of ambiguity. I also told him, repeatedly, that I wasn't on the app to date people. My bio literally said I was looking for community. I wanted to meet people, especially fellow queer people, make friends, maybe watch a play together or grab coffee, because moving through life as a queer person can be isolating, and I genuinely wanted more people around me.
Every single time I said I wasn't looking to date, he'd circle back to the fact that I'm poly. "But you're poly, so what's the harm?" "You can still date people." "Your partner wouldn't mind."
And every single time, I felt like I was saying the same thing in different words.
It's not about whether I can date.
It's about the fact that I don't want to.
Those are two completely different things.
Being poly doesn't mean I'm available to everyone. It doesn't mean "no" suddenly becomes "convince me." It doesn't mean friendship is just the waiting room before romance.
I thought I had been clear enough.
Yesterday, on the 28th, we met to watch a play. It was genuinely nice. We spoke about theatre, law, politics, random things. Afterwards we went for dinner.
At one point, completely casually, he referred to it as "our date."
I remember immediately saying, "No, it's not a date. It's a hangout."
I didn't laugh it off. I didn't leave it vague. I corrected him right there because I didn't want there to be any misunderstanding.
The bill came to around ₹650.
Like I almost always do, I said we should split it. I reached for my phone to pay. He wouldn't let me. I insisted again. He still paid.
Honestly, I didn't think much of it at the time because people sometimes do that. Friends treat each other. I've paid for friends before. Friends have paid for me before. I didn't want to read into something that wasn't there.
A few hours later, after I got home, he asked me if I wanted to sext.
I just sat there staring at my screen for a second, because suddenly the whole evening made sense in a way I hadn't wanted it to.
Then I immediately offered to transfer him my share of dinner because I didn't want there to be even the smallest possibility that he thought I somehow "owed" him something because he'd paid despite me trying not to let him and I remember texting him, "This is exactly the ₹370 biryani incident."
I wasn't making a joke or trying to be clever; I really meant it because that's exactly how it felt.
People laughed so much when women started talking about similar incidents after the comedian's post. The point was never ₹370.
The point was that some people will insist on spending money after you've already tried to pay for yourself, and then the moment you don't give them the romantic or sexual response they wanted, that money suddenly isn't generosity anymore.
It becomes leverage: "Well, I did this for you..." and "I thought this meant...". It becomes an explanation for why your "no" is somehow disappointing or unfair.
He sent texts explaining himself and explaining why I had misunderstood him.
Maybe he genuinely thought he hadn't done anything wrong, maybe he didn't see the pattern I was seeing, but I did, and I didn't have the energy to explain, for the hundredth time in my life, why constantly pushing against clearly stated boundaries isn't respectful.
I blocked his number too.
Then he found my alternate Instagram account and messaged me there asking me to pay him ₹800 as "my share."
Not the amount I'd already offered.
I actually laughed when I read it because it was so absurd that it almost felt satirical.
But underneath that laughter was this really familiar feeling.
That sinking feeling women get when they realise they weren't actually being seen as a person who wanted friendship.
They were being seen as a potential return on investment.
That's the part that hurts.
Not the sexting request. People can ask. People can also hear "no."
Not even the ₹800 message.
It's realising that despite saying "I'm not looking for anything romantic" over and over and over again, someone still chose to hear what they wanted to hear instead of what I was actually saying.
If there's one thing I want people to take away from this, it's this:
Please stop laughing at women when they talk about these experiences.
The ₹370 biryani incident isn't about biryani.
It's about how often women are made to feel like basic decency, a meal, a coffee, or an evening out quietly comes with expectations attached—even after they've done everything they possibly could to make their boundaries clear.
And to the women reading this: if this sounds familiar, I'm sorry.
You're not imagining the pattern.
Also, if you're a woman and you think this is someone you might come across, or you simply want to know who I'm talking about so you can make your own informed decisions, you're welcome to message me privately. I don't want to make this into a public naming-and-shaming post, but I do believe women should be able to look out for one another. I'll tell you exactly what happened, show you the messages if needed, and you can decide for yourself.
Sometimes keeping each other informed is the only safety net we've got.
