Bumble is like Kumbh Mela

It is filled with millions of sinners gathered at one place, all looking for salvation, but most just pretending & lost in the crowd.

Women swipe right on precisely three men a year, men swipe right on everything that moves, and everyone walks away convinced that good matches don’t exist.

For Indian men, Bumble is like being a street vendor shouting outside a five-star hotel. They yell "fun-loving, adventurous, fitness enthusiast," while women sip their digital cocktails, pretending not to hear them. They know the odds are against them, so they take no chances - swiping right on every profile, from "HR Professional in Bangalore" to "spiritual healer in Rishikesh," hoping someone, somewhere, will give them a chance. When they finally get a match, they celebrate like an Indian cricket victory, only to be greeted with the single most underwhelming word in the English language: Hey.

Women, on the other hand, open Bumble like a mother inspecting mangoes at a sabzi mandi - poking, prodding, rejecting 95% without a second thought. Too many shirtless selfies? Swipes left. Too many group pictures? Swipes left. Too many bios that say "6 ft, because apparently it matters"? Massive left swipe with an eye-roll for good measure. They complain that men are boring, but let’s be honest, their own "first move" is often as thrilling as a LIC policy document.

And Bumble? Bumble sits back and enjoys the chaos. It lets men exhaust themselves in an endless loop of swiping, messaging, and getting ghosted. It lets women indulge in the joy of rejecting strangers from the comfort of their homes. And in the background, it quietly makes money from people desperately upgrading to Premium, thinking it’ll change their luck. Bumble is not a dating app. It’s an elaborate joke where the punchline is always the same: Match. Chat. Ignore. Repeat.