Anjali M, 24, downloaded Arike as a “secret experiment”. Though quite close to her parents, she did not mention it to them. “It’s not something you announce at the dinner table,” she says with a grin.
“I was just curious. I wanted to meet someone who gets where I am from — someone who knows what a thattukada date would be like.”
For a state known for its blend of tradition and tech-savviness, Kerala is quietly becoming a hotspot for a uniquely Malayali brand of online dating. No longer just a metro trend, dating apps have found a home here — but not without their own quirks.
Made for Malayalis
Love is indeed going local. Apps like Arike, Mizhi, and Hridhayam are tailored for Malayalis and rooted in the cultural nuances that matter: language, food, family values, and even astrology.
“Arike felt different from Tinder,” says 27-year-old Ajay Varma, a software engineer. “It didn’t push hookup culture. The questions were actually meaningful, and most people I matched with were looking for something real.”
Developed by the same team behind Aisle, Arike has rapidly gained traction among Kochi’s young professionals. Meanwhile, Mizhi, with its tagline ‘Find love through your eyes’, offers a chat-forward experience that prioritises conversation in Malayalam.
Then there’s Hridhayam — less flashy but quietly effective. “I met someone through Hridhayam last year,” says 25-year-old law student Nivya Rajan. “We didn’t click romantically, but we’re still good friends. It’s one of the few apps that didn’t make me feel judged or objectified.”
For 21-year-old Alan Joseph, a media student, it’s less about finding “the one” and more about genuine connections. “I got on Mizhi out of boredom during semester break,” he says. “But it was the first app where I could actually have a conversation in Malayalam without cringe adi. That’s underrated.”
Curious to see what the fuss was about, this reporter downloaded a couple of these apps to test the waters. The setup process was fairly simple across the board — download from the Google Play Store or App Store, register using your phone number or email, fill out a profile with a bio, interests, and preferences, and you’re good to go.
Some apps offer prompts or questions, while others let you upload short voice notes or even video introductions. Profiles tend to be casual — often peppered with Manglish phrases or Malayalam memes — and matches are usually made by either swiping or clicking ‘like’.
Conversations often start light, with shared references to Kerala food, cinema, or the latest local trend.
Ghosts, creeps, and Insta-hustlers
It’s not all roses and reels. Ask anyone who’s spent more than a month on these platforms, and they will likely mention ghosting, vague profiles, or being added to someone’s Instagram followers list for the numbers.
“Half the time, the girl doesn’t even talk,” says 23-year-old Vysakh Nair, who works in digital marketing. “And sometimes, one is not sure if it’s even a real profile. I have matched with the same girl thrice — different names, same selfie!”
But for women, the red flags flash even faster. “One guy said he wanted a ‘traditional-looking girl who also likes EDM’. Another asked if I would cook beef ularthiyathu for his amma,” says Anjali, shaking her head. “It can get bizarre.”
Apps like Arike and Mizhi attempt to curb this by verifying profiles through phone numbers and social media checks, but issues persist. Some users report fake accounts created for spam or influencer marketing, while others cite vague bios as red flags.
Between Bumble & the banana leaf
The cultural balancing act is real. While global apps like Tinder and Bumble are popular in cities like Thiruvananthapuram and Kochi, many young Malayalis find them too casual or too chaotic.
“I tried Bumble, but it felt too fast-paced,” says 26-year-old Aparna Mathew, a junior architect. “The matches were from all over the place. I wanted someone who knows what it’s like to grow up watching shows like ‘Comedy Stars’ and still be progressive.”
That’s where local apps shine. They don’t just offer proximity — they offer relatability.
That said, national platforms like TrulyMadly and QuackQuack are also finding users in Kerala, offering a middle path. TrulyMadly verifies users using a “trust score” that encourages authenticity, while QuackQuack has filters that appeal to regional preferences like language and education level.
“I have been on QuackQuack for three months now,” says 24-year-old Arun Sabu, who works at a logistics company. “It’s not perfect, but at least you are talking to people who actually know what a monsoon date in Kerala means. No explaining what ‘meen curry’ is!”
Friends, not just flings
While dating apps dominate the digital love scene, a quieter phenomenon is brewing in parallel — apps designed solely for companionship. Enter Dostt, a Malayalam-language social app that’s gaining traction for all the right reasons. Designed to help people connect without romantic pressure, the app pairs users for casual chats, often with a focus on post-work, late-night conversations.
“I got on Dostt during a really low week,” says 21-year-old Hiba Saleem, a psychology student. “It wasn’t about dating at all. I just wanted someone to talk to after midnight. And it felt nice. Not creepy, not performative.”
Vibely, another emerging platform, is leaning into this same space, offering a space for people to find friends over common interests — from music playlists and Malayalam poetry to weekend food crawls.
Unlike dating-focused apps, Vibely operates more like a safe digital common room, where anonymity isn’t a mask but a layer of comfort.
In urban areas where loneliness is often masked by busy schedules and hyperconnectivity, these apps are giving youth space to breathe, vent, and, occasionally, just be.
Despite growing acceptance, such apps still sit in a grey area socially. “There’s no outright opposition,” says Ajay. “But there’s also no open conversation. We are navigating things quietly on apps, in group chats, behind locked phones.”
In a state like Kerala — cosmopolitan but still conservative at the core — this discretion shapes dating culture. Many users hide their apps in folders named ‘Tools’ or ‘Utilities’ and switch off notifications when at home.
Parental pressure adds another layer. “My mom wants me married by next year,” says Varsha Pillai, a 25-year-old MBA student. “But I don’t even know if I believe in marriage yet. These apps let me explore without making big decisions.”
Yes, dating apps have moved beyond taboo — but not quite into the open yet. They exist around us. For some, it’s just a time pass. For some, route to a relationship. For some, a way to test the waters. For some, simply a space to be seen, to be understood, and maybe, to fall in love. Naadan love, that is.
Before you swipe: Red flags to watch out for
Catfishing: Be cautious of users with few photos, overly generic bios, or inconsistent information across platforms. Reverse image search if in doubt.
Love bombing: If someone is overly affectionate too quickly, promising love or commitment early on—it could be manipulation.
Fake business/influencer accounts: Some users push followers, products, or ‘collaborations’ instead of conversations.
Financial scams: Never share personal banking details, UPI IDs, or OTPs. Be alert to sob stories asking for money.
Honeytraps and blackmail: Avoid sending intimate photos or videos. Some users use screenshots or recordings for extortion.
Unsolicited links: Don’t click on suspicious links shared through the chat—they may lead to phishing or malware.
Meeting? Always choose a public place and inform a friend about the time and location. Don’t accept rides on a first meeting.
Privacy threats: Hide your exact location if the app allows it. Disable app notifications when at home if privacy is a concern.