The Beat Report: I went to a stranger meetup, so you don’t have to (but you might want to)

In The Beat Report, Mint's journalists bring you unique perspectives on their beats, breaking down new trends and developments, and sharing behind-the-scenes stories from their reporting.

Dear reader,

On a chilly (for Chennai!) Saturday evening in December, I found myself in an apartment overlooking a lake off Old Mahabalipuram Road (OMR), the tech hub of the city, surrounded by strangers.

Now, I am not the kind of person who willingly gives up a rare free Saturday evening to spend it with people I have never met. Yet, there I was. For journalism. And, yes, also for you.

A few months ago, I had been chatting with a friend in Bengaluru. Shockingly, he was cooking. When I expressed my disbelief, he explained that he was hosting a stranger meetup at his home that evening. Naturally, I had questions. That was how I first heard of Perspectives, started by Himanshu Gupta and Raghav Kohli, which organizes structured, thematic conversations among carefully curated groups of strangers who actually pay to attend.

After that, something curious happened.

Maybe it was frequency illusion, or what psychologists call the red car syndrome, where once you notice something, you start seeing it everywhere. Suddenly, I kept hearing about stranger meetups. A friend in Chennai organized one where women spent an afternoon making pottery together. Another attended a supper club hosted at a stranger’s home.

So, I turned to my trusty source for discovering new stuff: Instagram.

What I found were startups and communities built around one deceptively simple idea, helping urban Indians feel less alone. The formats varied. Some were regular hangouts, except the group was made up of strangers instead of friends. Others were centred around food, travel, board games or conversation. But the intent was consistent.

Many of us do not live in the same cities where we grew up. Or where we went to school or college. We are a population of footloose Indians navigating cities away from family and long-standing friendships. Add to that the uncomfortable truth that making friends as adults is hard. You cannot exactly walk up to someone in a café and say, “Hi, want to be friends?” Work friendships are complicated. Remote work does not help.

The irony, of course, is that we live in an age of constant communication. Thanks to social media, we know what our friends, acquaintances, and favourite celebrities are doing in real time. And yet, many people feel lonelier than ever.

Enter stranger meetups.

Now, cities have always had book clubs and hobby groups. At the other extreme are dating mixers and singles events. What sets these new initiatives apart is that they are paid, the groups are curated and intentionally small, the sessions are structured, and the focus is on friendship and connection, not dating.

Somewhere along the way, I realized this was not just a trend. An economy was taking shape around loneliness, and I had a story to tell.

But before committing to the story, I knew I had to attend a stranger meetup.

I found Third Space by Losh & Krish on Instagram. Organized by the gregarious Krishna Rubiga and the quieter Loshini Gnanasekar, this Chennai-based meetup promised food, games, and conversation. I signed up for their games-and-mini-bites evening. And that is how I ended up in Loshini’s apartment off OMR that December night.

So, what is it actually like to attend a stranger meetup? Surprisingly warm. And easy.

I will admit that I arrived in full journalist mode. But as the evening unfolded, something shifted. We moved from Uno to Guess the Word to Taboo. We ate mini pizzas, masala boiled eggs wrapped in rice paper, chickpea chaat, and a steamed-and-stir-fried sweet potato dish. And slowly, without effort, people relaxed. Conversations deepened. From work and life updates, we moved to world events, personal anxieties, and gentle self-deprecation. There was teasing, laughter and the easy comfort of people who did not feel the need to perform.

While Loshini handled the food, Krishna quietly orchestrated the room. When conversations dipped, she swooped in with a joke or suggested a new game. No awkward silences. No pressure.

Why had people shown up?

One woman had moved back to Chennai after nearly a decade abroad and found that the city, and her friendships, had changed. A professional baker realized most of her friends were married with families, leaving her with empty weekends. Someone else simply wanted a few hours away from family responsibilities in a judgment-free space. One person was there for the love of board games.

As for me, I had an epiphany. I was exactly the kind of person these meetups were designed for. Though I had studied in Chennai, most of my friends don’t live here. Those who do are as busy, and our plans are endlessly rescheduled. As a journalist, I talk to people constantly, but that’s part of my job. Outside of work, life revolved around family. The three hours I spent at Third Space felt light, low-effort, and unexpectedly restorative.

Safety, too, was clearly thought through. Krishna and Loshini vet participants, asking for LinkedIn or Instagram profiles and, at times, even government-issued ID. That matters when you are inviting strangers into your home.

That evening also told me that I had a story.

I found communities through Instagram, Reddit, and LinkedIn. I spoke to founders who turned their personal need for connection into carefully designed businesses. They talked about how seriously they take safety, how quickly they shut down creepiness, and how deeply fulfilling it feels when friendships extend beyond the meetup.

But the most powerful conversations were with participants.

There was a 47-year-old jeweller from Jaipur whose 20-year-old daughter conducted an assessment call with the founders of The Bonding Boulevard, which runs residential retreats for small, curated groups, just to check they were legitimate. There was Siri in Hyderabad, who ensures she spends at least 15 minutes a day talking to one of the over 10 close friends she made on Frnd, an audio-first platform built around conversations in Indian languages. And there was Riddhi, a 32-year-old divorcee in Mumbai, who has attended over 100 house parties enabled by Playace.

“Most of my friends are married. Half have kids,” she told me. “There is no one to hang out with on weekends. How long can you sit alone at home? It is sad to be lonely in a bustling city. I would rather go out, meet new people and have fun.”

Which brings me to the thought I keep returning to.

How good is it that there are people and communities trying to solve this quietly, intentionally, and safely? That connection is being designed with care. That showing up, even awkwardly at first, is being made easier.

Loneliness may be a deeply personal experience. But perhaps the fact that so many of us are paying to feel less alone says something larger about how urban life has changed, and what we are now searching for.

Do consider subscribing to Mint Premium to be able to access the journalism that my colleagues and I do every day. My personal coupon code MINT30 can get you a 30% discount (applicable only on Mint or Mint+WSJ subscriptions for one or two years).