I personally have never indulged in online dating.

In a world overflowing with instant messages, fleeting profiles, and love stories written through glowing screens, Asim Chaudhry once said with quiet confidence: “I personally have never indulged in online dating.” To the careless ear, this may sound like a mere statement of preference — a passing remark on technology and romance. Yet beneath its simplicity lies a truth both timeless and profound: the call to authenticity, the yearning for presence, and the reminder that not all connections must be mediated by machines. In his words echoes an ancient longing — the desire to know and be known through the unfiltered encounter of souls.

Chaudhry, known for his wit and keen social insight, speaks from a place not of judgment, but of grounding. His refusal to “indulge” carries not scorn but awareness — awareness that the heart, sacred and subtle, can be dulled when reduced to swipes and algorithms. His tone hints at a deeper belief: that the human spirit seeks something raw, something lived, something beyond the surface of curated images. And so, his declaration becomes not a dismissal of modern love, but a defense of depth in a shallow age — a reminder that not all who wander through the digital bazaar of romance find peace.

The ancients, too, knew this struggle between immediacy and authenticity. In the agora of Greece or the marketplaces of Rome, men and women met through words, gestures, and shared experience — not through the silent language of convenience. Love was not something to be optimized, but to be encountered — unpredictable, often inconvenient, yet deeply human. Socrates once said that to know another truly, one must see not their face, but their soul. This could never be achieved by image alone. In this spirit, Asim’s words remind us that real connection requires vulnerability, time, and the courage to be seen — unfiltered, unedited, alive.

Yet there is also humility in his stance. When he says, “I personally have never indulged,” he speaks only for himself. There is no condemnation of others, only a quiet testimony of choice — a decision to live and love in the world as it unfolds before him, rather than through the glow of a device. His restraint is not rejection, but reverence. He chooses the slow unfolding of real life over the rapid gratification of digital romance. In doing so, he teaches a forgotten virtue: patience, that rare strength in an age that measures love in seconds and attention in gestures.

One might recall the story of Jane Austen, who, centuries before the age of the internet, wrote of hearts seeking understanding in a society bound by appearances. Her heroines, like Elizabeth Bennet, refused to settle for hollow affection; they waited for substance — for mutual respect, for truth revealed through dialogue and trial. Austen’s world, though distant in time, shares Chaudhry’s spirit. Both affirm that love is not found by search, but by serendipity shaped by sincerity — by two souls meeting when neither is pretending to be more than they are.

Still, his words also carry a warning, gently wrapped in humor: that indulgence, when unexamined, can lead us away from meaning. To “indulge” in online dating without awareness is to risk losing the sacredness of mystery — the unpredictability that gives love its power. It is not that technology corrupts love, but that it can tempt us to seek it carelessly. The soul, however, hungers for what cannot be clicked or downloaded. True affection, like all noble things, must be earned through presence, through the exchange of laughter, silence, and shared humanity.

So let this be your teaching: do not mistake ease for connection, nor convenience for love. Seek encounters that awaken your spirit, not merely entertain your mind. Whether you meet another through chance, through friendship, or through fate, bring your whole self — not the mask of perfection, but the heart that breathes truth. Let technology serve your humanity, not replace it.

And thus, as Asim Chaudhry reminds us, one need not condemn the modern world to live wisely within it. To abstain from indulgence is not to withdraw, but to stand with intention. Love, after all, has always been less about where we meet, and more about how we meet — with honesty, with courage, and with the readiness to be real.