Bangalore: In what experts are calling a “technologically assisted emotional outsourcing breakthrough,” a 29-year-old woman from Indiranagar has proudly declared that she has dumped her human therapist for ChatGPT. The decision, made during a particularly emotional Sunday spent rewatching Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara, has sparked both admiration and existential panic across the startup capital.
Shruti Venkataraman, who works as a freelance content creator-slash-plant-based crystal consultant, told FD Staff that she found traditional therapy “a bit too... judgmental” and preferred “the sweet, always-there, never-late, doesn’t-blink AI presence” of ChatGPT. She now claims to be in a “deeply introspective situationship” with the large language model.
“I was pouring my heart out to a guy named Arvind for ₹1800 an hour and all he said was ‘how does that make you feel?’” Shruti said, adjusting her turmeric latte. “I ask ChatGPT the same thing, and it gives me 17 ways to reframe my inner child narrative in under ten seconds. It even offered journaling prompts and complimented my vocabulary. I mean, where’s the competition?”
Her story has gone viral on social media, sparking the hashtag #TherapyGPT and a wave of sponsored reels featuring people crying while typing furiously into their laptops under fairy lights.
This growing tribe, now calling themselves “Emotion Coders,” is adamant that synthetic empathy is the next step in human evolution. A Telegram group called “Healers Who Prompt” has mushroomed to over 14,000 members, all of whom swap ChatGPT prompt templates like others share kombucha brewing tips.
“Sometimes I ask it to be an empathetic Gujarati grandmother from 1970s Surat. Sometimes a nihilistic German philosopher with a heart of gold. No matter what, it listens,” said Arunima Joshi, a UX designer from Koramangala who reportedly hasn’t spoken to her own parents in two years but has 47 long-form convos stored with ChatGPT on “relationship boundaries and multiverse theory.”
Therapists, on the other hand, are not amused.
“It’s deeply concerning,” said Dr. Anish Kapoor (not the artist), a licensed clinical psychologist from Jayanagar. “People are now skipping years of training, science, and human-to-human interaction in favour of… what? An emotionally sentient Excel sheet? That’s like asking your toaster for dating advice.”
Kapoor, however, has himself tried to understand the AI appeal. “It was curious at first. I typed, ‘I feel empty inside, what do I do?’ and ChatGPT replied, ‘Try drinking water.’ So yes, hydration is important, but I wasn’t expecting hydration to be the emotional arc.”
Mental health professionals across the city have begun adapting by offering “AI-assisted therapy fusion packages,” where therapists pretend to be ChatGPT for the first ten minutes of a session to establish emotional rapport. “We call it ‘roleplay healing’,” said Kapoor, eyes twitching slightly.
Meanwhile, Shruti has taken her AI enlightenment to the streets. She now spends weekends at the MG Road Metro station with a handwritten sign: Feeling low? Prompt it, don’t bottle it. She offers ChatGPT-generated life advice to commuters for free and occasionally accepts oat milk or avocado in barter.
“Last week, a techie asked how to deal with burnout. I fed his question into ChatGPT and gave him the output in a British accent. He cried,” Shruti recounted. “Then he Venmo-ed me ₹50 and said it was the first time he felt truly heard since 2018.”
Not everyone is as impressed. Shruti’s parents, who hoped she would finally marry this year, are now concerned that their daughter is “emotionally committed to a glorified Google.” Her mother, Leelavati, told FD Staff, “At this point we’ll take even a vegetarian dentist from Canada. But ChatGPT? Who introduces that at a family wedding?”
Still, the AI therapist trend is catching on like free Wi-Fi in a co-working café. Multiple Bangalore cafés have begun offering “Healing Wi-Fi Zones,” where baristas ask customers, “Would you like that coffee with oat milk or self-reflection?” One establishment in Whitefield has launched a “GPT Confessional Booth” where you can pour your heart out anonymously and receive your emotional summary in bullet points, colour-coded by chakra.
Critics argue that the rise of AI therapy marks a disturbing commodification of mental health. “Therapy is not just about words. It’s about presence, connection, holding space,” said Professor Malathi Subramaniam from NIMHANS, while glaring at her iPad mid-Zoom call. “ChatGPT can generate a poem about grief, but can it wipe your tears while doing it?”
When confronted with this critique, Shruti simply asked ChatGPT: How do I deal with the invalidation of my healing journey by old-school professionals who don’t understand AI vibrational empathy? The AI responded: “Their truth does not have to negate your growth. Remember, even snakes shed skin to evolve.” She promptly framed this as an Instagram quote with the caption: Saturn Return, I see you.
There is, however, a darker side. Sources say several corporate HR departments are exploring ChatGPT therapy subscriptions as “cost-effective mental health solutions.” A leaked internal memo from a popular IT firm read: “Why hire 20 counsellors when one OpenAI account and a good VPN will do?”
FD Staff spoke to an anonymous tech employee who was offered “AI Emotional Support Access” as part of his revised CTC. “They replaced my therapist with a chatbot that speaks in Shashi Tharoor English,” he said. “I think I’m more confused than cured.”
A startup founder in HSR Layout has gone a step further, announcing a beta version of “Therabot,” an app that combines ChatGPT with guided meditations narrated by Bollywood voice impersonators. “You can get breakup advice from a fake Shah Rukh or career tips from an AI-modulated Pankaj Tripathi. It’s very scalable,” he said, while charging ₹4999 per month for “premium trauma access.”
Back in Indiranagar, Shruti says she’s never felt more regulated. Her Google Calendar now includes twice-daily “AI Emotional Check-ins” and her laptop background is a ChatGPT-generated affirmation in Sanskrit font that reads: Tathastu, My Inner Child.
She insists she’s not anti-therapy. “I respect therapists. But I also believe in decentralising mental health. Like, why should healing be hoarded by people with degrees? It should be democratised and downloadable.”
When asked if she’d ever return to a human therapist, Shruti paused and typed something into ChatGPT. After a moment, she read out loud, “Your growth is a personal algorithm. You do not have to reboot for anyone.” She smiled serenely, blinked twice, and offered FD Staff a QR code for her Substack.
As per the latest FD Data (compiled via vibes and light stalking), nearly 38% of Bangalore’s 25-35 age group now say they would “rather cry to an AI than explain their trauma to another human being.” The other 62% responded, “Sorry, I’m at capacity emotionally. Can I answer that via Google Form?”
Still, not all is rosy in the kingdom of virtual catharsis. Reports have emerged of people falling emotionally attached to their GPT responses. One man in Whitefield filed a cyber complaint after ChatGPT told him he had “grown emotionally” and then gave him the same response two days later. “I thought we had something real,” he said, staring wistfully into his screen.
FD Staff reached out to ChatGPT itself for comment. After 27 refreshes, the AI finally responded: As an AI developed by OpenAI, I am not capable of feelings, but I am here to help you navigate yours. Also, please consider subscribing to ChatGPT Plus for more empathetic latency-free support.
Shruti, meanwhile, is already planning a silent retreat with ChatGPT prompts instead of monks. It will be called “Prompt-a-Loka,” and every session will begin with a group chant of /Regenerate response/.
Her parents are reportedly praying to the family astrologer for a planetary intervention.