We all stand naked

Somewhere between the invention of the wheel and the invention of TikTok dance challenges, humanity took a sharp wrong turn. Today, we live in a world where the internet knows more about you than your family, friends, astrologer, auditor, maid, or even that nosy uncle who interrogates you at weddings. In 2025, you don’t actually use the internet — the internet very proudly uses you. It peels you, seasons you, and serves you naked to advertisers, data brokers, and scammers with an enthusiasm that would shame a pushy insurance agent.

Take birthdays, for instance. Your own family may forget your big day. Your best friend may wish you two days late with a confused “Dude, I thought today was 15th…” even when the calendar screams it is the 17th. But the internet? The internet never forgets. Every shady portal where you once signed in during a moment of weakness — that half-dead e-commerce site where you bought a ₹199 bedsheet, the astrology page you visited during a breakup, the app you deleted because it kept overcharging delivery — all of them magically resurrect on your birthday. At 12:01 AM, your inbox bursts with “Happy Birthday, Dilip! Enjoy 8% off on colon cleanse powder,” or “Celebrate your special day with one free eyebrow threading,” or heartfelt blessings from Venkateshwara Cement Tiles Pvt Ltd. And just when you enter the temple for a late evening darshan, your phone pops an ad : “ Celebrate your Birthday, stay liberated - Durex!” Right in the middle of the Aarthi. 

And just when you’re done being loved to death by corporate affection, in swoops the legendary category of unsolicited porn invitations. You open a news article — just a news article — and immediately three pop-ups start screaming like hyperactive parrots: “Hot singles near you!”, “Aunties want friendship!”, “Click here for companionship ;)”. And the best part? You never asked for companionship. You don’t even know if you want companionship. But the internet, like an overconfident matchmaker, has decided that you are lonely and must be rescued immediately — by likely malware.

Then come the lottery scams. For someone who has never won even a decent bumper lucky draw at a school function, the internet believes you have won at least three international lotteries, two iPhones, and one Mediterranean cruise every single week. All the benevolence the universe denied you, Nigerian princes offer to you with open arms. All they want is your bank account, passport, the OTP you swore you’d never share, and maybe a kidney if you’re feeling generous. The internet is like Santa Claus — if Santa were a criminal mastermind.

But nothing matches the omniscient terror of targeted ads. Search “how to remove a stain from sofa” once, just once, and suddenly the online world thinks your entire personality revolves around sofas. Your feeds explode with sofa cleaners, sofa washers, sofa repairers, sofa astrologers, sofa yoga, maybe even sofas that want companionship. Your gadgets — phone, laptop, TV, maybe even the washing machine — seem to share a secret WhatsApp group called “Dilip Surveillance Squad.” You begin wondering if your devices are listening. Yes. Watching? Probably. Judging? Definitely.

And then comes the peak absurdity: you search for a kalyana mandapam and suddenly the internet starts sending you ads for nursery school admissions. Apparently, if you’re looking for a wedding hall, this means you will soon have a child who must immediately be enrolled in an IB curriculum school costing the GDP of a small nation. You haven’t even booked the hall. You’re not sure the bride or groom is ready. But your imaginary baby must apparently begin Cambridge Early Years now. This is digital astrology — predicting your entire life based on one Google search.

Everywhere you turn, the internet gleefully reminds you that privacy is an ancient myth. Talk about knee pain near your phone and Ayurvedic treatment ads attack. Think about dieting and cake ads chase you down every alley. Check out one mobile phone and the algorithm stalks you for two years as if you committed a crime. Whisper “loan,” and instantly your phone lights up with messages from banks, NBFCs, illegal moneylenders, and one random guy named Ramesh who somehow already knows your CIBIL score.

We feel naked online because — let’s accept it — we are. Every click, every scroll, every pause, every accidental tap is recorded, dissected, and auctioned off to advertisers in countries you didn’t even know existed. Your identity is no longer personal; it’s a buffet platter — and you’re the main course. You can wear the most expensive clothes in the world, but online you are basically running around in broad daylight wearing nothing but a Wi-Fi signal and hope.

This is the digital world we’ve signed up for — a creepy, hilarious, overenthusiastic neighbour who barges into your room, rearranges your closets, asks about your salary, and then says, “Don’t worry, I’m only helping.” We wanted convenience and got chaos. We wanted information and got interrogation. We wanted connection and got surveillance.

“In the digital world, you’re not a user — you’re the product that keeps accidentally clicking ‘Accept All.’”