Hacking into the ego we guard and pamper
It was the stuff that social influencers dream of. Except that I don’t have enough following to call myself one and a stuffed inbox is not what I dream about. It seemed that due to a technical glitch or a wily hacker’s trick, I had stayed up all night asking my Facebook friends an innocuous question, “Is that you in this video?” The question was followed by a link that asked for an ID and password. And then went blank.
I woke up to a flurry of activity in my inbox; hundreds of comments, some from people who I hadn’t interacted with in years. All of them were complaining that they couldn’t open the link, all of them were eager to see themselves in this mysterious video!
Although I was a little irked by the deluge, I couldn’t help admire the ingenuity of the hacker. It was so much more innovative than the needy, “I am stuck, send me money” or the creepy “Care for adult company?”
The question hit on such a basic emotion, the ego. How humans love to guard and pamper it. For what else could make people believe that there was a video out there which portrayed them, in which they were almost recognisable but not quite so.
In this modern world, where being seen is becoming more important than being heard, it was interesting to note how anyone could use this human trait to obtain crucial personal information. All in all, I thought it was a good sociological exercise. I have to admit though I can’t take credit for this experiment, except that I may have started this avalanche by trying to open the aforementioned link a while back. In all truthfulness, I too, am a fallible human.
The next couple of days were hectic. Filled with explanations and embarrassed ‘virtual’ laughter. Among the well meaning “change your password”, the hind sighted “I knew something was amiss” were some noteworthy comments. There was the self-important, “Why didn’t I get the message, am I not a friend?” and the heart-rending, “Ab hamein pehchanna bhi chodh diya (Have you stopped recognising me now?)”
My offspring saw no humour or humanness in this hustle and were in damage-control mode. I was instructed to change the password of all my accounts. They knew that with the limited RAM space available in my aging brain, I tend to use the same password for multiple accounts. Years ago, in an act of extreme loyalty, I had dedicated all of them to my first dog, Pogo. When his successor Amigo came into our lives, I had asked my son if I should give the new pet his due and change my passwords. He had looked at me sternly and said, “Let him earn it.” Almost the way, decades ago I would insist that my children earn a reward, a treat, an outing!
But now it’s time to massage my pet’s ego. And as I conduct my little ‘change of guard’ ceremony, I wonder, “Is the hacker tuned in?”
I WOKE UP TO A FLURRY OF ACTIVITY IN MY INBOX; HUNDREDS OF COMMENTS, SOME FROM PEOPLE WHO I HADN’T INTERACTED WITH IN YEARS. ALL OF THEM WERE COMPLAINING THAT THEY COULDN’T OPEN THE LINK