Representative image for password.
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A relative passed away recently. His family stumbled upon his little black book with all his passwords. The relieving discovery not only gave them access to his bank accounts; it also gave them a generous peep into the man’s likes and peeves. Names of long-gone neighbours and dead relatives were all preserved there as passwords in happy combinations of “123s” and “XYZs”. The open sesame for his bank accounts had “Rusty” in them—their beloved Labrador dead for 30 years now. His BESCOM password was an interesting “shocksavior123”.
I recently read somewhere that some have “password” as their password. Seriously? They might as well have used a neon sign that yells out, “Come on in! The banquet is open!”, I thought. But then, what about those dreaded password requirements? The uppercase, lowercase, number, and special character conundrums—it’s as if the internet gods would be happy to make it impossible for us to remember our own passwords. And I am not even thinking of the “password must be at least 8,763 characters long” rule or the “you can’t use your last three passwords” mandate.
Who came up with the idea of passwords anyway, I wonder? Was it some wicked geek sitting in a dark room, chuckling to himself as he coded new ways to torment internet users? I can just picture him scratching a scraggly beard and laughing maniacally, even as I am struggling to remember if my password was “sundar123” or “123sundar”.
Like it or not, passwords are power, and remembering them? That is absolute power!
Of course, when I inevitably forget my passwords, I am pushed through the whole rigmarole of resetting them. Whoever frames these security questions that I am forced to answer to retrieve my precious passwords is a mystery. “What was your first-grade teacher’s favourite colour?” Excuse me, if I could remember that, I wouldn’t have had to reset my password at all! And finally, when I am on the verge of victory, Google turns wicked and wants me to find “traffic lights” on a grid with pictures of just fire hydrants in it.
It’s indeed a cruel memory game where the stakes are high and the prize is access to my favourite food delivery menus and online shopping carts. They are simple reminders that even in an age of complex tech marvels, I am still a creature of flesh and bone, prone to those occasional memory mishaps. These days, when I struggle to conjure up that secure yet memorable password, I simply take a deep breath, summon my inner creativity, and remember that even in the realm of cybersecurity, a little humour can go a long way. Well, maybe I just won’t make it “password123.”