There is a growing digital divide. Not just about access to technology, but about understanding and literacy. On one side are the "pros": people who speak in code, build websites, and navigate algorithms with ease. On the other hand, the majority view smartphones as miracle gadgets — used for convenience and entertainment. Even teachers often can't explain how they really work.
So I asked myself: if I can explain it to my 80-year-old grandmother, couldn't I explain it to anyone? She lives in a small village. She works as a herbalist. She raises a herd of goats. She's never owned a smartphone. So I sat down with her, and started from the beginning.
Who's watching from the other side of the screen, and why?
My grandma wakes up early, earlier than the sun.
She goes outside to milk her cow.
As always, she takes her old bucket — the old one, with the dent in the side.
She says it works just fine. It still holds the milk.
Grandma didn't notice a spy was peeking over the fence.
He wrote down: "Old bucket." "Wooden stool." "Lives alone." "Has a cow."
One day, a salesman knocked on Grandma's door.
"Would you like a shiny new milk bucket?" he asked.
Grandma looked at her old dented bucket. Then she looked at the new one. It was bright. Smooth. Beautiful.
So she bought it.
The salesman returned with a shiny padded chair.
"This would make milking much easier," he said kindly. Grandma looked at her old wooden stool. It suddenly seemed small and hard.
The company compared Grandma to other customers. Bucket buyers often needed new chairs, too. That pattern became a profit.
A new chair was just the start. Boxes arrived every week. Machines beeped. Screens blinked.
Some things made milking faster. But Grandma felt more tired and overwhelmed than before.
The salesman didn't only earn money from selling Grandma the chair. He also learned things about her: what she buys, when she buys, what she might want next.
Soon, other companies wanted that information too. Every click, purchase, and interaction helps fuel an economy built on watching.
The gadgets kept Grandma busy. Grandma's granddaughter used to visit every weekend.
But now she said, "Grandma has all those smart machines. She probably doesn't need my help anymore." The house became quiet.
But one afternoon, her granddaughter came back — not to check on the machines, but just to sit with her.
They talked. They laughed. The cow lay quietly in the grass. No screen was watching this part.
What the story leaves behind.