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By:

Sagari Gupta

24 March 2026 at 7:46:04 pm

India’s Digital Footprint Is No Longer a Choice

India’s digital economy has made personal data unavoidable. The harder task is ensuring that citizens retain meaningful control over the trails they leave behind. In August this year, the Unified Payments Interface processed about 24.5 billion transactions worth nearly Rs. 29.8 lakh crore, according to data from the National Payments Corporation of India. Aadhaar’s authentication system recorded more than 17,759 crore transactions in FY2025-26, according to UIDAI’s dashboard. Behind these...

India’s Digital Footprint Is No Longer a Choice

India’s digital economy has made personal data unavoidable. The harder task is ensuring that citizens retain meaningful control over the trails they leave behind. In August this year, the Unified Payments Interface processed about 24.5 billion transactions worth nearly Rs. 29.8 lakh crore, according to data from the National Payments Corporation of India. Aadhaar’s authentication system recorded more than 17,759 crore transactions in FY2025-26, according to UIDAI’s dashboard. Behind these numbers sits a question Indian policy has yet to answer clearly: what happens to the data these systems generate, and who controls it? The most pressing privacy question in India today is not what people choose to post online. It is what they are required to leave behind to take part in everyday life. A UPI payment leaves a transaction trail. A loan application generates financial records. A food-delivery order records your address and buying habits. A cab ride shows where you work and when you travel. A social-media post adds something more personal: what you think, like, fear or believe. Individually, these fragments look harmless. Together, they can describe a remarkably detailed version of a person’s life. Orwellian Society This is not digital technology invading a society that was once offline. It is a society in which digital systems have become part of ordinary economic life. For a software professional, deleting social media may be an inconvenience. For a domestic worker paid through a bank account, a student applying for a scholarship or a pensioner completing an identity check, opting out is not a workable choice. Consider an ordinary Saturday. You check the weather, search for a medicine, order groceries, pay through UPI, book a cab and make an online purchase. No single action tells a complete story. Together, they reveal your location, spending patterns, household composition, health concerns and daily routine. Artificial intelligence changes what this data means, because machine systems are increasingly good at connecting fragments that once sat in separate databases. The concern is not that an AI system knows what you searched for once. It is that automated systems can identify patterns across millions of ordinary interactions that, taken individually, meant little. The problem is also one of asymmetry. The individual usually sees only the service being offered; the organisation sees the accumulated information behind it. A single transaction may be trivial, but millions of such transactions can become commercially or administratively valuable when linked and analysed. That makes data different from many other commodities. Once information has been copied, combined or used to build a profile, the original individual may have little visibility into its subsequent journey. The question is therefore not simply who collected the data, but who can combine it, infer from it and act upon those inferences. The public debate on AI scraping is often too simple. Not every online interaction is pulled into an AI model, and not every company holds every piece of a person’s digital life. Collection depends on the platform, its policies, its technical architecture and the applicable law. But the gap is real: the capacity to analyse vast volumes of information is growing faster than most people’s understanding of where their information goes. A PwC India survey found that 56 percent of consumers did not know their rights over personal data, while 70 percent said privacy policies were difficult to understand. When a person does not understand what they are agreeing to, consent risks becoming a formality rather than a genuine choice. There is also a distinction between privacy and secrecy. A person may have nothing embarrassing to hide and still reasonably object to a detailed record of their movements, purchases and associations being assembled without meaningful control. Privacy is less about having something to conceal than about retaining a degree of agency over one’s own life. A Right on Paper The Digital Personal Data Protection Act, 2023 gives individuals rights to correct and erase personal data, subject to the conditions and exceptions set out in the law. The government notified the Digital Personal Data Protection Rules in November 2025, with provisions coming into force in phases. On paper, this changes the relationship between citizens and the organisations that hold their data. In practice, most people do not think in terms of “Data Principal” or “Data Fiduciary” when an app asks for access to their information. They think about whether the app will still work if they say no. That is the test that decides whether a data-protection law functions on the ground. A small retailer selling online may not fully understand the compliance requirements. An elderly customer faces a long privacy notice before completing a routine transaction. A young user accepts an app’s terms because refusing means losing access to a service that friends or employers already use. A right that exists on paper does not guarantee a person’s ability to exercise it. The ability to protect personal data is not distributed evenly. A high-income professional can pay for privacy-focused software, encrypted communication and legal advice. Someone on a smaller income uses whichever free application is available. The same divide applies to time. A person who understands technology can adjust permissions and request deletion. A person working two jobs may accept an app’s terms because reading a 30-page privacy notice at 11 p.m. is hardly realistic. This produces an uneven outcome. The people with the strongest ability to protect their data are often the same people with the clearest sense of what is being collected. Those with fewer resources tend to generate more data while having less power to question how it is used. This is why treating “going offline” as the solution has limited use in India. Cash does not cover every digital transaction. A basic phone does not replace every digital service. Deleting a social-media account does not erase bank or government records. Refusing every digital platform carries its own economic cost, particularly for people who depend on digital payments for income. The realistic goal is not disappearance. It is control. India’s digital economy should not be measured only by payment volumes or platform reach. It should also be measured by whether people understand the exchange taking place underneath that convenience. Regulators should track whether a person can find out what a service holds about them, correct inaccurate information, delete data that is no longer necessary and withdraw consent without clicking through several layers of settings. The sharper test is what happens when data collected for one purpose becomes useful for another. Rising Stakes The stakes will rise as India’s digital infrastructure becomes more deeply embedded in public services, finance and commerce. The country has built impressive systems for moving money and verifying identity; the next challenge is to build equally credible systems for limiting what can be inferred from the information those systems generate. The next phase of India’s privacy debate should move past the idea of digital disappearance, because most people have no practical way to leave the systems through which they earn, pay, borrow, travel, study and access public services. The more useful task is making those systems answerable to the people whose lives they record. The measure of digital freedom is not whether a citizen leaves no trace. It is whether they have a say over where that trace leads. (The writer is an independent public policy researcher. Views personal.)

The Early Whisper

Writer: C.S. Krishnamurthy
C.S. Krishnamurthy
Apr 22
3 min read

While Vaibhav Suryavanshi’s precocious rise stirs wonder, it tests how gently a nation can nurture its next cricketing hope.

What does a 15-year-old carry in his kit bag. A bat, a pair of gloves, perhaps a water bottle. Or something heavier: dreams, pressure, and the quiet weight of a nation that never stops searching for its next cricketing marvel. In the case of Vaibhav Suryavanshi, the question lingers with unusual urgency.


At first glance, he appears like any other teenager. Slight frame, unassuming presence, a face that still belongs more in a classroom than under floodlights. But the transformation begins the moment he takes guard. The boy recedes. The cricketer emerges.


Quiet Beginnings

India’s cricket story has always begun in modest spaces. Dusty gullies, improvised pitches, borrowed bats. It is here that instinct is born before it is refined. For Vaibhav, the journey seems to echo that familiar rhythm. Yet, not every promising child finds a pathway. In a country where millions play, only a fraction enter structured systems, and fewer still rise to national attention. And that is what makes his ascent noteworthy.


There is something poetic about his stroke play. Vaibhav’s bat does not merely strike the ball, it appears to script intent. Observers have noted his balance at the crease, a still head, measured footwork, and a rare composure that defies his age. He blends aggression with restraint, suggesting not just flair but awareness. It is this equilibrium that often separates promise from longevity.


His early exploits in the Indian Premier League have amplified the intrigue. A fearless 78 off 26 balls against RCB, audacious strokes against seasoned bowlers, and the confidence to launch established names like Jasprit Bumrah and Josh Hazlewood have signalled not just talent, but temperament.


Rising Expectations

At fifteen, most teenagers negotiate homework and hobbies. Vaibhav negotiates expectations. A good innings is no longer a delight, it becomes a benchmark. A failure is not merely a bad day, it invites scrutiny.


Voices from the cricketing world have been quick to respond. Mohammad Kaif and Piyush Chawla see in him a match-winner ready for bigger stages. Ravichandran Ashwin, while acknowledging the brilliance, has urged patience, reminding us that time is as crucial as talent. Even global icons like AB de Villiers have described him as mature beyond his years.


This divergence of opinion reflects a larger dilemma. How early is too early? Sports psychology offers a telling insight. Managed pressure can elevate performance significantly. Excessive expectation, however, can erode clarity and decision-making. For a young mind, this balance is delicate.


And then there is the modern amplifier in form of social media and instant recognition. Overnight, a teenager becomes a public figure.


Yet, glimpses of Suryavanshi’s innocence persist. A fleeting smile after a boundary. A momentary glance skyward after dismissal. These are reminders that beneath the rising star, there is still a boy learning his way.


Beyond the boundary, the ecosystem of coaches, family and mentors form the invisible scaffolding. Their role is not merely to train, but to protect and ensure that his growth is steady.


India’s cricket infrastructure has evolved significantly. Academies, leagues, and scouting systems have widened access. But opportunity remains uneven. For every Vaibhav who rises, countless others remain unseen.


So, what defines success for someone who has not yet finished school? Is it numbers on a scoreboard? A rising strike rate?


It all boils down to an ability to recover after failure. The discipline to remain grounded amid applause.


Vaibhav stands at a fascinating intersection of carefree gully cricket and structured professionalism. Between adolescence and accountability. Between playing for joy and performing for validation.


His journey, therefore, is a study in contrasts. It is a reflection of how early brilliance meets evolving responsibility.


The future will bring its own tests. His short bursts of brilliance will need to evolve into sustained performance. Suryavanshi’s promise and his prodigious talent will have to coexist with endurance.


Yet, perhaps the most important question lies elsewhere. Can we allow him time?


For all his runs that he will record, Vaibhav’s real story will unfold in quieter spaces – whether the unseen practice session or the many moments of doubt that an ace sportsman is besotted with.


At this stage, perhaps the most important thing India can offer young Vaibhav Suryavanshi is not heightened expectation or frenzied adulation, but time.


(The writer is a retired banker and author. Views personal.)

 


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