J S Chauhan 
Last Monday, the internet suddenly decided to take a vacation. No announcement. No goodbye. No “We’ll be back soon.” Just—poof!
No YouTube. No Google. No Facebook. No Instagram. No Twitter. The whole world entered what we may call The Great Confusion.
And this is what happened.
The Gen Z Meltdown
Gen Z woke up and tapped their phones almost 200 times out of habit. Nothing happened.
They checked the Wi-Fi. Dead.
They checked mobile data. Dead.
They switched the phone off and on. Still dead.
Some threw their phones on the sofa. Some started scratching their heads. A few even asked their parents, “What do we do now?”
The first two hours were pure grief. Symptoms included staring at the ceiling, walking around the house without purpose, and trying to swipe the pages of a real newspaper.
By Day 2, one teenager asked his mother:
“Mom, how do you Google something without Google?”
His mother replied, “I don’t know. Ask your father.”
The boy looked frightened. This was now an emergency.
Politicians Finally Relaxed
Politicians were the happiest people in the country.
No trends. No trolls. No hashtags. No angry comments. No one was posting memes about them.
For the first time in ten years, politicians enjoyed complete peace.
One leader announced, “See! Without the internet, the country is finally united.”
Someone asked, “United for what?”
He replied, “Nobody knows. That is the beauty of it.”
The Prime Minister was also seen smiling. There were no online protests, no viral posts and no social-media arguments.
For one whole week, politicians discovered a magical thing called peace and quiet.
The Strange Case of the Living Room
The biggest miracle happened at home.
Children who had spent years inside their rooms, wearing headphones and playing games, suddenly came out.
They looked around as if they had landed on another planet.
Then they discovered two strange people sitting in the living room.
“Who are they?” one child asked.
His sister replied, “I think they are our parents.”
Parents were shocked to see their children.
Conversations started.
“So, what do you actually do in college?”
“What is your favourite food?”
“Where have you been all these years?”
Board games like Ludo and carrom made a comeback. Cricket grounds became crowded again.
And Dad finally won every argument because nobody could Google facts to prove him wrong.
Offices Became Officially Useless
Offices tried to function for one day.
Then everyone realized that 90% of office work was sending emails, forwarding messages and replying, “Noted.”
Without the internet, the boss had nothing to forward.
So he sent everyone home.
Work from home” officially became “Stare at home.”
Schools Became Schools Again
Schools and colleges suddenly became interesting.
Students actually talked to each other—not on chat, but face to face.
They played kho-kho, cricket, antakshari and made paper planes.
Some students even discovered that their classmates had actual voices.
Crushes increased by 300% because now you had to look at someone to like them.
Teachers and the Antique Treasure Hunt
Teachers entered staff rooms and opened cupboards nobody had touched since 1998.
Inside were real books covered with dust.
One teacher sneezed three times and shouted:
“Oh! So this is how we taught before PowerPoint!”
Another teacher found an old chalk box and treated it like an archaeological discovery.
The Great Return
For one week, we were bored, confused and completely lost.
But strangely, we were also together.
Families talked. Friends met. Children played. Parents became useful again.
Then, on Day 8, the internet finally returned.
Everyone shouted, “Thank God!”
Within five minutes, the children went back to their rooms, parents picked up their phones, offices started forwarding emails, politicians started arguing online, and nobody spoke to anybody.
And the living room became empty again.
The internet had returned.
Unfortunately, human conversation had left.
