When “Auto” goes rogue: A comedy of corrections

Raju Korti
The other day, Karnataka Chief Minister Siddaramaiah had the unenviable misfortune of reading his own obituary -- courtesy of Meta’s Kannada-to-English auto-translation tool. What was meant as a solemn condolence for the late actress B. Saroja Devi became a digital death sentence for the CM himself. One can only imagine his expression upon reading: “Chief Minister Siddaramaiah passed away yesterday…” No wonder he had to clarify that he’s very much alive -- and presumably not browsing tributes to himself over morning "philter kaapi. It is not for nothing that in the Indian context, one who has been mistakenly declared dead, is wished a longer life. Maybe an auto-correction!

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the dark comedy of the “auto” world where your words go on unsanctioned adventures. A friend once tried to text, “You have my full condolences,” and it turned into “You have my full condoms.” If you have ever tried explaining that typo at a funeral, you’ll know why autocorrect can be a career hazard in emotional situations. Another typed “I stand corrected” which, through the cruel whims of predictive text, came out as “I stand erected.” Not the kind of standing ovation anyone asked for.

Inadvertent humour!

Then there is the unforgettable edit of “The buck stops here” that auto-morphed into “The fucks stop here” -- which, to be fair, did make for a more dramatic political slogan. I once typed “Let’s do it at your convenience,” which became “Let’s do it at your convent niece” --raising enough eyebrows to merit a family meeting.

The word auto, which proudly means self, often hijacks the self and delivers it to a land unknown. It’s like your phone believes it knows you better than your own soul. You say Namaste, it types Nastiness. You want to say Mahabharat, it gives you Mahesh Bhatt. You type voting is sacred, it turns into vomiting is scared. Maybe all this automation needs an exorcism, not an update.

By the way, when a phone autocorrects without consent, does it technically become an automobile? Let’s face it: what started as a harmless spell-check genie has become a chaos factory. Autocorrect doesn’t just fix typos. It rewrites your fate. Somewhere between "send nudes" and "send notes," entire friendships have been destroyed, marriages questioned, and in Siddaramaiah’s case, a life prematurely declared over.

Moral of the story? Always check before you hit “send.” Or better still, switch off “auto” and take the wheel yourself before you are misquoted into martyrdom.