
SPARK 4.0: Revolutionizing Ayurveda Through Resear
The SPARK 4.0 initiative is a transformative program aimed at promoting Ayurveda research and innova
There was a time when logging onto the internet meant curiosity and exploration. Every click felt like opening a door to something new—a world of information waiting to be discovered. But somewhere along the way, that world changed. What began as a network to connect minds has turned into a labyrinth of algorithms, outrage, and endless scrolls that keep us hooked but rarely fulfilled. Doomscrolling has become the default, and our relationship with the web is more toxic than ever.
The internet has evolved into an ecosystem driven by attention, not intention. Platforms are built to make us stay, not to help us learn. It’s no longer about what we seek; it’s about what seeks us. This shift has altered how we consume news, interact with others, and even perceive reality itself. The result is a paradox—more connected than ever, yet emotionally and intellectually drained.
The term doomscrolling entered the mainstream vocabulary around 2020, during the pandemic lockdowns. People trapped indoors turned to their screens for information and solace, only to spiral into a cycle of anxiety. Every swipe brought new disasters—virus outbreaks, political unrest, economic collapses—and yet, we couldn’t look away.
Doomscrolling taps into our brain’s primal need to stay alert to danger. It’s an evolutionary response hijacked by the modern media ecosystem. The more negativity we consume, the more we crave updates, and the deeper we fall into the loop. News feeds are designed to exploit this. Outrage drives clicks, and clicks drive profit. It’s no coincidence that social media algorithms prioritize divisive content—it keeps engagement high and emotions raw.
But beyond the psychological toll, doomscrolling reshapes our perception of the world. When every headline screams catastrophe, it becomes easy to believe the world is collapsing. In truth, progress continues quietly in the background—scientific breakthroughs, acts of kindness, policy reforms—but these rarely trend.
Algorithms are invisible architects of our online lives. Every post we see, every ad we click, and every topic we engage with feeds a system that refines what it shows us next. Over time, this creates echo chambers where our beliefs are reinforced, not challenged. We end up living in personalized digital realities—each one slightly distorted.
Platforms like TikTok, X, Instagram, and YouTube thrive on keeping users engaged for as long as possible. The content doesn’t have to be true, just attention-grabbing. This constant bombardment reshapes our attention span, training us to seek instant gratification and shallow bursts of stimulation. The deeper internet—the one of forums, blogs, and long-form discussions—fades into the background.
This shift from depth to speed has consequences. Thoughtful reading gives way to skimming. Complex issues are reduced to memes and hot takes. The algorithm doesn’t reward nuance; it rewards noise. And that’s the internet we live in today—a stage for performance, not conversation.
It’s ironic that a tool meant to connect the world often leaves us feeling lonelier. Studies show that heavy social media use correlates with higher levels of anxiety, depression, and low self-esteem. The constant comparison to curated lives on our screens fuels a quiet dissatisfaction with our own.
The “always-on” culture also blurs the line between information and overload. We wake up to notifications, scroll through bad news before breakfast, and fall asleep to the glow of screens. The human brain, designed for survival in nature, now drowns in a digital flood it can’t escape from.
Even online empathy has declined. Outrage and sarcasm dominate discourse because anger spreads faster than compassion. The more polarized the world feels, the more fragmented the internet becomes. What once connected us is now dividing us.
Amid this chaos, a quiet digital renaissance is emerging. People are rediscovering the value of slow, intentional browsing—substack newsletters, thoughtful podcasts, and online communities rooted in respect rather than rage. The concept of digital minimalism—choosing quality over quantity—has gained traction.
The internet we want isn’t one without technology; it’s one with boundaries. It’s about reclaiming our time, our focus, and our humanity. It’s about transparency in algorithms, ethical design that values well-being over engagement, and content ecosystems that prioritize knowledge over virality.
Some initiatives are already paving the way. Independent media platforms, ad-free social networks, and AI tools that promote balance rather than addiction show that change is possible. But it requires collective awareness. Users must demand better, and creators must build with conscience.
The future of the internet depends not just on corporations or policymakers, but on users like us. Awareness is the first step—understanding how digital platforms shape behavior and setting boundaries to protect mental clarity.
Simple practices can make a difference: turning off push notifications, setting screen limits, curating feeds intentionally, and engaging with content that educates instead of agitates. It’s about making conscious choices in a world designed to steal your attention.
Education also plays a key role. Digital literacy must evolve beyond typing and browsing; it should include understanding bias, data privacy, and emotional health online. The goal isn’t to disconnect, but to reconnect with purpose.
Reimagining the internet means rethinking our relationship with it. We need platforms that reward creativity and learning, not outrage and distraction. We need users who value authenticity over aesthetics. And we need an ecosystem that treats attention as a human right, not a currency.
The web has always been a reflection of humanity—its flaws, brilliance, and contradictions. If we can reclaim empathy, curiosity, and truth online, we can shape a digital world worth inhabiting. The question isn’t whether the internet is broken—it’s whether we’re willing to fix it.
This article is intended for informational and editorial purposes only. The opinions expressed reflect general observations about digital culture and are not directed toward any specific individual or platform.