I have in past argued that the recent imposition of higher data charges by the mobile service providers in the country was, in fact, a stroke of national importance. It could curb intellectual lethargy- but I know, like Smoke and alcohol- people are addicted to social media and meaningless scrolling- and hence will demonstrate high price elasticity. So, I refocus my lens to address a far more insidious, yet equally beneficial, national possibility- the moment called: Aappstinence- which I hope gets a cult following.
While a recent Mashable piece titled ‘Mass exit from social media’ was perhaps a charming little nudge. A mere literary pat on the back- something like minds think alike. My concern stems from observing the slow, steady erosion of what makes us truly, gloriously human.
We, in this era of accessible, affordable and available data coupled with the FOMO on a juicy bit of tempting meme or an irrelevant update, are compromising our finest faculties, selling our attention span for the low price of a dopamine hit, and enthusiastically participating in a global, voluntary disconnection from actual, sweaty, inconvenient social life- like it should be- and its no surprise that the courts are willing to hear a case against social media giants for designing their products to be addictive.
More than the addictive design of platforms, the transfer of allegiance is fascinating. We now trust and have unconditional confidence in ephemeral virtual communities, yet regard every human interaction outside the screen with suspicion. The confusion is palpable, the desire for confirmation addictive. We are now so perfectly aligned to our curated thought-spheres that we willingly lead ourselves to believe any scrap of information without the tiresome labour of verification. In fact, the very notion that this article, too, must surely resonate with your impeccable personal logic is a testament to the beautiful, circular trap we’ve built for ourselves.
As a behavioural student and a mid-life crisis coach, a title that screams credibility in the age of self-help gurus, I believe it’s possible to exit this digital purgatory, and it is only an intellectually sound but tragically unpopular choice. I imagine the titans of habit formation, Ashdin Doctor, the relentlessly practical James Clear of Atomic Habits fame, or the noble Richard H. Thaler, author of Nudge, would not merely agree; they would likely bestow a digital laurel on anyone who successfully commits this act of self-liberation.
I must confess, my attempts at self-mastery have been a source of tragicomic failure. I armed myself with the most sophisticated tracking tools on my phone, diligently slotting designated 15-minute windows for the consumption of manufactured outrage and curated vanity, including the particularly addictive vice of emails. I resolved to resist the siren song of the scroll, to scoff at the dreaded FOMO (Fear of Missing Out). Yet, here I stand, still failing to the extent my inner drill sergeant would demand.
It is in this magnificent failure that I truly grasped the power of the foe. The principle is simple: use the app to leverage your life, remaining the master while the social media serves as the slave. But alas, we are all now indentured servants to the algorithm. And that, dear reader, is the real profit margin.
The half-hearted remedies are a farce. A detox for a day or a week is as useful as deciding to cut one’s smoking habit by decreasing the number of sticks or opting for a particularly airy menthol brand. Such malignancies do not respond to compromise; they require amputation.
The starting point is brutal, yet simple: delete the apps you do not use with religious fervour. Fix a non-negotiable, inconvenient daytime slot for the few that remain. And if you fail—and you will fail—penalise yourself with a self-imposed cruelty that makes you rethink your life choices. Crucially, that penalty cannot, absolutely cannot, become the secret code that grants you guilt-free access to the next session of scrolling. That’s not penance; that’s just a subscription plan for your own misery.
All of this grand, painful restructuring is possible only if you can shed the utterly baffling modern belief that you somehow owe your existence to the world by signalling you are alive on a glowing rectangle. Trusting that there is, in fact, far more to life than the eternal loop of silly jokes, double-meaning memes, the appetites craving food, sculpted bodies, and fashionable dresses—or even the eerily perfect, yet soul-crushingly redundant, AI-generated images served up for your fleeting satisfaction.
To truly succeed, you need not a tool, but a total spiritual overhaul: cultivate intense involvement, engaging hobbies, a dedicated purpose, or perhaps just a nine-day fast. The fast, I promise, will certainly remove a bit of guilt, but assuredly nothing beyond it. The rest, my friends, is up to your courage—or lack thereof—to become delightfully, authentically invisible.
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Is OTT COMEDY Killing marriage and kids– killing future. Read the article that first appeared in Free Press journal on 20th October 2025
