<p>The shocking case of a Bengaluru software engineer losing Rs 48 lakh to a self-styled Ayurvedic healer is not an exception; it is a symptom of a rapidly growing public-health menace. What began as a visit to a roadside tent promising discreet cures for sexual health problems spiralled into a months-long fraud involving exorbitantly priced ‘rare’ herbs and coercive tactics, and eventually leading to kidney damage caused by unknown substances. The police have now arrested the self-styled healer, but the lesson is far larger: India today is staring at a full-blown epidemic of modern quackery. The Internet has become a new breeding ground for this racket. On social media platforms, healers with no formal credentials peddle miracle cures for sexual dysfunction, diabetes, obesity, infertility, hair loss, and even cancer. Virtually anyone with a ring light and a smartphone can now position himself as a ‘doctor’, ‘guruji’, or ‘vaidya’, selling everything from herbal capsules to powders, and promising instant results. The self-proclaimed healers exploit stigma, anxiety and desperation, especially among patients reluctant to discuss intimate health problems with qualified practitioners.</p>.<p>The law to curb them is riddled with loopholes. A major one is the misuse of Food Safety and Standards Authority of India (FSSAI) licences. Since obtaining a nutraceutical or food supplement licence is significantly easier than securing approval for a drug from the Central Drugs Standard Control Organisation, many quacks label their concoctions ‘food products’ while aggressively promoting them online as medicines. Some add undeclared synthetic drugs—such as high-dose steroids or sexual-enhancement chemicals—to create quick, noticeable effects. These so-called supplements bypass clinical trials, toxicity studies and efficacy checks. Even genuine vitamins can cause harm when consumed indiscriminately, and unknown adulterants can have catastrophic effects.</p>.<p>Why do people fall for quacks? The answer lies in a mix of shame, desperation, lack of awareness, and the seductive promise of instant results. Social media algorithms amplify these pitches, serving tailor-made ‘solutions’ to vulnerable audiences. And while quackery is an offence under multiple laws—including the Drugs and Magic Remedies (Objectionable Advertisements) Act—enforcement is lethargic. Both the Union and state health departments remain in prolonged slumber. At a time when quacks openly advertise and run camps in the major metros, the authorities ought to be proactively combing the Internet, cracking down on illegal products, and prosecuting offenders without hesitation. Alternative medicine does not mean giving free rein to predatory charlatans masquerading as healers. The country cannot afford to wait for more victims to be ruined physically and financially. The government must act decisively and immediately to stamp out frauds who profit from pain.</p>
<p>The shocking case of a Bengaluru software engineer losing Rs 48 lakh to a self-styled Ayurvedic healer is not an exception; it is a symptom of a rapidly growing public-health menace. What began as a visit to a roadside tent promising discreet cures for sexual health problems spiralled into a months-long fraud involving exorbitantly priced ‘rare’ herbs and coercive tactics, and eventually leading to kidney damage caused by unknown substances. The police have now arrested the self-styled healer, but the lesson is far larger: India today is staring at a full-blown epidemic of modern quackery. The Internet has become a new breeding ground for this racket. On social media platforms, healers with no formal credentials peddle miracle cures for sexual dysfunction, diabetes, obesity, infertility, hair loss, and even cancer. Virtually anyone with a ring light and a smartphone can now position himself as a ‘doctor’, ‘guruji’, or ‘vaidya’, selling everything from herbal capsules to powders, and promising instant results. The self-proclaimed healers exploit stigma, anxiety and desperation, especially among patients reluctant to discuss intimate health problems with qualified practitioners.</p>.<p>The law to curb them is riddled with loopholes. A major one is the misuse of Food Safety and Standards Authority of India (FSSAI) licences. Since obtaining a nutraceutical or food supplement licence is significantly easier than securing approval for a drug from the Central Drugs Standard Control Organisation, many quacks label their concoctions ‘food products’ while aggressively promoting them online as medicines. Some add undeclared synthetic drugs—such as high-dose steroids or sexual-enhancement chemicals—to create quick, noticeable effects. These so-called supplements bypass clinical trials, toxicity studies and efficacy checks. Even genuine vitamins can cause harm when consumed indiscriminately, and unknown adulterants can have catastrophic effects.</p>.<p>Why do people fall for quacks? The answer lies in a mix of shame, desperation, lack of awareness, and the seductive promise of instant results. Social media algorithms amplify these pitches, serving tailor-made ‘solutions’ to vulnerable audiences. And while quackery is an offence under multiple laws—including the Drugs and Magic Remedies (Objectionable Advertisements) Act—enforcement is lethargic. Both the Union and state health departments remain in prolonged slumber. At a time when quacks openly advertise and run camps in the major metros, the authorities ought to be proactively combing the Internet, cracking down on illegal products, and prosecuting offenders without hesitation. Alternative medicine does not mean giving free rein to predatory charlatans masquerading as healers. The country cannot afford to wait for more victims to be ruined physically and financially. The government must act decisively and immediately to stamp out frauds who profit from pain.</p>
