I fell for a yarn, spun with intentions to defraud me, because it appeared so plausible in today’s India.
It started with an unknown number calling on my mobile before the night fog had cleared within my mind. That was the start of a nightmarish ordeal lasting almost twenty eight hours.
I barely comprehended fragments of the pre-recorded message read out by a male voice. All that registered was that I should dial ‘9’ to ensure that incoming calls continued being received on my phone. The message over, it began playing all over again.
Before I could decide whether to respond or not, the call was automatically transferred and a live male began talking.
“Why have you called the telecom authority?” he asked in English. I asked if he meant the Telecom Regulatory Authority of India (TRAI).
Yes, he said, adding that he was from the ‘notification unit’. I explained that I had not called, and that it was the other way around.
Unexpectedly, this person addressed me with my name and explained that a FIR had been registered against me as a phone number in my name sent numerous illegal messages and “harassing texts” to others.
“But, I do not use any other number,” I explained. Some more exchanges and this person disclosed the number 98……… was bought from a Mumbai market in April 2024 and read out an address and FIR number.
“But, I haven’t been to Mumbai for almost two years.”
“Then your identity must have been stolen. Have you given your Aadhar Card to anyone?”
“Only when I stayed in hotels and asked for address proof.”
“Someone must have got it and used it to secure this number. Anyway, since it is in your name, the FIR is against you.”
Even before the implication of his statement was fathomed, he said, “You have to report to the cyber crime cell of Mumbai in Colaba within the next two hours.”
“But, I live in Delhi NCR and cannot appear in such a short time.”
“In that case you have the option of this call being transferred to the cyber crime cell and an officer will speak to you. Do you agree?”
When I replied in the affirmative, the call was ‘transferred’ and a female voice began speaking with me, also in English. She identified herself as Neha Sharma.
She spoke sympathetically, saying that it was unfortunate that my identity was used to secure the SIM Card.
“You should use masked Aadhar cards,” she advised. “But now that this has happened, we will have to go through the procedure to establish your innocence,” she added.
The hint of affability triggered a faint manifestation of Stockholm syndrome and without me realising, common sense started deserting me. This of course was buttressed by the fact that with Aadhar becoming the ‘standard’ document to establish identity, its misuse was eminently possible.
I believed, what in hindsight, was clearly a tall story, was also due to the experience of having Delhi police search our residence last year. Nothing that was I was put through over the next 28 hours appeared odd or improbable, a clear manifestation of the idiomatic experience, once bitten twice shy.
Moving on, at this point the woman claiming to represent the Mumbai Crime Branch asked me to join her on Skype. When I said that I stopped using it, she told me to download it on my phone.
It would be more convenient on the desktop computer, I said and she promptly agreed. Shortly, we were conversing over Skype – I used audio-video and she only audio. The logo of Greater Mumbai Police, prominently displayed in the centre of the box with the tag of ‘cybercrimemumbai9900’, was sufficient to convince me that I was indeed online with an officer from that cell, although she did not show her face.
The same questions and charges were repeated, after which she informed me that a senior colleague would enter the ‘interrogation room’. This time it was a male voice and he introduced himself as Rahul Gupta from the Central Bureau of Investigations.
I could not help being reminded of indiscriminate misuse of several investigative agencies, including the CBI, when fellow journalists and civil society members were raided and interned in jail for years.
I chuckled at my fate and took solace in the fact that the police were not yet at my doorstep, but merely on the computer!
The demarcated box on the screen had his name, a ‘badge number’ that he read out and the CBI ‘logo’ in the background. He introduced Nisha Patel, as a ‘colleague’, and she too read out her badge number.
“Actually, there is a more serious matter than the use of the phone in your name for illegal messages and harassing texts,” the so-called Rahul Gupta said.
After a brief lull he asked if I knew anyone called Naresh Goyal.
“I do not have anyone as a friend or in my professional circle with that name,” I said.
“You do not know Naresh Goyal?” he queried in a slightly castigatory tone.
“The founder of Jet Airways?” I asked.
“Do you have an account in Canara Bank?”
This question stumped me. I did once have an account in a South Delhi branch of the bank. It was opened way back in the early 1980s. I remembered operating the account, I said till 2001. But I had no recollection if I closed this account or not, maybe I did not ever shut it after withdrawing all the monies I disclosed.
Later when I enquired at the branch, it turned out that there was no account in my name.
But at that time, I was shaken when the man said that “your account has been used over the past few years to launder money to the tune of two to three crore rupees in the Naresh Goyal scam. And, you are actually a suspect in a money laundering case.”
The words dropped heavily. Although not an expert on this draconian law that has been amended to become severer in recent years, I was aware of the implication of being charged under this law.
The ‘CBI officer’ further said that he was charged to investigate the case and interrogate me as a ‘suspect’ and for that I was being taken in ‘digital custody.’
He added that as part of the protocol for such custody, I would be tracked by numerous cameras and microphones and that a web of AI had been created around our apartment and housing society. He further mentioned that the local police had been informed and promptly shared over Skype a document, ‘Consent to Terms of Digital Custody’.
I was further asked to read out aloud a 70-point ‘rules and regulations for a suspect under surveillance’. This document too was shared similarly.
My mind told me that what I was undergoing was nothing short of an Orwellian, dystopian nightmare, only that it was real!
The self-called CBI ‘officer’ added to my rising apprehension over what lay in store for me by mentioning that under the Prevention of Money Laundering Act (PMLA), I would be arrested for 45 days during which there would be no access to either legal aid or family and friends.
As I mulled over this, he mentioned that I could avoid arrest by undergoing ‘priority investigation’ but for this the permission of the Supreme Court was required.
To secure this, ‘CBI’ would move my application in audio-video format and submit it to the Judge. For this, a text in my name and addressed to the Court was shared which I read out into the camera.
By this time I had also taken pictures of medicines that I take daily for ‘clearance’ from the ‘medical board’ and I had them only after ‘permission’ was granted. By the time the ‘application’ was recorded for the Supreme Court, in hindsight, I had become their virtual ‘slave’ and followed every instruction.
The ‘officer’ repeatedly stated that his job was ‘not to prove’ my guilt but ‘innocence’ and this could be done only if I followed directions to the letter. By then, I was permitted to go to the toilet and have breakfast (both with due ‘permission’).
I was asked to wait while the application was submitted to the court and it was afternoon when the man reappeared, but this time he spoke in a worried voice. He told me that their lawyers said my application, in its present form, without details of my financial status, would be ‘thrown out’ by the apex court judge.
To ‘prepare’ my papers to seek ‘priority investigation’ he questioned related to my economic profile – bank account details, total earnings, details of income tax returns, whether or not I had fixed deposits, if I had a public provident fund account, whether I invested in shares, details of Mutual Funds.
When he figured that all my savings were in mutual funds (MF), he came up with a fresh ‘problem’.
“The government can access your account but we have no control over MFs, so you will have to redeem these and move to your account.”
Over the next hour this ‘officer’ got me to speak on the phone (over speaker) to the person who manages my funds and direct him to redeem ‘all’ my MFs. I added that I would explain the reason for this strange request at a later date. Subsequently, as per norms, I authorised the redemptions.
Hereafter, this ‘officer’ and the woman from ‘cyber crime’ Mumbai began ‘interrogating’ me – 700 questions I was told would be put, for which they ‘had’ all the answers but wished to verify my ‘honesty.
I presumed wrongly that once over, I would be ‘released’. Well past 9 pm I was informed that the ‘interrogation’ would be suspended for the day and I could have my dinner but I would have to sleep in front of the camera. For this, I was directed to rearrange my camera so I could be seen while being alone in the room of ‘digital custody’.
Throughout the entire ordeal, I barely spoke to my family, save when I went to fetch water. This was one of the rules I was to follow – not intimating others of my ‘interrogation’. I told them, what I believed was my state – that I was in ‘digital custody’ of CBI and Cyber Crime Cell and was not to inform anyone of this.
Next morning, I was told over Skype to get up and prepare for the next round of ‘interrogation’. The ‘CBI’ man promptly asked whether the MF funds had been redeemed to my account or not.
That was when the first alarm sounded inside my head – how come the CBI officer did not know that MF redemptions take at least 48 to 72 hours, at times even more.
The next alarm sounded when this man informed me that I would remain under ‘digital custody’ till all funds were transferred to my bank account. But, still believing in the accusatory story of my Canara Bank account being ‘used’ for money laundering, I began coming to terms with the ‘certainty’ that the government would ‘freeze’ my account once every rupee of my savings was redeemed into it.
Despite not doubting what I now know was a web of untruth, I sought ‘permission’ to fetch water and out on that ruse, asked my family members to contact a few friends.
Several minutes later, they stood at the door of our study (not in camera range) and gesticulated vigorously for me to come out. I provided another excuse and walked out.
The family whispered in voices laden with anxiety and fear. “[Redacted] said, ‘get him out, this is nothing but a scam’.”
One of us switched off the Wi-Fi as our friend advised. Further details from their conversations poured out thereafter. All had said that prima facie it appeared a major scam, that there was nothing called ‘digital custody’.
The first task was to check if my bank account was still secure and we had lost no money. Once this was secured, more advice poured in – changing passwords and ‘secret question’ were among those.
The harrowing experience is over but its memory remains. Later we learnt that an elderly lady in the capital city had not been so lucky and lost 83 lakh rupees a fortnight ago. It was the same modus operandi, except that the jargon used in her case was ‘digital arrest’. Additionally, the accusation in my case was not just of sending objectionable messages, but money laundering too.
I fell for this con job for a few reasons that must be comprehended.
One, the experience in last year with the police and that our gadgets and other research papers are still with the them. Two, over the years, the state has become more Orwellian and any form of penalisation is possible.
Three, no standard operating procedure has been framed and publicised for methods and tactics that investigative agencies and other law enforcing institutions are entitled to use during investigations, especially for white collar and non-violent crimes.
I believed in this extraordinary tale that is full of loopholes because of the sense that anyone can be hauled up. Being an honest citizen and engaging in one’s chosen profession within the boundaries of law is not sufficient to escape harassment at the hand of the officialdom.
And finally, there is no redressal mechanism either. The government publicises a ‘helpline’ number – 1930. It merely asked me to file the complaint on the website – www.cybercrime.gov.in. Even after the complaint is filed, the onus remains with the complainant to pursue the department.
Law enforcers are not playing a proactive role in coming to the aid of citizens targeted by online fraudsters and investigating cyber crimes.
Not everyone has friends like us who can immediately ‘evacuate’ persons in the clutches of online criminals. With the rising graph of cyber crimes and online fraud, it is time that law and order machineries step up their responsibilities.
Nilanjan Mukhopadhyay is an author and journalist based in Delhi-NCR. He has written several books including Narendra Modi: The Man, The Times’. His X handle is @NilanjanUdwin.
