Scamistan Calling- Press 1 to Panic!

Scamistan Calling- Press 1 to Panic!

It must have been just a couple of minutes of me floating in slumberland when I was cruelly woken up by the phone ringing. Now who on earth ever rings me up, that too in the afternoon?

As I picked up the device, the voice on the other end said, in an obviously urgent tone, “Didiji, RA ko police ka phone aa raha hai, le jayenge nahin to paise jama karao.’ (RA is getting a call from the police that they would pick him up or else he should deposit the money.)

My sleep vanished, I screamed, “Use kaho koyi paisa nahin dena, yeh fraud call hai” (Tell him not to deposit any money, it is a fraud call.) and hung up to call RA. He picked up, his voice a mere tremor. He mumbled something for a few seconds and I repeated my instructions. I could hear his kids and wife crying in the background.

His reply, “Nahin didiji, hum aapke pass aa rahe hain dus minute mein. (No sister, I am coming to you in 10 mins.)

There goes my jinxed afternoon nap, I thought. Between the call bell and the phone, I had not been allowed the luxury of an afternoon nap for several days now.

About twenty minutes later, staggered in RA, a walking effigy of sheer panic. His face was drained of colour, his eyes wide and glazed, and even the grey hairs in his stubble appeared to be standing up in fear. His lips had nearly turned the shade of mud in rains, and he seemed to have forgotten how to breathe and swallow.

Prancing behind him was his younger brother, wearing the unmistakable smug expression of someone whose least favourite cousin had accidently sent the wrong joke in the family WhatsApp group.

What on earth had happened?

His mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, RA managed to squeak out the details.
He had picked up a call from an unknown number. Perhaps the caller asked his name, he did not remember in his harried condition.

Then the caller asked him what he did. Service (common word used for government job), he probably said.

Caller: I am Anand Tripathi from the SSP (Senior Superintendent of Police) office speaking. We have noticed that you watch a lot of dirty videos. We will make it viral, and ruin your reputation in the society. Otherwise, you deposit the money we ask for, in the account number we give you.

Actual numbers RA got the calls from

What followed was a long conversation. The caller asked him-

Do you use Google Pay or UPI?

What do you use?

How much money do you have in your account?

Like buying vegetables, there was haggling over the amount to be deposited. From Rs 16,500, the caller agreed to a sum of mere Rs 2,000.

There were clear instructions: RA had to withdraw money from his bank account using his ATM card, go to a cyber-café and deposit the cash in the account number. Then the caller gave another recipient’s name and account number.

Hassled and sh** scared, RA stopped to have a drink of water to soothe his rasping throat. From the other end, the caller barked, “Why are you taking so long?”

To have a sip of water, said RA flatly. The caller’s heart immediately melted, his tone softened. Like an old friend, he said, “Haan, haan, panee piyo, aur araam se jao. (Yes, yes have a drink of water, and go at a relaxed pace.)”  

But it was followed immediately by a stern warning, “Agar neta ko pakda, to yeh bahut lamba khinchega (If you approach a political leader, then it would be a long-drawn affair). And added, “Tell whoever asks that you deposited the money for a relative or hospital treatment.”

It had been about 20 minutes since the last call. The caller must have presumed that RA had gone to the ATM to withdraw money and then would go to the cyber-café to deposit it.

I tried to calm RA down, so that he could breathe. He could not even drink water, so petrified was he.

I tried to tell him that watching the so-called videos was not illegal and the police would not come crashing through his door to catch him even if he had watched these for free. Whatever knowledge I lacked about watching dirty videos, I attempted to make up with supreme confidence.

Suddenly his phone rang. As if it was a fireball, RA pointed at it and dropped the mobile in my hand.

I picked up, and said in the best rustic voice I could speak in, “Haloww, kaun?”

The voice said, “RA ko phone do.” Give the phone to RA.

“Kaun RA?” (Who RA?) I asked, sounding curious.

“Arey, jiska phone hai,” (The one whose phone it is), was the terse no-nonsense reply.

And so began a delightful little exchange, all in Hindi. Now I was invested in it. “This is my phone. Why do you wake up an old lady napping in the hot afternoon?” I continued.

This went on for about one good minute, like a volley in tennis, with me insisting the phone number was mine, I did not know any RA and him demanding that I give the phone to RA. From his voice I could feel the irritation and anger increasing in him.

Just when I had begun to enjoy the random afternoon conversation, he shouted “Aye badtameez aurat (you ill-manned woman) give the phone to RA”, but I was in no mood to end the conversation. In fact, I was looking forward to how it would end.

Within a few seconds, the caller lost his cool. He barked out the dirtiest Hindi abuses at me and at RA Hum use kheench kar le jayenge. (We will drag him.) I could visualise him foaming at the mouth with rage.

That was my cue. I lost interest after this enormous word vomit and hung up. And yes, I blocked the number.

Now you might ask a reasonable question-why did I not block the number earlier.

I recalled how in his last days when my father in law’s phone was in his caretakers’ hands, the recommendations for porn videos would fall down the screen like bombs from a fighter jet. Clearly, these gentlemen had been busy. Now it was my time to steer karma. Sometimes you got to stop to savour things.

RA sat for two hours as I talked incessantly, telling him of people who had been scammed, or their phones, especially WhatsApp accounts hacked into. To make my argument more credible I shared with him the story of how one afternoon (the universe seems to dislike my attempts at  taking a nap in the afternoon), I had received a message asking for money from a railway doctor. The objective was to distract him with stories even as his brother, tried to butt in with his gyan several times.

He left only after he had calmed down and had a degree of satisfaction that nobody was coming after him and it was just a scam call.

Phone scamming is not something new. For years now, fraudsters have been calling up unsuspecting victims, throwing around the names of the police, RBI, CID, income tax department, banks, or other imposing acronyms, as if these institutions exist solely to penalize citizens for watching raunchy Bhojpuri videos or forgetting to update their KYC.

From what I’ve gathered, the scam routine is pretty consistent. Fraudulent callers may call you multiple times from different numbers. They always create a sense of urgency, are generally aggressive and pressurize for transfer of money. They may threaten legal action, arrest, or some other punishment if you do not pay.

The news is, the more innovative con artists have taken their scams to visual level. A WhatsApp call flashed on Mani’s close friend’s screen, and before he could blink and say hello, he was watching a woman undressing, who also prompted him to join. Had he given in; what would have followed would be some tech work and his face superimposed into a pre-recorded explicit video, making him a target for blackmailing.

This is another story that this gentleman thought the poor caller was in some trouble and was seeking help, so tried to talk to her. When she went on with what she was doing, he hung up. Then he went to the police station to lodge a report, but the police refused to do so, claiming that no crime had been committed.

Meanwhile, when I call someone, I hear a long advisory in Kannada. The words aparichit gump gudinda are now pierced into my ear canal. I assume it means unfamiliar/unknown caller. Sometimes, Airtel helpfully tags the call as ‘scam likely,’ which is great, except that the people who need this warning the most are either ignoring it or have never seen it to begin with.

The truth is, government advisories, telecom alerts, and cybercrime helplines have not quite reached the compulsive WhatsApp-forwarders who generally are the soft targets these scams are aimed at.

So, until the outreach improves, the only defence is suspicion, with your finger firmly stabbing the red button. The next time a stranger calls claiming to be from RBI Enforcement Department, hang up, block, or even report, especially if you want to experience the fun of how our police department works.

                                                                                             - Anupama S Mani

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