It was Saturday, the 5th of October. The clock had just struck 12:15 PM when an unexpected call came through. The number was unfamiliar (+00918380889795), but I answered anyway. An IVR-recorded voice claimed it was from FedEx Courier Company and to press 1 for courier details, 2 for tracking updates. Hearing 'courier', I thought maybe it was an office-related parcel or an order from the past few days on Amazon. So, I pressed 1, unknowingly taking the first misstep of the day. Gradually, more mistakes followed, and by the time I realized, I had already endured hours of fear, mental turmoil, and panic, feeling digitally imprisoned despite being aware of cyber frauds!
My troubles started with pressing a button. As soon as I did, a voice on the other end announced, 'This is Karan Verma from FedEx Courier. How can I assist you?' Surprised, I responded, 'Sir, I received a call saying someone sent me a courier through your company. Can you please provide the details?'
Karan Verma, as he claimed, placed the call on hold. After a brief pause, he came back on and said, 'Ma'am, you have sent a courier. You are the sender!' Annoyed, I replied, 'I haven’t sent any courier. Stop these fake calls!' The voice across insisted, 'Ma'am, your courier was seized at Mumbai Airport.'
I laughed and said, 'Tell this story to someone else. I haven’t sent anything, so there’s nothing to seize.' With a change in tone, Karan said, 'Your courier was destined for Taiwan. It contained suspicious items, hence it was seized. Your Aadhaar card is here, and after verification, you need to report this. FedEx must submit this complaint letter to the Mumbai police. They also need to be informed about the misuse of your Aadhaar.'
His earnest voice left me convinced something had gone awry, needing rectification. Accepting it, I asked, 'Tell me, what should I do?' He instructed, 'Your entire call is being recorded. After the beep, say you have no connection to the courier. This recording will be forwarded to Mumbai police.'
As instructed, I repeated, 'I have no association with any FedEx courier. Mumbai police, please assist me. My Aadhaar card has been misused.'
Relieved as if the ordeal was over, Karan Verma dropped another bombshell, 'You'll need to speak to Mumbai police for clarity. We need a clarification note.' Now frustrated, I retorted, 'Sir, I don’t know anything. I’ve conveyed your message. That's it from my side.' But Karan insisted, 'Ma’am, it’s crucial for what’s in the package to be clarified.' For the first time, a bit alarmed, I asked, 'What exactly is in the package?'
That's when the realization hit him that I was genuinely scared, setting the stage for my digital arrest. With my shift in the office ending as I wrote this, I couldn’t help but suspect my identity had been misused.
Karan Verma said, 'Ma’am, I’m transferring your call to the Mumbai police department. You should lodge a complaint there. They will ask you about the courier details. Note them down on a pen and paper.'
I began taking notes...
Details of the consignment:
Department name - FedEx Courier Company
Customer care - Karana Verma
Receiver name- Zhang Lin
Mobile number - 8862737889
Receiver Address- house number 112/3
Sanbei road, Paipei city, District Datong
Taiwan - 104001
Parcel tracking id 728932129197
Parcel item- 5 passports, 3 bank credit cards
4 kg cloth, 1 HP laptop, 200 grams NDMA
ICICI bank credit card last digits - 1551
Payment 16754
While jotting it down, I voiced, 'This isn’t my credit card, nor do I know anyone in Taiwan. And what is NDMA?' The reply blew me away, 'It's a drug. This is why you received the call. Perhaps your Aadhaar card has fallen into wrong hands.'
Source: aajtak
The mention of drugs left me trembling. Everything was conducted so smoothly that it seemed necessary to report it, much like reporting a stolen car to indicate its prior theft. Remotely sensing this, I suggested, 'Transfer the call. I’ll talk to Mumbai police.'
Transferring the call, Karan Verma added, 'Once the complaint is filed, get a clarification note from Mumbai police. We need just that, or the case could trouble you further.' The professional tone had a tinge of concern, and accepting I was in competent hands, I awaited the call's transfer.
On the other end, the background noise shifted, resembling a police control room’s chaos. A deep voice asserted, 'I am Vinay Kumar Chaudhary from Mumbai police. Why did you call?' I shared the details of the FedEx call. Patiently hearing me out, he assured help similar to Karan Verma. Then, details like my name and Aadhaar number were requested. The call held briefly, and upon returning, the voice shifted to a more police-like investigation style, questioning as if I was a suspect.
'Did you send this courier? Are you dispatching drugs?'
'What drugs? I’m unaware of any courier, nor do I have kin in Mumbai. Why would I send it?'
'Who will believe you? It’s your name, your Aadhaar. If you stand by your claims, a complaint is imperative.'
Source: aajtak
Thus began the lengthy saga of mental stress. Even as I pen this in my office, a gnawing suspicion lingers whether my ID had been exploited.
'Okay, come over to the Mumbai office.'
Sir, I’m in Delhi. I can’t possibly come to Mumbai.
'Alright, then file a complaint via online video call. It will be documented, followed by a thorough investigation. Connect via Skype.'
My phone doesn’t have it. Let’s converse over Zoom.
'No, download Skype immediately.'
The stern command resembled that of a high-ranking officer’s. Shaken, I complied, believing the situation was serious and requiring police support. Mid-call, I was hurriedly instructed to download Skype. Then came an odd question:
'Are you speaking over WiFi or data?'
Via WiFi.
'Alright, switch off data. Place the phone in flight mode. If the call is interrupted, you’ll face consequences.'
(I was terrified). Alright, Sir, I’ll ensure it.
'Where are you, home or office?'
At home.
'How many people are there? Who all reside with you? How many involved?'
No one at home.
Subsequently,
the entire house was inspected over the video call. Doors were closed, curtains drawn. The phone’s charging was checked and connected to a charger.
Not even a moment to breathe or think. Like a robot, I followed instructions.
After sealing the house, I was told to search for Mumbai 911. Once clicked, the camera was turned on, revealing an officer in a blue uniform - Vinay Kumar Chaudhary. He said it was him I was speaking to. My statement was to be recorded. Ready, I was asked to narrate the entire incident and the item details. As soon as I mentioned 200 grams of NDMA, the officer got angry, chiding me for sending it. I clarified, 'Sir, I didn’t send it, just learned it's drugs.'
In response, he yelled, ‘You’re lying. Your Aadhaar is being verified across departments. Soon, the report will unveil the truth.' Abruptly, the camera was turned off. When inquired, a voice on the other end said, 'Critical details about you have emerged, necessitating sharing with my superior. Stay on the call. No movement.' Every 10 seconds, you must declare, 'I AM HERE SIR!.'
Two minutes later, a new voice said, 'You’re implicated in a money laundering case, misleading funds worth 20 million with a syndicate. I was asked for my bank account details, home cash, and gold assets. With no significant holdings disclosed, the voice grew louder, accusingly. Skype sent documents displaying four faces, with two arrested. An arrest warrant was reportedly issued in my name.
Source: aajtak
On the line was someone claiming to be with the Mumbai police, holding evidence of my alleged drug trafficking and financial scams. With no room for doubt, from a journalist at noon on a Saturday, I was suddenly a criminal in their eyes.
The interrogation was intense. Reported embezzlements detailed from my Bank of Baroda account led me to tears, with no mercy shown. The severity of crimes was discussed, with shortcomings highlighted continuously. Then the tone softened as if I was granted time to prove innocence. They implored cooperation with the police, assuring an investigation lasting seven days. Perhaps, they suggested, I'd inadvertently shared my Aadhaar details with someone at a café or nearby, triggering this sequence. Was anyone suspicious? Any contention? I plainly denied.
Assurances continued, noting the scam's scale in crores. Two arrests were confirmed, with my name implicated. Cooperation might yield some reprieve, but they asserted threats to my family’s safety. Fraudsters allegedly shadowed my family. Any disclosure regarding the inquiry could lead to two years in prison. Confirmed drug charges might earn 15 years.
Source: aajtak
With a genuine, police-like tone amidst chaotic background noises, everything felt plausible, convincing me I might be trapped as a drug smuggler. Suddenly, I was convinced that no upcoming weekend would ever bring solace, shopping, favorite meals, or open air again.
They provided a format detailing my name, location, current activity, and expenses, declaring all accounts seized. No withdrawals, no spending allowed. Constant surveillance was implied over my schedule, alluding to specific knowledge of my office timings and routine, cementing its authenticity.
This intense video call lasted over an hour and a half, concluding with an instruction, 'Hang up.'
Complying like an automaton, the call was dropped. Disconnected, yet I felt confounded, as though an external jamming prevented processing. Finally, I resolved to confide, considering there was nothing more to lose. Attempting to reach a relative over video call, I quietly penned down the full episode, fearing traceability.
Source: aajtak
Sharing the chilling experience with my relative, he was shocked, advising over a WhatsApp call. He reassured me it was a scam, a trap. Despite the instilled fear, I tried reasoning with myself. At his insistence, I contacted cybercrime, advised to provide written details, but failed to file an online report.
Finally, informing a senior at work, he confirmed such scams’ prevalence. Assuaging my fears, he recounted similar fraudulent courier cases, where everything, even police and judiciary, was counterfeit. Only then did I start believing I’d fallen for a cyber trap. A cybercrime complaint was urged, and police were promptly summoned upon calling 112. They reiterated the scam, advising documentation with cybercrime or at the police station.
The entire harrowing Saturday dissolved into a day of constant dread. Come Sunday, 6th October, around noon, the pernicious call reoccurred (08380726430), requesting a clarification note from Mumbai police. This time prepared, I stifled further attempts.
In retrospect, writing this now, it’s harrowing to fathom how gripping and mentally torturous such scams are. Reading about them makes one wonder how people fall prey. Yet, reliving my experience, it was incredibly real, hoping to bring awareness through the telling. Being vigilant against digital traps isn’t just advisable; it’s necessary.
