MS Shanker
It began with a phone call. An innocuous ring on a Monday evening. Within ten days, KN Radhakrishna (name changed), a 60-something retired resident of Mehdipatnam, Hyderabad, saw his entire life’s savings—over ₹1.36 crore—vanish into the digital ether. Not to a robber with a weapon, not to an elaborate Ponzi scheme, but to men with smartphones, a few fake documents, and a terrifying level of psychological manipulation.
This is not fiction. This is 21st-century crime at its most invisible and insidious. And it’s thriving—thanks not only to technology but to the systemic indifference of Indian banks and bureaucratic apathy that victims encounter in their darkest moments.
The Call That Ruined Everything
On July 1, 2024, Radhakrishna received a call from someone claiming to be from the Telecom Department, informing him that his number would be deactivated due to misuse. He was told to press “1” to speak to an official.
What followed was a cascade of impersonations—Mumbai Police, CBI, Enforcement Directorate, even the Supreme Court of India. All presented with chilling realism: WhatsApp calls with ID-carrying men, letters on forged court letterheads, FIR numbers, fabricated ED case files, even “Income Tax acknowledgements”.
They accused him of being linked to an account used by Raj Kundra in a fictitious money laundering investigation. Fake documents showing ATM cards from a Canara Bank account in his name were discovered during a raid. When he denied knowing about any such account, they threatened arrest under a Supreme Court warrant unless he proved his financial credibility by transferring his savings for “fund verification.”
That was the trap.
Bleeding Him Dry
Between July 3 and July 10, Radhakrishna was coerced into making seven separate RTGS transfers to multiple accounts with names like Suresh Traders, Innovation Idea, and Guruji Enterprises. These transfers ranged from ₹6 lakh to ₹80 lakh, totalling ₹1,36,58,921.
Every transaction was followed up with “official documents”—crafted well enough to fool even a reasonably alert individual. The criminals insisted on self-reporting every three hours, maintaining a cruel illusion of procedure. On July 10, they asked for a final “security deposit” of ₹20 lakh. With nothing left in his bank and heart in his mouth, Radhakrishna did the only right thing—he consulted a lawyer.
It took just one glance for the lawyer to declare the documents fraudulent.
That’s when Radhakrishna approached the Cyber Crime Police. And shockingly, that’s when a second round of trauma began.
A Second Betrayal: The System That Should Protect
“I had to write and rewrite the complaint four times—just because they wanted it in a ‘specific format’,” Radhakrishna recalls bitterly. “Even with all the documentation, screenshots, call logs, transaction receipts, and fake court letters, they treated me like I was the problem.”
Eventually, an FIR was filed. But the real disappointment lay ahead, with the banks.
Despite multiple large transactions (some of them to suspicious current accounts in unrelated cities), not a single bank official raised an alert. No red flag, no call, not even a routine verification. “You expect banks to have some fraud detection system when a senior citizen makes ₹80 lakh RTGS to an unknown Delhi account,” he says. “What are their compliance teams doing?”
A System That Fails Twice
This case is not an isolated one. According to the NCRB, cybercrimes in India have jumped by over 70% in the past five years. And fraud via impersonation—especially pretending to be police or government officials—is among the fastest-growing categories.
Yet, victims like Radhakrishna often face a two-pronged betrayal: first by the scammer, then by the very institutions—banks and law enforcement—that are supposed to protect them.
India’s banks routinely boast of advanced cybersecurity infrastructure, yet cannot flag multiple RTGS transfers from elderly clients to unrelated accounts. Even basic KYC scrutiny or fraud risk alerts seem to be absent in most of these frauds.
The bigger issue is the lack of accountability. When someone walks into a bank and says, “I’ve been duped,” the answer is rarely: “Let’s help you.” It’s usually: “That’s not our fault.”
What Needs to Change?
Cybercrime has evolved. But have we? We cannot afford to treat digital fraud as a “personal error” or “poor judgment.” Scammers today operate as sophisticated syndicates with access to fake ID cards, forged Supreme Court documents, and IP-masking tech.
Its time banks are held accountable. Any RTGS above ₹10 lakh by senior citizens should trigger mandatory red-flag protocols. Similarly, cybercrime cells should be staffed not just with techies, but with empathetic officers trained to handle traumatised victims, not treat them like a nuisance.
Above all, awareness campaigns must go beyond posters. They must speak directly to vulnerable demographics—retirees, homemakers, and digitally illiterate citizens—who remain soft targets.
Radhakrishna’s Plea
“I’m not asking for pity,” says Radhakrishna. “I’m asking for justice. And for banks and police to act before another innocent life is ruined like mine.”
His ₹1.36 crore might never come back. But his voice—now documented in police records and hopefully this story—should echo as a warning, and a wake-up call.
