We live in an era where finding even a handful of readers who meticulously go through three physical newspapers every day has become rare. Many now scroll through a dozen newspapers in a jiffy on mobile phones or on various “tops” and “pads”—laptops, desktops, iPads, and notepads. This writer, however, still belongs to the physical, not virtual, world—reading well-established national dailies such as The Indian Express, The Hindu, and The Times of India.
This prelude is meant to draw attention to the growing and recurring news reports on so-called digital arrests. These incidents are no longer isolated or trivial. The amounts involved run into lakhs and crores—never small sums. More importantly, a pattern seems to be emerging. A casual reader may skim past such reports, brushing them off as an unavoidable by-product of the expanding cybercrime ecosystem.
What is truly perplexing is the profile of the victims. Repeatedly, we see senior retired government servants—including former IAS officers—and even bank managers falling prey to these scams, losing crores of their hard-earned savings through nothing more than phone calls that end in “digital arrests” and blackmail. Conventionally, victims automatically attract sympathy, and cybercrime cells within police departments are left carrying the burden of cracking these cases and taking them to their logical conclusion.
The situation is somewhat akin to an unruly pedestrian receiving all the sympathy after being hit by a bike, even when the rider is entirely faultless. Only later do investigations or CCTV footage establish the truth, by which time the pedestrian-victim has already walked away unscathed. Much like the saying “the customer is king,” the pedestrian—or here, the victim—is treated as supreme.
Perhaps the time has come to probe these cases more rigorously, especially those involving losses running into crores. In the absence of follow-up reports, the public remains in the dark. A legitimate question arises: how does a former bank manager—someone who would have handled fraud cases throughout his or her career—fall prey to such an elementary scam?
Are these victims genuinely so innocent and reckless that they simply surrender and transfer massive sums without basic verification? In an age where people hesitate endlessly before lending even ₹100, how do they suddenly part with ₹17 crore or ₹20 crore at the mere sound of a threatening phone call?
Do these victims simply disappear from public view once the story breaks? Are investigations conducted to conclusively establish their innocence, or is the matter quietly buried? How do seasoned businesspersons—supposedly the shrewdest and most financially astute—end up losing astronomical sums through these “digital arrests”?
It is only natural for the common citizen to harbour doubts. Do these frequent episodes follow a pattern of converting black money into white? Is there any complicity, tacit or otherwise, involving those tasked with probing such crimes? The frequency and scale of these cases demand a holistic, nationwide inquiry, one that decisively rules out any nexus between victims, intermediaries, and investigating agencies.
Perhaps it is time for the CBI to step in—so that this entire drama of digital arrests is finally arrested.
