I thought it was a scam call until I didn’t: Journalist’s digital arrest ordeal

This is a first-person account by Richa Mishra, a Senior Assistant Editor at AajTak.in, India Today’s sister channel.
Saturday, October 5. It was 12.15 pm when I received a call from an unknown number (+00918380889795). The voice on the other end was a recorded message: “This call is from FedEx Courier Company. Press 1 for details of your courier. Press 2 for tracking updates”.
Hearing the word “courier” surprised me a bit, but I thought perhaps it was related to a parcel from the office or an Amazon order I had placed a few days ago. Thinking this, I pressed 1. That was my first mistake, and from then on, one mistake followed another. By the time I realised what was happening, I had endured hours of fear, trauma, and mental torture. Despite knowing all about cyber fraud, I had been digitally trapped.
The trouble began with pressing that number. As soon as I did, a voice said, “I am Karan Verma from FedEx Courier Company. How can I help you?” I replied, “Sir, I got a call. I haven’t sent any courier, but if someone has sent one to me, please tell me the details.”
Karan Verma put me on hold. After a while, he returned, saying, “Ma’am, you have sent the courier. You are the sender.”
Angry, I said, “I haven’t sent any courier. Stop making fake calls.”
He then said, “Ma’am, your courier has been seized at Mumbai airport.”
I laughed and replied, “Sir, tell this to someone else. I didn’t send a courier, so why would it be seized?”
In a more serious tone, he said, “Your courier was being sent from Mumbai to Taiwan. Suspicious items were found, which is why it was seized. Your Aadhaar card is linked to this; this call was made after verification. I can understand you might not have sent it, but it seems like your Aadhaar card has been misused. You should file a complaint. FedEx will also need to send this complaint to the Mumbai Police.”
His tone was so serious that I started believing something was wrong. I asked him, “What should I do?” He replied, “Your entire call is being recorded. After the beep, you have to say that you have nothing to do with the courier. We will send this recording to the Mumbai Police.”
I repeated what I was told: “I have nothing to do with any FedEx courier. Mumbai Police, please help me. My Aadhaar card has been misused.”
I thought it was over, but then Karan Verma dropped another bombshell: “You also need to speak with the Mumbai Police. We need a clarification note.”
Now, I was annoyed. “Sir, I don’t know anything about this courier. I did what you asked. Can I go now?”
But Karan Verma insisted, “Ma’am, this is important for your future. The clarification is crucial regarding the contents of the courier.”
For the first time, I felt a chill. I asked, “What’s in the courier?”
At that moment, he sensed my fear, and that’s when I was digitally trapped. The mental torture that followed would last for hours. Even as I sit in my office, writing this account, I still fear my ID may have been misused.
Karan Verma said, “Madam, I am transferring your call to the Mumbai Police. You can file your complaint with them. Please write down the details of the courier.”
I started writing…
Details of the item:
Department: FedEx Courier Company
Customer care: Karan Verma
Receiver: Zhang Lin
Mobile number: +8862737889
Receiver address: House No. 112/3, Sanbei Road, Taipei City, Datong District, Taiwan, 104001
Parcel tracking ID: 728932129197
Parcel contents: 5 passports, 3 bank credit cards, 4 kg of cloth, 1 HP laptop, 200 grams of NDMA
ICICI bank credit card last digits: 1551
Payment: Rs 16,754
While writing the details, I said, “This isn’t my credit card, nor do I know anyone in Taiwan. And what is NDMA?”
His answer left me shaken: “That’s drugs, ma’am. That’s why we contacted you. Your Aadhaar card may have fallen into the wrong hands.”
Hearing the word “drugs” shocked me. The conversation was so smooth that I felt it was necessary to file a complaint, just like when you report a stolen car. I said, “Please transfer the call. I will speak to the Mumbai Police.”
As Karan Verma transferred the call, he added, “After filing the complaint, please get a clarification note from the Mumbai Police. Otherwise, this issue will trouble you in the future.” His professional tone reassured me, and I waited for the transfer.
On the other side, the background noise changed—chaotic, like a police control room. A deep voice said, “I am Vinay Kumar Chaudhary from the Mumbai Police. Tell me, why did you call?” I explained the FedEx call to him. He assured me of help, much like Karan Verma did. He asked for my name and Aadhaar number. After putting me on hold for a bit, the tone changed, and I was interrogated as if I had committed a crime.
“You sent this courier. Are you involved in drug trafficking?”
“Which drugs? I don’t know anything about a courier. I don’t even live in Mumbai. Why would I send it?”
“Who will believe you? The name and Aadhaar are yours. If you are innocent, you will have to file a complaint.”
“That’s why I’m talking to you. FedEx told me they need a clarification note.”
“Okay, come to the Mumbai office.”
“Sir, I’m in Delhi. I can’t come to Mumbai.”
“Then file a complaint via an online video call. It will be recorded. Come on Skype.”
“I don’t have Skype. Can we use Zoom?”
“No. Download Skype immediately.”
The tone was commanding, like an officer giving orders. Fearfully, I assumed the situation was serious. I downloaded Skype while the call continued. Then a strange question was asked.
“Are you using Wi-Fi or data?”
“Wi-Fi.”
“Okay, turn off your data and put your phone on flight mode. If anyone interrupts the call, action will be taken against you.”
Scared, I agreed. “Okay, sir, I’ll take care.”
“Where are you? Home or office?”
“At home.”
“Who’s there with you? How many people?”
“No one’s home.”
The entire house was inspected on video call—doors closed, curtains drawn. Even my phone was put on charge as instructed. There was no time to think or question anything. I followed every command like a robot.
After the inspection, I was asked to click on “Mumbai 911” for a search. A man in a blue uniform appeared on camera—Vinay Kumar Chaudhary. He said, “You were talking to me on the phone. Now your statement will be recorded.” I was ready. He asked me to recount the entire incident and list the items. When I mentioned the 200 grams of NDMA, he snapped at me: “Do you know what that is? You were sending drugs.”
I insisted, “Sir, I didn’t send anything. I only just found out these are drugs.”
He shouted, “You’re lying. We are checking your Aadhaar across departments. The report will come soon, and we’ll know what you’ve done.” The camera suddenly switched off. I asked why, and a voice replied, “Serious information has come up about you. I need to take this to my superior. Stay on the line, and don’t move. Every 10 seconds, you must say, ‘I am here, sir’.”
Two minutes later, a new voice came on the line: “There’s a money laundering case against you. You embezzled Rs 2 crore with Panjapati Syed.”
I was asked for my bank details, how much cash and gold I had at home. When I couldn’t provide much, the voice grew angrier. Documents with four people’s faces, including two arrests, were sent to me on Skype. An arrest warrant was issued in my name too.
FAKE ARREST PAPERS
I was on the phone with the ‘Mumbai Police’, who accused me not only of drug smuggling but also of money laundering. On a Saturday afternoon, I had suddenly gone from a journalist to a criminal.
I was interrogated the same way. I had a bank account at the Bank of Baroda, and they gave me a detailed list of supposed financial manipulations. I was crying, but there was no mercy. The crime was too serious. One charge followed another, each accompanied by “evidence”.
Then the tone softened, as if I was being given a chance to defend myself. “Cooperate with the police, and the investigation will take seven days. You must have given your Aadhaar to someone in a café, and that’s how it got misused. Do you suspect anyone? Have you had any altercations?”
I denied everything.
They said from that side that this is a massive scam, worth crores. Two people have been arrested in this case, and your name is involved. If you cooperate with the investigation, you may get some relief. They also said your family is in danger. The scammers have been keeping an eye on your family. We have information about your house and office. If you disclose any details of this investigation to anyone, you will be jailed for two years. If the drug case is confirmed, you face 15 years in prison.
With the stern police tone in the background, amid the noise of the control room, everything seemed so real that even if you were innocent, you’d believe you were a drug smuggler. I was convinced that after this, no weekend would bring me peace, shopping, good food, or fresh air.
On the phone, you’re given a format: your name, location, what you’re doing, how much money you’ve spent. All your accounts are frozen. You can’t spend any money, nor can any be withdrawn. We know your every move. (What shocked me most was that they knew my office timings—they had my exact schedule. This convinced me everything was true).
After this 1-hour 30-minutes video call, I was told to hang up.
I put down the phone like a robot. The call ended, but I couldn’t make sense of anything. It felt like a mental jammer was blocking all my thoughts. Somehow, I realised that since I was on the verge of losing everything, I should at least tell someone. I thought of calling a relative. Then I remembered that my calls might be traced.
With the doors and windows closed, I carefully wrote down the entire incident and told one of my relatives over a video call. He was shocked and immediately called me on WhatsApp. He told me it was all fake — a trap. But my mind refused to believe it. On his advice, I called the cybercrime unit, where I was instructed to submit a written report. Even after trying through the website, I couldn’t register my complaint.
Next, I called a senior colleague from my office. He also said this was a widespread issue, happening to many people.
“It’s a scam. Don’t be afraid,” he reassured me.
But I was still stuck in the fear-filled trance. I told him everything was true and only called to make sure my situation didn’t cause problems for the office. But as he kept explaining, sharing similar cases of courier scams involving fake police and judges, I realised I was indeed caught in a trap. He urged me to file a cybercrime complaint.
When I called 112, the police arrived quickly. They, too, confirmed it was a scam and advised reporting it to cybercrime or visiting a police station.
The entire day passed in fear. Sunday, October 6th. Around noon, I received the same call (08380726430). This time, they sent a clarification note, claiming to be from Mumbai Police.
“This is Karan Verma from FedEx Courier,” the caller said. But now, I was prepared, and the conversation didn’t go any further.
As I write this now, I realise how dangerous this mental torture was. Reading about such scams, you wonder how people fall into these traps. But I don’t know what happened to me that afternoon. I, who had always warned others about such frauds, was mentally tortured for hours. The feeling of being digitally arrested and the fear still linger. Be alert. These scammers prey on your fear, making you lose your ability to think clearly. I’m writing this to warn others to stay vigilant.
In a statement, FedEx said, “FedEx does not request personal information through unsolicited phone calls, mail, or email for goods being shipped or held, unless requested or initiated by customers. If any individual receives any suspicious phone calls or messages, they are advised not to provide their personal information. Instead, they should immediately contact the local law enforcement authorities within the vicinity or report to the cybercrime department of the Government of India.”