India’s Digital Scam Epidemic: A National Shame Fueled by Government Apathy
There was a time when India’s digital revolution was the pride of its policymakers—UPI became the poster child of fintech innovation, QR codes popped up at paan shops, and financial inclusion got a tech-savvy facelift. But today, the same digital utopia has morphed into a chaotic underworld of fraud, fear, and outright national embarrassment. Scammers are not just thriving—they’re expanding, evolving, and institutionalizing their crimes while the government sleepwalks through the crisis, issuing hollow advisories and occasionally waking up to record a radio message.
We are not talking about minor thefts here. We’re talking about a full-blown epidemic—digital arrest scams that psychologically torture victims into transferring their life savings, UPI frauds using fake screenshots and malicious QR codes, international call centers duping elderly foreigners through tech support hoaxes, and crypto cons that bleed people dry. These aren’t isolated incidents; they’re systemic failures happening under the nose of a government that proudly boasts about “Digital India” while seemingly refusing to defend it.
The Scamdemic: Digital Fraud as an Industry
Let’s start with the scale. Delhi Police reported over 25,000 UPI fraud complaints in just the first half of 2024. Citizens are being swindled through every imaginable trick in the scammer playbook—fake refund links, impersonation of government officials, remote access apps disguised as “support tools,” and more. In the now-notorious “digital arrest” scams, victims are kept on video calls for hours, bullied by fake officials into believing they are part of money laundering operations or drug busts, and coerced into transferring lakhs to escape arrest. Over ₹120 crore was lost to just this scam in the first three months of 2024.
And the horror isn’t confined to India’s borders anymore. Indian-origin scammers have gone global—running tech support call centers targeting elderly Americans, sending fake visa approval notices to unsuspecting students abroad, and impersonating U.S. immigration officers. In one particularly shameful case, an Indian textile tycoon, S.P. Oswal, was duped out of $830,000 in a scam that featured a fake online Supreme Court hearing. Yes, our scammers are now staging mock trials with fabricated Indian judges to fleece people. If this doesn’t make you want to hide your passport out of secondhand embarrassment, nothing will.
A Government That Wakes Up After the Looting Is Done
What has the Indian government done in response to this digital collapse? Not much beyond hand-wringing and occasional lip service. After ₹120 crore vanished into scammer pockets, the Prime Minister found time in his “Mann Ki Baat” to advise citizens that “the government never makes calls threatening arrest.” It took 120 crore rupees and nationwide panic for the government to utter what should have been common-sense policy from day one.
Instead of building robust protections, our digital infrastructure was pushed into the world like an unfinished beta version—no data protection laws worth mentioning, no cybersecurity awareness for the masses, and no plan to deal with the criminal economy that would naturally follow. While governments in other countries are tightening digital fraud laws, India is still sending out newspaper ads telling people to “not share OTPs.”
Laws as Leaky as a Basket in a Monsoon
The legal system is, predictably, worse. The IT Act of 2000 is laughably outdated—written when Orkut was still futuristic and broadband meant 512 kbps. There are no specific, enforceable laws for UPI frauds, digital impersonation, or psychological extortion over video calls. Scamsters are arrested under vague IPC provisions and are often granted bail in a matter of days.
Conviction rates are abysmal. Even when police nab a fraudster, prosecutions drag on for years due to lack of digital evidence protocols, clueless investigators, and overloaded courts. There are no fast-track courts for cybercrime, no mandatory forensic training for investigators, and certainly no political appetite to overhaul the system. Instead, we continue to recycle the same tired warnings—”Be careful, do not share passwords”—as if citizens are the ones responsible for the government’s inability to enforce laws.
Law Enforcement: Fighting 21st-Century Crimes with 19th-Century Tools
Most police stations in India are utterly ill-equipped to handle digital fraud. Officers are trained to handle land disputes, not QR code phishing scams. Many are unaware of how UPI even works, let alone how to trace the web of mule accounts used by scammers. Victims are often told to call bank helplines or are redirected endlessly between cyber cells, none of which have the technical expertise or manpower to actually trace or recover stolen funds.
Meanwhile, scammers run their operations with chilling efficiency. They rent out office spaces, hire multilingual staff, purchase premium video conferencing tools, and even practice scripts for fake government interrogations. They are, in essence, more organized and better funded than the very agencies meant to stop them.
No Political Incentive to Fix the Mess
The silence from policymakers is deafening—and telling. There is no urgency to fix the legal void, no sweeping cybersecurity bill in Parliament, and no budgetary push to bolster cyber policing. Why? Because these crimes mostly affect everyday citizens, many of whom never even report the fraud out of shame or helplessness. There is no angry vote bank to placate, no election to be won by protecting middle-class bank balances.
Contrast this with the breakneck speed at which investigative agencies swing into action when it involves political rivals. Entire opposition parties are probed overnight, assets frozen, CBI dispatched in helicopters. But a gang running an illegal scam call center looting lakhs? That’s just a Tuesday.
An International Disgrace We Pretend Not to See
India’s inaction is no longer just a domestic issue—it’s becoming a stain on the country’s global image. Indian nationals are being extradited for running foreign scams. Embassies abroad are being forced to issue warnings against fraud calls. International agencies like the FBI and Interpol have started tracking fraud rings based in India. What began as internal lawlessness is now being exported—proudly, efficiently, and with zero fear of consequence.
This is not just about fraud anymore. It’s about the country’s reputation being dragged through digital gutters. And yet, where is the national outcry? Where is the push for international cybercrime treaties? Where is the institutional introspection?
The Shame We’ve Accepted
What’s most disturbing is not that these scams exist—it’s that they’ve become normalized. We now live in a country where it’s expected that every unknown call could be a fraud, every payment link could be a trap, every QR code could wipe your account. We laugh off scams at dinner tables. “I got a scam call today” is a routine story. This normalization is the real national tragedy.
The government must wake up—not with another Doordarshan PSA or a tweet from PIB Fact Check—but with legislative reforms, real deterrents, dedicated cybercrime courts, and a nationwide crackdown. Law enforcement must be trained, equipped, and held accountable for letting these scammers run wild. And above all, the policymakers who let this rot fester must finally be made to answer for it.
Until that happens, every rupee stolen, every victim duped, and every foreigner scammed is not just a crime—it’s a national shame. One that we, tragically, have learned to live with.
