You’d think that by 87, you’ve seen most of what life has to throw at you. You’ve raised a family, served society, in this case, quite literally.
The woman in this story is no ordinary pensioner. She’s a retired doctor from Mumbai’s BMC, a woman who once healed hundreds, now spending her days quietly in her flat near Linking Road, Khar West.
Until one fine December morning, when cockroaches changed everything.
“Arre, this house is turning into a zoo,” she had mumbled, staring at the kitchen corner.
So, she did what most of us do — opened her phone and Googled “BMC pest control contact number.” A number popped up right at the top. It looked legit. There was even a name and address below it. Without thinking much, she dialed.
“Hello, BMC Pest Control?” she asked.
“Yes ma’am, you’ve reached the civic pest control department,” said a woman on the other end, with the confidence of a call center pro.
“What’s the process?” she asked.
“Just a ₹50 registration fee, and you’ll get the service free. It’s a senior citizen scheme,” the caller assured.
₹50 sounded harmless. The voice sounded helpful. And the word “free” sealed the deal. But here’s the catch — the retired doctor had never made online payments. Her bank accounts weren’t linked to her phone. That was her shield, or so she thought.
“Beta, I don’t do UPI and all that,” she said.
“No problem at all, aunty,” came the reply. “I’ll send a link. Just click and fill in your name. We’ll do the rest.”
The link came. It looked like a government form. She tapped.
That’s when the damage began.
Minutes later, her phone buzzed.
₹1,85,000 debited from Kotak Mahindra Bank.
Her heart skipped. She called the woman back, panicked.
“Wait, why did I lose money? I just clicked a form!”
“Sorry, sorry, aunty. Don’t worry, I’ll reverse it. I’m sending ₹1 lakh back now. Please wait.”
That was the last call before the number went dead.
Days passed. The doctor, shaken but hopeful, visited her bank. At first, things didn’t look too bad. Nothing unusual popped up. But something kept nagging her.
A month later, while updating her passbook at Punjab National Bank, the bomb dropped.
Over 40 transactions. Between Dec 20 and Jan 22.
Gone — ₹13.35 lakh.
She checked her Axis Bank. Then Kotak again. More debits. More heartbreak.
Total Loss: ₹16.14 lakh.
The rest was a blur. She dialed the cybercrime helpline, filed a formal complaint. Mumbai’s West Cyber Police Station lodged the FIR against an “unknown female fraudster.”
But unlike her years of service to society, justice in these scams comes crawling, if at all.
Why This Scam Worked
Let’s break it down — not with fancy jargon, but real talk.
- Trust in Search Engines: She didn’t get the number from some shady WhatsApp forward. She Googled it. And that’s the scary part — even that isn’t safe anymore.
- Simplicity of the Ask: ₹50. That’s all it took to open the door. Most people won’t question such a tiny amount — that’s what scammers bank on.
- Emotional Hook: She wasn’t greedy. She was annoyed by pests. The scammer played the helper, the “beta” with a solution.
- Delay in Detection: Because she didn’t use mobile banking, the fraud stretched for a month before she caught on.
Lessons You Shouldn’t Learn the Hard Way
- Google Can Lie: Just because something appears on the first page of search results doesn’t mean it’s authentic. Fraudsters now buy ads or spoof websites to look legit.
- No Clicking Unknown Links: Ever. Especially those asking for personal info or pretending to be from government bodies.
- Keep a Watch on Bank Statements: Even if you don’t use online banking, visit your branch or ATM and check your passbook often.
- Talk to Family: If unsure, ask someone younger. These scams often succeed when people try to solve problems alone.
In a city that never sleeps, even a quiet December morning can turn into a nightmare.
Let this story be more than just another “senior citizen lost money” headline. Let it be a wake-up call for all of us — whether we’re 18 or 80.
