By Binny Yadav
In times when India witnesses a cybercrime every five seconds, as per the National Crime Records Bureau’s September 2025 report, the story of a 78-year-old former banker in Delhi who was recently duped of Rs 23 crore through what is now termed a “digital arrest” barely shocks anymore. What truly startles is the profile of the victim and the audacity of the crime. That a man financially literate and worldly-wise could be conned on such a scale underscores a much larger malaise.
Cybercrime in India has not only multiplied in sheer numbers—86,420 cases in a year, a sharp 31.3 percent increase from 65,893 in 2022—but has also grown in sophistication, creativity, and cruelty. Terms like digital arrest, cyber looting, and digital fraud have entered everyday vocabulary.
Yet, the perpetrators remain faceless, their crimes unfazed by policing, their methods always one step ahead of both law and technology. The inadequacy of legal clarity for technology-sensitive crimes, combined with weak policing and fragile infrastructure, has left citizens—educated or not—exposed. In this climate, even the most tech-savvy and cautious are never fully safe.
FEAR AS CURRENCY
The most dangerous weapon in the fraudster’s arsenal is not code or malware, but psychology—and increasingly, profiling. Cybercrime in India has morphed into an industry of manipulation where fear and trust are the currency of exploitation.
Scamsters no longer rely on random phishing attempts. They prey with precision, armed with personal details mined from data leaks and social networks. The frauds now carry an eerie familiarity: fake job offers for overseas postings, alarming claims of courier parcels laced with drugs, threats of mobile numbers linked to terror financing, or the chilling pronouncement of a digital arrest. Each script is tailored to exploit panic, greed, or helplessness.
A BRUSH WITH THE TRAP
One weekday morning, as I waited for my son’s routine message confirming he had reached college, I received repeated calls from an unfamiliar number. The Truecaller ID flashed ASI Singh, shorthand for Assistant Sub-Inspector. Almost instantly, a WhatsApp message followed: “Please answer. This is about your son.” The display picture showed a man in Delhi Police uniform.
The timing coincided perfectly with my son’s expected message. I picked up the call. The voice on the other end claimed my son had been apprehended in a serious crime. In the background, I heard what sounded like my son’s voice—crying, pleading. For those first seconds, my heart froze.
Then came the demand: transfer a large sum of money if I ever wanted to see my son again. Panic gripped me, but instinct forced me to verify. I messaged my son through my laptop. His reply came instantly: he was in class, safe. Relief followed, but so did astonishment at the precision of the trap.
While I tried to overcome the impact of this narrowly escaped cyber trap, I also wondered about an interesting coincident—I had transferred a handsome amount of money from my fixed deposit to my bank account exactly one day before. If this has some connection the entire modus operandi of “target profiling” is extremely dangerous trend.
This was no random call. The caller had my profile. They knew I had a teenage son. They struck at the exact hour when I awaited his message. It was profiling, scripted, and calculated to fracture judgment in those vulnerable moments.
If someone like me, a practising journalist and law graduate aware of such frauds, could be shaken, how easily might others surrender?
WHEN AWARENESS FAILS
Cybercrime respects no profile. My father, a retired army engineer and a man of rigorous financial discipline, wasn’t as fortunate. Despite his sharpness with digital banking, he was duped.
What followed was an ordeal not with criminals, but with the system. His jurisdiction fell under Noida, where the lone cyber police station sits tucked away in Greater Noida, nearly 20 km away. Even there, lodging an FIR was not straightforward. After repeated visits, despite my media access, all he managed was a complaint. A year later, with no progress, he gave up.
The scam was swift, but the pursuit of justice was a slow bleed—an experience replicated by thousands across India.
THE ANATOMY OF A CRISIS
Three patterns dominate India’s cybercrime landscape:
1. Ever-evolving methods: fraudsters refine their craft—voice cloning, deepfakes, AI-generated calls—keeping even the alert unguarded.
2. Targeted profiling: victims are chosen; vulnerabilities mapped through digital footprints.
3. Legal and administrative inertia: laws lag behind technology, police lack capacity, and convictions are almost non-existent.
The result? A conviction rate below one percent. An RTI response published by The Times of India in April 2025 revealed that in Mumbai, out of 2,002 online financial fraud cases registered between 2021 and April 2025, there were just two convictions.
WHAT EXACTLY IS A DIGITAL ARREST?
Although widely used by fraudsters, the term has no legal standing in India. It is pure fiction—an intimidation tactic. Criminals impersonate police or enforcement agencies, claiming the victim is under “digital arrest” for alleged crimes such as drug smuggling, terror funding, or money laundering.
According to Niti Aayog, digital arrest is a scam designed to extort money through fear, deceit, and intimidation. Calls often begin innocuously, with claims about parcel deliveries or KYC verification, and quickly escalate into accusations of grave crimes. Fake documents, doctored videos, and spoofed numbers add a veneer of legitimacy, pushing victims into hurried compliance.
Victims are threatened into paying money under the guise of bail or to avoid incarceration. The emotional toll is profound—terror mixed with urgency. Legally, these scams fall under fraud, extortion, and impersonation provisions of the Information Technology Act, 2000, and the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, 2023.
REMEDIES IN THEORY, ROADBLOCKS IN PRACTICE
On paper, remedies exist. Victims can file complaints on the National Cyber Crime Reporting Portal, approach cyber police stations, or request banks to freeze transactions. Compensation mechanisms are available under consumer and banking laws. In practice, however, the system is crippled. Police stations are understaffed,
FIRs are often refused, technical expertise is scarce, and investigations move slowly—the exact opposite of what cybercrime demands.
A LANDMARK FROM WEST BENGAL
Amid the bleakness, July 2024 brought a glimmer of hope. A district court in West Bengal sentenced nine individuals to life imprisonment in India’s first conviction for a digital arrest fraud.
The case involved a businessman coerced into transferring funds after being threatened with digital arrest. The court recognised not just the financial harm, but also the psychological captivity inflicted.
Calling it “organised intimidation through technology,” the judge equated it with serious extortion. For the first time, Indian jurisprudence acknowledged the gravity of these scams, treating them not as routine fraud, but as crimes of terror through technology. Legal scholars hailed the verdict as a precedent capable of deterrence—if replicated.
THE ROAD AHEAD
India’s digital journey is a paradox. While the nation spearheads global digital payments and embraces AI-driven governance, its citizens remain dangerously exposed. Cybercrime has become the most democratic of crimes: bankers, engineers, journalists, students—no one is spared.
The way forward demands more than ad-hoc responses. It requires:
- Robust cyber policing infrastructure with trained personnel, forensic tools, and accessible stations.
- Legislative clarity that updates laws to recognise new-age scams like voice-cloning and digital arrests.
- Judicial innovation in the form of fast-track cybercrime courts and replication of the West Bengal precedent.
- Citizen education beyond technical hygiene, focused on the psychology of manipulation and fear.
Until then, India remains caught between two realities: a nation sprinting towards digitisation, and a justice system limping behind—leaving citizens vulnerable to predators who know no borders and fear no consequences.
—The writer is a New Delhi-based journalist, lawyer and trained mediator