‘Scamlands’: How India became the frontline of global fraud
Snigdha Poonam’s nonfiction book ‘Scamlands’ takes stock of the implications of fraud in an already fractured society
The fear of being scammed is a primal emotion, as fundamental as the need for love, uniting humans across time and borders. It’s why we step back when someone we let into our lives becomes a little too familiar a little too quickly. It’s why we are sceptical of emails from unknown senders. And it is why we are distrustful when a stranger calls. It is why we are silent when we don’t know who is on the other end of the line. Yet, we may still find ourselves blindsided. Despite our caution, we may have run into a professional: Someone who has been trained to trick us, someone selected for their ability to win our trust, someone paid to deceive.
Any of us may encounter a scammer. More and more of us will. We know what they want—our money—but we often have no idea who they are or why they chose to swindle us of our hard-earned income instead of making an honest living. Do they seek only money, or is there a deeper intent—revenge on an unfair and unfeeling world, perhaps? Levelling the playing field in some twisted attempt at justice? Settling some score we were unaware of? In years of writing about villains and villainy, I have encountered criminals from petty vandals to serial killers. Yet none have fascinated me as much as fraudsters. There are other ways to take someone’s money: hacking into accounts or executing elaborate heists. But unlike others in the financial crime world, fraudsters must first build a relationship with their victims—however fleeting—before making their move. It’s a remarkable skill, and a terrifying weapon.
Each scam is a series of strategic choices. In deciding who to target and how to go about it, fraudsters reveal things about us and the world we live in that we often overlook—or are unwilling to acknowledge. Nobody knows exactly how many people in India have made scamming a career. But even by rough estimates, our fraud industry employs multitudes. People are drawn to it as a source of income, as a key to social status, as a path to political power. It grows larger and larger in the shadows—at least one growth sector in an otherwise moribund economy.
I began writing this book in the early days of the pandemic—a time when everyone’s lives and livelihoods seemed precarious. I knew the most effective way to understand a world that was not supposed to exist was to immerse myself in it, one scam at a time. If one wanted to know what scam was drawing most participants at any given moment, news reports, detailing victims’ testimonies, provided clues. Some schemes only thrived briefly, fading away because they became overexposed or outdated, while others endured, expanding their workforce and upgrading their methods.
Most stories in Scamlands began with a tip. A colleague, police officer, activist, or trusted source would share details about a scam operating in a particular region. Occasionally, I noticed something suspicious—an advertisement or a social media post—that set me a trail of clues, ultimately leading to the next chapter. I followed their trail to a wide range of places, from a coastal town in Cambodia to one in the United States. I had to, because the story of fraud is the story of globalisation—and, perhaps, vice versa. This book took me to the region I once called home, where now a dark ingenuity thrives amidst poverty and oppression.
The circumstances that gave rise to the scammers of Jamtara are unique, but the psychology behind them is universal: a blend of greed, fear and trust, proving equally effective whether the target was in Massachusetts or Mumbai. There I saw how two Indias collide—one chasing material progress, the other bent on survival. And in their collision is born the kind of ambition that drives people to the brink of innovation and then pushes them over the edge of illegality—while hardened inequalities make it impossible for them to turn back.
Scamlands travels onwards to a divided and desperate eastern state, beset by fear and floods. If in my home province of Jharkhand, I was struck by the ingenuity that underlay the dishonesty, in Assam, what stood out was audacity. I saw, too, how the empire of scams is both born of and undermines the social contract between the state and its citizens. The fraudsters of Assam’s Barpeta looked like they were exploiting weaknesses in the welfare infrastructure, but they were also taking a hammer to a system that overlooked their existence. Once you have met them, you will understand a little more about the broader implications of fraud in an already fractured society.
Nothing fractures Indian society like caste. Combine that with fraud, and you have a recipe for a social explosion. I saw such an explosion in Kumbakonam, an austere temple town in India’s south, whose spiritual reverence for gold was tarnished by a scam so outrageous that it required its entire hierarchy to be knowingly or unknowingly complicit. By then, I had built up a picture of how too many Indians have turned to tricking instead of trusting each other and why. And by that point in this narrative, the reader will understand what such trickery is doing to the world’s most populous country.
The book goes to a shining city by the South China Sea, where behind high walls and in opulent palaces, fraud is manufactured at an industrial scale. Masses of recruits working tirelessly on one extraordinary scheme, hunting victims worldwide: it will become clear that what was unfolding in India is merely a small piece of a much larger puzzle. The book follows this new assembly line to new parts of the world, to a different scam factory by a different river. And, having followed the trail that far, the reader might learn what awaits them at the other end of the line.
‘Scamlands’ publishes on 31 October.
Snigdha Poonam is the author of ‘Scamlands’ and ‘Dreamers’. She lives in Oxfordshire, UK.
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