This number does not exist

                               

So that’s the telephone? They ring, and you run. Edgar Degas.

I don’t know about you, dear reader, but over the past few months I have been receiving some strange calls on my mobile phone. I would not classify them as crank calls exactly, but apparently the aim is to fool you into believing that someone in authority has something incriminating on you and unless you acquiesce in some way or the other, you could find yourself in extremely hot water; a crude attempt at blackmail. As to what you are expected to do to steer clear of the looming threat is a closed book because I cut the line within 10 seconds of the call coming through, if not sooner. My mobile service company usually tries to be helpful on these occasions but their efforts are futile. Oftentimes, when my phone rings and a ‘Suspected Spam’ flashes across the screen, I disconnect immediately. Such, however, is not always the case. When the call displays just a set of digits, one knows it is not from your contact list, but you still respond in case it is something important from a source whose number you had not saved or its provenance unknown. It is on such occasions that the conversation takes an unsavoury and confrontational turn. I responded to one such call just the other day.

‘Hello, am I speaking to Mr. Subrahmanyan?’ inquires the caller.

‘Yes, you are. Who is this?’

‘I am calling from Customs at the Bangalore Airport. A parcel has just arrived in your name from Cuba, your address and mobile number clearly marked, and we have reasons to believe the package contains contraband material.’

‘What, just because it arrived from Cuba? Could have been a box of Montecristo cigars, though I don’t smoke and was not expecting its arrival. Anyhow, what is the sender’s name?’ I was peeved and curious.

‘There is no sender’s name mentioned on the parcel, which is very suspicious. We would request you to come to the Customs office at the Airport and discuss the matter with us.’

‘Look, my dear old Customs official, I am not expecting any parcel from Cuba. I know no one in that country. At least, not after Castro died. I have no intention of responding to your request to travel for over two hours to come to the airport. I am reporting this matter to the police. Kindly text me your name and designation in Customs, which will help both of us get to the bottom of this mystery.’ The line went dead. I tried calling that number a few times and a recorded voice informed me that ‘this number does not exist.’

Then there was that unpleasant call from someone claiming to be from the Vigilance Cell of the Mumbai police.

‘Is this the mobile number of Mr. Subrahmanyan?’

‘Yes, it is. What can I do you for?’

‘We are calling from the Vigilance Cell of the Mumbai Police.’

‘And a very good morning to you too. Do we have a name, Mr. Vigilance Cell?’ I was at my acerbic best, but my sarcasm went over the caller’s head. He got quite shirty.

‘My name is not important. You have been making obscene calls to several ladies in Mumbai who have registered their complaints with us. You are to report to our Malabar Hill station within 24 hours.’

‘Listen carefully, my vigilant friend. I live in Bangalore and you’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of my taking a flight to Mumbai. I would like to know your name and ID proof, names of the ladies who have made this ridiculous complaint and at least one recording of this mythical, obscene call. Merely the sound of heavy breathing will not do. And if I do not receive the requested information within 24 hours, I shall be making a very obscene call to you and turn into a vigilante myself. Am I getting through to you?’

Clearly, I was not getting through as the line suffered a sudden cardiac arrest and breathed its last. I tried calling the number and, once more, received the helpful recorded message that the number did not exist. I was advised to block such numbers, but these charlatans are canny. They keep calling from different numbers, the sods. In more ways than one, they had my number.

As if all this was not nuisance enough to distract me from my attempting to unravel P.D. James’ supreme prose while solving a murder mystery, which alone is enough to put anyone off one’s equilibrium, there are the courier service chaps who will call you to reconfirm your address and phone number because they are holding a parcel from FedEx in my name.

‘So why don’t you just deliver it to me like every other two-bit courier does, ringing my door bell and ruining my afternoon nap? Why do you need to reconfirm my address and phone number? You have just called me on this number and I am he whose name supposedly features on the parcel.’

‘You could have misplaced your phone Sir, and we could be talking to someone else and not Mr. Seetharaman.’

‘But I am not Mr. Seetharaman.’

‘Then who are you, Sir?’

‘That is for me to know and for you to find out. Why should I reveal my identity if that blasted parcel is intended for a Mr. Seetharaman, whoever he is. Maybe he fancies Cuban cigars.’ Finally, I was starting to enjoy this exchange.

‘Then how is your mobile number featured on the address? Gotcha.’ He sounded like the chap whose Bishop had just dealt a death blow to my Queen and was about to say ‘Checkmate.’

‘Search me.’ Go and ask the mobile service company and I am sure they will give you short shrift. If you fellows cannot distinguish two similar sounding but entirely different names, then that is your problem. There, I have even given you a hint as to what my name might be. Have the time of your life and next time I hear from you, I am calling the cops. Capiche?’ I cut him off before he could ask me what ‘capiche’ meant.

It has always been a matter of wonderment to me as to what these guys get out of making these crazy calls with misleading messages. I cannot see any reasonably educated person falling for these telephonic tricks. If you know for certain that you are not expecting a parcel from Cuba, you will certainly not respond and the ‘threat’ vanishes. There could be an element of blackmail if you had ordered sex toys and were embarrassed to admit it, though no crime is involved. Or so I am told. I read about something like this recently in my daily newspaper where a small-town teenager had placed an order for an inflatable, life-sized doll from Bangkok which got our officialdom most interested, leaving the pimply, pubescent adolescent red-faced. I think the cops get off on cases like this.

There is always a downside to this problem involving fake calls. What if the call was genuine? An executive from a mutual fund house called to tell me that a largish sum in a particular equity fund was about to expire and what would I like to do with it. As I had forgotten all about it, I assumed this was another one of those fraudulent calls and I was quite rude to the fund manager. When he explained himself curtly, I had to hurriedly proffer my apologies. After all, this was real money. Not an inflatable doll.

The newspapers inform us regularly that strenuous efforts are being made to catch these culprits and many of them are cooling their heels behind bars. However, the calls keep coming and old people are getting gypped of their hard-earned savings. I am considering changing my mobile number. Not that that is going to help. The cyber crooks are always one step ahead of the game. Worse luck.