Title: ScamBuster Jogenbabu: The Pensioner Who Played the Game
In a faded Kolkata flat that smelled faintly of pickle jars and old books, lived Jogenbabu, a retired engineer in his late sixties, whose daily thrills included arguing with the ceiling fan and squinting at TV serials he couldn’t really see anymore. His son, now a software honcho in Silicon Valley, sent him a regular monthly allowance—which reliably vanished around the 18th of every month. His wife had passed years ago, and the silence in the house had grown louder since.
But there was one antidote to his creeping loneliness: Samaranand, a neighbor three floors down and a self-styled “retired-but-rewired idea man.” Over endless cups of chai brewed so strong it could stand on its own legs, Jogenbabu would sigh, “Life’s become a slow buffering video, Samaranand.”
Samaranand’s response? “Then let’s reboot you, dada. Not physically—digitally. We’ll make you an online rockstar!”
“Rockstar? I can barely operate my Nokia!”
“No worries. We’ve got tech support.”
Enter the entertainment duo:
- Babulal – street-smart, always in flip-flops, and spoke three languages fluently—Hindi, Bengali, and Gibberish (especially when bluffing).
- Soumya – a soft-spoken hacker who could unlock your iPhone with just your shadow.
“Dada,” Samaranand declared dramatically, “we are going to launch Operation Grandpa Glam.”
Act I: Instagramming a Tycoon
Soumya got to work. With some Photoshop, Jogenbabu was transformed: silver hair slicked back, draped in tuxedos he never wore, with luxury yachts he’d never boarded behind him.
On Instagram:
🧓 Jogen Roy – Retired industrialist. Collector of vintage wines. Seeker of fine company and finer biryani.
Facebook posts showed him “playing golf in Phuket” (he’d never held a golf club) and sipping champagne in Monaco (it was actually thumbs-up soda on the rooftop of Hotel Minerva, Park Street).
Within 48 hours—Bingo. His DMs were buzzing like a mosquito in a blackout.
“Hello sir… business proposal…”
“Hey handsome, I like mature men 😘”
“You interested in investing in diamond mines?”
Jogenbabu: “Samaranand, what is happening? These people are MAD!”
Samaranand: “No, dada. They’re just greedy. You’re their golden goose. Only… you lay rubber eggs!”
Act II: The Hookah Honeypot
Enter Rhea—Telegram’s top temptress. Sari-clad profile pic, smoky eyes, and an emoji game sharper than a politician’s promises.
“Let’s meet at The Misty Lounge,” she messaged.
Jogenbabu, trying to sound suave, replied, “My Bentley or yours?”
She sent back a wink emoji. He sent back a confused one by mistake.
That evening, Jogenbabu wore a borrowed blazer and practiced his “millionaire chuckle” in front of the mirror. It came out as a wheeze.
Babulal, in a cheap leather jacket and Ray-Bans (bought from a Gariahat footpath), shadowed him on a battered Yamaha that coughed more than it roared.
At the lounge, Rhea was all sparkle and sass.
Rhea: “You seem… loaded.”
Jogenbabu: “Emotionally or financially?”
Rhea: “Hehe, both I hope.”
Jogenbabu (with fake depth): “My wealth lies in memories... and offshore accounts.”
She ordered exotic hookahs, cocktails, imported olives, and what felt like the entire menu. The bill arrived: ₹18,000.
Jogenbabu’s soul briefly left his body.
Bar owner (hulking, gold-chain-wearing): “Payment, now.”
Jogenbabu: “Let me call my... um... wealth manager.”
Babulal stormed in, flashing a fake police badge like a Bollywood villain-turned-hero.
Babulal: “WHO is threatening my client? I smell a scam here!”
Owner: “What?! No sir! No scam! Just a misunderstanding.”
Babulal (whispering): “Release him, or tomorrow this lounge becomes a paan shop.”
Jogenbabu sauntered out like a Bond uncle, grinning. “Hookah toh bahana tha, Rhea toh drama tha!”
Act III: Enter the Big Fish
One rainy night, a slick guy named Vikram slid into his Insta DMs.
“Sir, want to double your money in a year? Invest in Paradise Retreats—Goa’s finest villa project!”
Jogenbabu: “Will there be wine cellars?”
Vikram: “Of course, sir. Personalized butlers too!”
Samaranand sniffed danger. “Dada, this one’s not like the others. He’s corporate-level crooked. Soumya, do your magic.”
Within hours, Soumya cracked it: Vikram was part of a real estate mafia, had political protection, and a record of muscle tactics.
Babulal: “We’re not just dealing with a scammer, dada. We’ve got a villain from season two of a web series!”
Act IV: The Great Goa Villa Sting
Samaranand drew up the plan like a military strategist. Jogenbabu would act the gullible investor, carrying a briefcase full of very realistic fake notes. Babulal’s market boys would play backup muscle. Soumya would leak the entire scam to a hungry news agency.
At the shady office in a dingy complex, Vikram greeted Jogenbabu with fake warmth and too much cologne.
Vikram: “Sign here, sir. You’ll be a 50% partner.”
Jogenbabu (leaning in, dramatic): “Only if I can name the villas after my dogs—Snuffy and Tiger.”
Vikram (confused): “Uh... sure?”
Just then, the door burst open.
Babulal (in full cop mode): “This is a raid! Vikram Malhotra, you’re under investigation!”
Goons tried to react. Market boys pounced. One goon screamed, “Is this Zee TV?”
In the chaos, Jogenbabu stood up, tore the fake contract, and thundered, “You picked the wrong pensioner!”
Outside, news vans rolled in.
Next morning, headlines screamed:
"Octogenarian Outsmarts Scam Syndicate!"
"Grandpa Goes Gangsta!"
Epilogue: The Rise of InstaBabu
Back at their HQ (a.k.a Samaranand’s flat), the gang sipped tea and munched samosas.
Soumya: “Dada, you’re trending. Real millionaires are messaging. One even offered you a private jet to Bali.”
Babulal: “Shall I book it? I’ll come as your bodyguard-slash-chaiwala.”
Samaranand: “So, Jogenbabu, what now? Scam the rich... or retire as a legend?”
Jogenbabu reclined, holding his cup high, eyes twinkling like streetlamps in monsoon mist.
“Why choose, my friend?” he chuckled. “Let’s continue the game. I still have a few personas left—next week, I’m a retired Maharaja.”
They all burst out laughing, as somewhere online, yet another scammer clicked follow—completely unaware he was the one walking into a trap.
To be continued...
(Because legends don’t retire. They trend.)
4 comments:
All acts seem to be Bollywood thrillers inspired by Hollywood thrillers.
You should have chosen this as your profession and you would come out with box office busters.
Digi-Tall Arrest (of Attention!)
Thanks dear Purswani for liking the flow of the story.
Thanks Harsh for your take.
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