<p>I had always yearned to be an activist and, God, in the guise of an online fraud company, I was granted that wish, too. I am a great online shopper, thumping my chest on my ability to separate the chaff from the wheat. I also take care to go for only COD (cash on delivery) purchases and that too, not exceeding Rs 2,000.</p>.<p>Unfortunately this time the <span class="italic">sarees</span> were very tempting, the prices were also tempting, some of my friends had endorsed the new online store and I decided to go for the kill. And got killed on the rebound!</p>.<p>The much-awaited package had <span class="italic">sarees</span> alright but not the ones in my order. A flurry of unfruitful activities (my calls to all their available numbers, mails to all their available IDs, messages after messages on their fb page yielded no response), heartburns, the shamed feeling, helpless anger at being duped — I had all these and much more. I wanted to share it with somebody and chose the facebook.</p>.<p>Sympathies, shock and disbelief followed, which only added to my frustration. The silver lining came in the form of a friend: ‘Please visit PM’s website where you will find ‘Write to the PM’, you make your representation with all relevant details, you will hear in two weeks’ time, along with positive action’ was his advice. I did.</p>.<p>After all, I have nothing to lose, right? PMO, here I come, was my thought. ‘Write to the PM’, you will be heard for sure,’ he kept on prodding me. I was heard for sure.</p>.<p>My grievance was registered; a mail with complete details of my complaint, and the reference number promptly arrived at my WhatsApp and E-mail ID. I could check the journey of my poor grievance at any given point of time; it provided me with the contact details of the officer in charge; it gave me the feeling that someone was taking care of my rather insignificant complaint.</p>.<p>Then started the action, unbelievable but real. On the third day, I had this call from Delhi, once again verifying the facts. The person on the other end cautioned me, though: This is definitely a fraud and if we fail, you may have to lodge a complaint with the local police. Which meant, Surat! I put down the phone with a sinking feeling and could see my money down the drain.</p>.<p>Within two minutes, another call came. The tone was polite, submissive and obliging. They were only too eager to take poor me off their back! “Madam, please give your bank details, we will refund you,” they were like parrots. There was not even a casual mention of the return of their low-priced <span class="italic">sarees</span>. ‘Do whatever you want, madam!’</p>.<p>I got the mystery unravelled in no time: from the mail copied to me, I understood that the Grievance Redressal Cell had contacted them and a sweet, firm and very harmless message had been sent out to the fraudster, with a clear timeframe of one week: you close the case amicably, or else... But I had my reservations, didn’t want to give the bank details and when contacted, PMO also advised me to be cautious. I provided a UDI Id.</p>.<p>They refused, insisted on bank details, and I resisted. When the stalemate continued, I again approached my saviour, forwarded the communications and updated the officer. Again within minutes the company was on the line, asking for an alternative. I asked them to send a crossed cheque, to which they agreed, albeit reluctantly.</p>.<p>Oh, no, don’t think the story ended then and that it was happily ever after. They pulled out all the tricks in their bag to delay the payment. Sent the photo of the cheque; even after one week all I had was only the image of the cheque; again reminders; updates to PMO copied to the culprit; then a sudden spurt of activity. Finally they did send the cheque and then a call — ‘Madam, the cheque will not be honoured since the account is blocked. Any other option? Bank details, perhaps?’ I held on. Updating, copying, and finally, ‘Give the UDI. Will transfer.’ Another two days, repetition of the whole process: ‘We were checking the account holder’s background, madam’ ‘Good. You’re wiser than me. If I had done yours, I wouldn’t have been in this mess’, I retorted and foolishly felt like a victorious soldier in a surgical strike.</p>.<p>Finally they have sent the money. I thanked Prof Sinha, the officer -in- charge whose simple reply was: ‘Our endeavour is to help consumers.’ In my benevolent mood, I was ready to hug my worst enemy even. So I thanked the company, too!</p>.<p>This story may end here but as long as gullible people like me are around, it will never end.</p>
<p>I had always yearned to be an activist and, God, in the guise of an online fraud company, I was granted that wish, too. I am a great online shopper, thumping my chest on my ability to separate the chaff from the wheat. I also take care to go for only COD (cash on delivery) purchases and that too, not exceeding Rs 2,000.</p>.<p>Unfortunately this time the <span class="italic">sarees</span> were very tempting, the prices were also tempting, some of my friends had endorsed the new online store and I decided to go for the kill. And got killed on the rebound!</p>.<p>The much-awaited package had <span class="italic">sarees</span> alright but not the ones in my order. A flurry of unfruitful activities (my calls to all their available numbers, mails to all their available IDs, messages after messages on their fb page yielded no response), heartburns, the shamed feeling, helpless anger at being duped — I had all these and much more. I wanted to share it with somebody and chose the facebook.</p>.<p>Sympathies, shock and disbelief followed, which only added to my frustration. The silver lining came in the form of a friend: ‘Please visit PM’s website where you will find ‘Write to the PM’, you make your representation with all relevant details, you will hear in two weeks’ time, along with positive action’ was his advice. I did.</p>.<p>After all, I have nothing to lose, right? PMO, here I come, was my thought. ‘Write to the PM’, you will be heard for sure,’ he kept on prodding me. I was heard for sure.</p>.<p>My grievance was registered; a mail with complete details of my complaint, and the reference number promptly arrived at my WhatsApp and E-mail ID. I could check the journey of my poor grievance at any given point of time; it provided me with the contact details of the officer in charge; it gave me the feeling that someone was taking care of my rather insignificant complaint.</p>.<p>Then started the action, unbelievable but real. On the third day, I had this call from Delhi, once again verifying the facts. The person on the other end cautioned me, though: This is definitely a fraud and if we fail, you may have to lodge a complaint with the local police. Which meant, Surat! I put down the phone with a sinking feeling and could see my money down the drain.</p>.<p>Within two minutes, another call came. The tone was polite, submissive and obliging. They were only too eager to take poor me off their back! “Madam, please give your bank details, we will refund you,” they were like parrots. There was not even a casual mention of the return of their low-priced <span class="italic">sarees</span>. ‘Do whatever you want, madam!’</p>.<p>I got the mystery unravelled in no time: from the mail copied to me, I understood that the Grievance Redressal Cell had contacted them and a sweet, firm and very harmless message had been sent out to the fraudster, with a clear timeframe of one week: you close the case amicably, or else... But I had my reservations, didn’t want to give the bank details and when contacted, PMO also advised me to be cautious. I provided a UDI Id.</p>.<p>They refused, insisted on bank details, and I resisted. When the stalemate continued, I again approached my saviour, forwarded the communications and updated the officer. Again within minutes the company was on the line, asking for an alternative. I asked them to send a crossed cheque, to which they agreed, albeit reluctantly.</p>.<p>Oh, no, don’t think the story ended then and that it was happily ever after. They pulled out all the tricks in their bag to delay the payment. Sent the photo of the cheque; even after one week all I had was only the image of the cheque; again reminders; updates to PMO copied to the culprit; then a sudden spurt of activity. Finally they did send the cheque and then a call — ‘Madam, the cheque will not be honoured since the account is blocked. Any other option? Bank details, perhaps?’ I held on. Updating, copying, and finally, ‘Give the UDI. Will transfer.’ Another two days, repetition of the whole process: ‘We were checking the account holder’s background, madam’ ‘Good. You’re wiser than me. If I had done yours, I wouldn’t have been in this mess’, I retorted and foolishly felt like a victorious soldier in a surgical strike.</p>.<p>Finally they have sent the money. I thanked Prof Sinha, the officer -in- charge whose simple reply was: ‘Our endeavour is to help consumers.’ In my benevolent mood, I was ready to hug my worst enemy even. So I thanked the company, too!</p>.<p>This story may end here but as long as gullible people like me are around, it will never end.</p>