That Time I Lost $60k in an Indian Jewelry Scam

You should tell this story.

Now?

Why not?

It’s pretty shameful.

Sure.

I can’t believe I actually fell for it.

Well, you were in a strange place at the time.

India?

Yes, that too. But I mean mentally. You’d been traveling so long and so far, you’d become bored with everything. Remember what you did in Hong Kong?

I do.

Tell me.

I met that coke dealer on the street and we got chatting.

And?

And I went up to his apartment.

For sex?

No, I wouldn’t let him.

What did you do instead?

I asked him to put cocaine in my pussy. More and more until it was all numb. After a while he said it was too much and I should stop. So I left. I went back to the hostel and lay awake in the bunk all morning, staring at the grey sky outside.

That was a low point, hey?

I guess. I wasn’t ashamed of that. Amused by it, maybe. Or bemused.

And then India.

Not long after I think, yeah. Laos was in that trip too.

Oh yes, Vang Vieng and the opium milkshakes. You overdid it on that too.

Sure, and magic mushrooms on pizzas. You could just order it at the bar. Nothing wrong with that. Then I went dancing. It was that song “World, hold on. One day you will have to answer to the children of the sky”, remember?

I do. Then you went back to a strange guy’s room.

Yeah, his roommate was sleeping in the bed next to us. I wanted him to wake up and join in.

Oh, he was awake.

Haha, yeah. Just stayed staring at the wall. Oh well.

Maybe the traveling alone was getting to you.

Maybe. I met plenty of people but it’s not really the same, is it?

Well, the Russian guy you met in Darjeeling. You stayed with him for quite a while.

I did. He was very nice. Drank beer and smoked cigarettes all day long though. I tried to keep up but then I got sick, couldn’t make it up Poon Hill when we did the short Annapurna Circuit.

You fucked the tour guide.

After I got better.

Granted.

And he was sweet. Very happy. Wrote me many years later asking for a good review. I still remember the shape of his penis. Had a big, bulbous end hahaha.

Why didn’t you fuck the Russian?

Arkhip? I don’t know. I wasn’t that attracted to him, I guess. He got frustrated. Especially on the nights when we were sharing the bed to save money by getting a double room. Still, I wouldn’t. He never insisted, though he was three times my size. I think I enjoyed saying no to him. Made me feel powerful and in control. He shaved my head for me. With a plastic raser. God, that was painful.

Because you got fleas.

Don’t remind me.

You watched him get a tattoo.

I wonder if he thinks of me everytime he looks at it. Rock ‘n’ Roll Boogie Woogie, that’s what it said. Cheesy AF.

That was mostly Nepal.

Yeah, then he borrowed money to continue his journey.

Borrowed?

Yeah, that’s what they all say, right? I’ll never ask him for it, though. It’s fine, I don’t need it. Just a couple of hundred bucks. Wish I could visit him in Russia.

Not now.

No.

Maybe one day.

Let’s see.

You’re avoiding India.

I don’t think I can tell it.

You want me to?

Please.

OK, so we’ve established where your head was at. You were bored of everything. The world had become easy. You did whatever you wanted. But nothing seemed to sate your thirst for adventure. You wanted something interesting to happen.

You went hiking in Kashmir and it was the most beautiful place you’ve ever been.

You stayed on a houseboat in Srinagar and it was luxurious and they fed you like a queen and took you around on a canoe to visit the locals in the villages surrounding the lake. You bought honey.

There was a guy who wanted to sell you a carpet. Said you could have it shipped back to Australia. And you were really tempted. Thought it might make a nice present for Babcia. It really was beautiful.

But you said no. And he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Kept on and on and on, trying to convince you. Eventually, you yelled at him. And he wasn’t the only one. You yelled at a little girl begging on the street. Because there were just too many. At one point, they had you surrounded with your back against a car, maybe ten or more, like seagulls on a beach after you’ve given a chip to one. So when that little girl with the dirty face approached you with her hand out, moving closer and closer with her pathetic eyes, you lashed out.

“No! Fuck off!” you said. Then you couldn’t believe you’d said that to another human being, let alone a child.

You scurried away, ashamed.

And then there was the stone. You can’t remember where you got it, but somehow, you had in your possession a red oval-shaped stone. You’d landed in Mcleodganj, in Dharamshala, where the Dalai Lama lives in exile. It’s a busy tourist destination, filled with hippies and buddhists and pilgrims of all persuasions. And the streets are lined with stalls selling prayer flags and t-shirts with the Om symbol on them. Yoga studios on every corner and meditation retreats that were booked out months in advance and cost more than Club Med dotted the hinterland.

You met that guy who told you there was someone you should meet.

You went along because you always went along with anyone half decent who seemed to be promising adventure. What was his name? Let’s call him Steve. Not very Indian, is it? But he probably went by a name like that, so why not?

Steve took you to an apartment above the street that went up the hill. To the second floor. To meet Raj. Certainly not his own name either, but we’re pretty sure that’s what he called himself. To you anyway.

What a character he was. Broad jaw. Thick hair. Self-assured, like a movie star. You weren’t impressed, at least, that’s what you told yourself. But you noticed almost straight away that his tongue had an indent at the end, which reminded you of a snake.

And yet, you listened to his proposal and chose to believe every word.

That he was a jeweler.

That he had buyers in Australia and France.

And that he needed to send parcels to those countries without going through customs.

If you could collect them, he would make sure his associates in those countries paid you well for your help.

He made you recite the plan back to him and you were proud to have understood it. Like it was so complicated.

Of course it reeked of a scam, but what did you have to lose? You didn’t have any money.

And he wasn’t asking you for any money.

Just your name, so he could send the parcels to the city post office and you’d collect them.

If it worked, great.

If not, whatever.

Adventure, just what you’d been hoping for.

But what he’d calculated the moment he saw you, and what you confirmed to him quite quickly, was that you did have money.

A few tens of thousands locked up in investments.

You had no intention of breaking them out, for him or anyone.

You never thought about that money.

It was your inheritance from Dad and it was drenched with your guilt. You didn’t want it, you’d always thought, you just wanted your daddy back, and not to have failed him like you did.

And you took out tiny dribs to fund your travels and let the rest sit in the account and grow back so it was like you’d never touched it.

You didn’t tell any of this to Raj, but he had you figured out.

You went and got a henna tattoo and chose a snake because you felt like something was off but you were embracing it instead of running from it like you should have.

And he was a jeweler, that much was true. At least, he had more than a passing interest in jewels.

He took your red stone and showed you how it made a star reflection when the sunlight shone on it.

He held onto it overnight and when you returned, it was set in a silver band, with a hole at the back so the energy from the stone could reach the skin of your finger. It fit perfectly.

He performed a ritual to bless it.

You didn’t believe in it but you didn’t not believe either.

You liked the attention of his almost black eyes on you.

And then he said it was time to move.

You packed your backpack and met him at the bottom of the hill and hopped into the front seat of his car.

Steve and another man sat in the back and you drove for hours.

He drove like a maniac, overtaking cars and buses and nearly careening off cliff faces or into oncoming trucks, but he was so confident, he felt invincible. The feeling was contagious when you were in his presence.

At the next city, he paid for you to stay in a room on your own but then called for you to come to his.

You had decided not to sleep with him. He was attractive, but too mature for your taste. You found him intimidating. You thought it would be as easy as rejecting the Russian or the Hong Kong coke dealer.

But he had other ideas.

He pushed you down on your back and did what he wanted with you, ignoring the tears you shed.

His cock was big and dark and rock hard.

And you loved it.

You got hooked.

You had never liked public displays of affection. Found them weird and off-putting. But suddenly you watched yourself draping your body on his while he talked in Hindi to his friends. Let him put his arm around you and stayed quiet, like a good girl.

And whenever he took you back to his room, you would open your legs and let him in with tear-drenched, guilty, confused pleasure.

You asked him if he did this with all the girls he did this deal with and he said no, you were the first. You didn’t believe him for a second.

When Steve came to your room and came onto you, you found it weird. Didn’t he know you were fucking his boss?

You pushed him aside easily of course, even though he was quite insistent, but you were most struck by the fact that he seemed to think it was totally within bounds.

You concluded that Raj didn’t give a fuck about you, but still you stuck to him and still he seemed to enjoy it.

Even more, he indulged your every whim.

Paid for all the hotels, although sometimes you were in little houses around courtyards with animals in them.

Got his boys to make all the meals for the whole crew.

Every night, the dinner was late because they would kill and pluck a chicken and prepare it on the spot.

When you expressed a desire to go sight-seeing, he ordered one of the guys to take you out for the day.

When you wanted to go get a massage, he encouraged you, told you you deserved it, but you paid for that one. The most luxurious you’d ever had.

A four-hour treatment with several women who fussed over you. They left you to soak in a tub, then vigorously scrubbed you clean, then rubbed you all over.

You crossed more of the country and met so many men who all seemed to work for Raj.

Then you reached some final destination. It could have been anywhere.

Your hotel room was across a large staircase from his and the others’. That night, he didn’t send for you.

You sat staring out at the darkness and in that moment, had a feeling you should run away. Pack your backpack and start walking. You’d had your adventures and you had an uneasy feeling. Truth be told, you’d had an uneasy feeling from the beginning. So much was wrong with all this. You knew they wouldn’t let you go easily, but if you could just walk out into the night. Take a taxi. Head for Delhi and the airport. Maybe they’d sleep through…

You stayed.

The next evening, they came in with the parcel.

A whole bag of jewels that he carefully itemised in front of you and put into a couple of post bags. They were all the colours of the rainbow and all different sizes. He named them all and compared them to a preprepared list with values next to each one. When you reached out to touch the ‘diamonds’, which were small like grains of sand, he slapped your hand away.

But he made you OK the list and then took you with him to the courier to send them to you in Melbourne and Paris.

The courier was filled with activity - skinny brown men running around, busily moving things about.

You stood at the counter and watched while he paid the postage and sent them off.

Then he took you out to a nightclub.

There was a big crew there, including a Japanese girl, who you were instructed strictly not to discuss the jewelry deal with.

You complied, drank the free booze, and danced your heart out, smiling at everyone like you knew exactly what was going on. That “World Hold On” song played again. It was big back then.

The next day he told you to wait in your room in case there were any issues.

And of course, there were.

The phone rang.

A stern voice asked you to identify yourself and said that your parcels had been stopped at customs.

Said they were the border police and that if you didn’t provide proof that all the items had been bought and paid for, you would risk time in prison. Indian prison.

A moment passed.

And then it was all on.

You were on the phone to your financial advisor. The money was brought out of the portfolio and turned back to cash.

Raj assured you it was temporary. You’d just have to show a genuine invoice and they’d let you leave the country.

You handed him thousands and thousands of dollars.

He drove you to the airport and you boarded your plane.

He convinced you that you needed to pay the full amount and then they’d release the parcels for delivery according to the original plan.

So you kept paying. Even once out of the country and away from his influence.

You kept going to Western Union and sending more and more money.

40,000

50,000

Almost 60,000 Australian dollars passed from your hands to his before you pulled the pin and said enough.

All while enjoying the sites of Istanbul.

When you opened your backpack in your hotel room, the little pot of honey you’d bought in Srinagar had burst and sticky goo covered everything.

You sighed and carried everything into the bathroom to clean up.

Thanks for helping me share that.

You’re welcome.

And for watching it all happen.

Hey, you said you wanted adventure.

I did.

Do you feel better?

I do actually.

That’s good. Now, Send to Everyone.