In early 2024, two young Indian men—one from Sirsa, the other from Faridabad—packed their bags for what they thought was a golden opportunity: a high-paying data entry job in Thailand with visa support and a promised salary in U.S. dollars. Within three days, they were on flights to Bangkok, dreaming of gleaming offices and stable futures.
But that dream began to crumble the moment they landed. Escorted by armed men in military fatigues and shuffled across borders and rivers, they were taken to Myawaddy, a remote town on the Myanmar side of the Thailand-Myanmar border. There, they entered what insiders and officials now call a “cyber scam farm”—one of several buildings labeled K1 to K10, part of a massive operation to defraud people worldwide.
The Job: A Virtual Web of Romance and Ruin
Inside the compound, the reality was dystopian. Endless rows of desks, each with multiple smartphones and SIM cards. Shifts that lasted 16 hours. No way out.
The young men were trained not in spreadsheets, but in seduction. Their job? Impersonate women on dating platforms—Shaadi.com, Tinder, Jeevansathi, and others. Using photos of professional models from Delhi, Pakistan, and Thailand, they created fake identities. The 25-year-old from Sirsa used the names Ankita Mishra and Anika Mishra.
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They were instructed to spark emotional connections with men—mostly Indian nationals. The goal was simple: convince these men of love, then lead them down a financial rabbit hole involving fake investments, dropshipping business proposals, and crypto schemes.
The entire con was divided into tiers: “Developers” made first contact and built profiles; “Receptionists” developed the relationships; and “Killers” laundered the stolen funds. Each role came with a script, a set of tools, and ruthless efficiency.
The Target: Desperate for Love, Easy to Manipulate
“Some were lonely, some were heartbroken, but all were vulnerable,” one man confessed.
A favorite trick was to propose virtual marriage, using video calls with female models to build trust. Soon after, the “bride” would claim she earned ₹5–6 lakh a month in dropshipping commissions—and would urge the target to invest in the same.
One client in Mumbai reportedly borrowed ₹2.5 crore to join the scheme—and lost it all.
Hundreds of similar stories are believed to exist, and only a few escapees like these two have spoken publicly. More than 500 such workers were repatriated to India in March via a covert Air Force mission, but officials say the larger scam networks remain untouched.
“The crackdown barely scratched the surface,” said a source close to the investigation. “The scam farms are still running, evolving. They know how to adapt, and they’re backed by millions.”