Love-bombed

A cousin of mine used to say കുഴിയിൽ വീണാൽ കാല് പൊക്കുന്നതും ഒരു കഴിവാ, which literally translates to ‘when you fall into a pit, it’s considered a skill to lift your legs.’ Figuratively, it means, instead of being embarrassed and hoping nobody has seen your little mishap, you announce it to the world to show you’re unfazed. A rough English equivalent is ‘If you can’t hide it, flaunt it.‘

Something happened to me yesterday. I could hide it, but I’ll pass it on for the benefit of other gullible old geezers like me. Furthermore, I never miss the opportunity to tell a tale.

It started with a friend request on FB. I generally ignore friend requests from those without mutual friends. But in this case there was one mutual friend — a golf instructor of mine from the past. This prospective friend was young and looked very striking. I did suspect something, but I thought I should verify her bona fides.

I messaged her:
“I have a friend request from you. Could you please tell me why? Sorry to ask you this, but there are too many scamsters these days.“

She replied promptly but with a voice message which went something like:

“I thought your profile is very interesting. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

Her accent matched her ethnicity. I was convinced she was genuine. She had also endeared herself to me. At least one person (other than me) thought I was interesting! I accepted the friend request. Jenny Chen (call me Chen) became my latest FB friend.

She sent me more messages on Messenger. She told me a lot about herself. She’s Singaporean (matched her FB profile), she’s living in Paris, she has a garment business in London.

“Your profile picture looks like you’re 45? I can make out you’re a gentleman.“

I’m already liking this gal.

“I’m a lot older.”

“I prefer older people. They have lots of experience.”

I feel the weight of responsibility — what is the best way to deliver the gist of my life experiences to this young woman?

“Some older people are full of themselves and set in their ways.” Subtext: I’m not like those decrepit old gasbags.

“Your writing is full of wisdom.”

At this point, she could’ve asked me to transfer all my money to her and I would’ve gladly done it. Young, gentlemanly, wise! What more do I need?

“What do you do for a living?”

“I have a business, I have investments in the stock markets, cryptocurrency, gold …” Faint alarm bells, dismissed peremptorily. A nice person like her couldn’t be lying. Rich, young, beautiful — she had it all.

“You must be a very busy woman.”

“No, my business partner manages everything. But are you going to tell me your real age? I’m 41.”

This went on for the better part of the afternoon. She extracted (I gave it all willingly) my life story with details of my wife and her career. And my son lives in Bristol, I volunteered. I have this habit of supplying more information than requested: the truth, nothing but the truth, and true answers to all the questions you might yet ask.

She just wouldn’t stop. I was running out of things to say. Luckily, it was time for my old man’s walk.

“I’m sorry Chen, but I have to go for my walk. Stay in touch.”

“Let’s exchange WhatsApp numbers. That way it’s easier to stay in touch.” Big Ben–size alarm bells.

“I’m really sorry to be so rude. But you’ve only met me today. You can contact me on Messenger.”

“My number is +33 123 etc. What’s yours?”

This is when I thought of a solution. I googled myself. There I was for anyone to see: email, phone number, etc. She couldn’t be a scamster. If she were, she would’ve just taken my phone number off the internet.

My number is +44 790 etc.

The next thing I know, I get a WhatsApp message from Chen. But it was a business account set up in August 2025. The business was called Wind! That convinced me. I blocked the number and blocked her on Messenger, but not before explaining in the most decent words why I felt compelled to block her.

Then I received a WhatsApp message from a UK number.

“Why you blocked me? I’m curious.”

“I don’t think you’re real.”

What happens next? I receive a video call from Chen, who looked like Chen and talked like Chen! What am I to do? Did I block an innocent person? Especially at a time when I need more friends who may buy my forthcoming book? How cruel of me!

I did the safe thing. I bought myself time. I apologised to her and grovelled a bit, explaining weakly that in the times we live in, one can’t be too careful. Chen stared at me with doleful eyes – a look of incredulity and hurt. I must have come across as a right bastard, a heartless knave.

“Chen, I’m indeed sorry that I suspected you. Can’t talk right now as I’m walking. Maybe later?”

“Ok. I’ll send you my location in Paris. So you know I’m genuine. Maybe you can visit me.” That did it for me. I’m gullible, but not that gullible. Phrases like honey trap and love bombing popped up in my head.

I walked on listening to Fingal’s Cave. My mind was in a bigger turmoil than the sea that battered the cave inspiring Mendelssohn’s famous orchestral piece. I racked my brain until it hurt. Then I narrated the entire story to ChatGPT, my best friend and agony aunt. This is the crux of its response:

Cease all contact, block on all platforms, review privacy settings — treat this as a likely organised scam, not a lost friendship.

I’ll be preparing to receive more junk mail – easy funeral plans, stair lifts, comfortable care homes. If you see versions of me popping up all over the place, ignore them. There’s only one me.