Episode 1: The Man with the Lanyard

(Based on true incidents from North Chennai)

There’s something unnerving about silence after violation. No shattering glass. No barking dog. No scream. Just… absence.

Sharda sat still on the edge of her bed, her hands shaking slightly as she stared at the open drawer. Her gold chain — the one she wore only on Tuesdays after her morning pooja — was gone. So were the small diamond studs wrapped in cotton. The drawer hadn’t been forced. There was no mess. Just the sharp void left by something that had been taken quietly.

The bell had rung at 10:42 a.m. She remembered because the second news bulletin had just begun on the radio. Outside the door stood a man who looked like every other Tamil Nadu Electricity Board (TNEB) inspector she’d ever seen: khaki trousers, tucked shirt, a faded lanyard, clipboard in hand, and a polite but practiced smile.

“Routine meter verification, ma’am. Will take just two minutes.”

He spoke in soft Tamil, with the kind of official confidence that doesn’t invite suspicion. Sharda, 72, had seen a lot in her life — taught generations of children, raised two sons, managed finances while her husband was posted in remote parts of Tamil Nadu.

But something about him felt official.

His ID card had the right maroon emblem.

His clipboard had printed forms. His pen clicked with bureaucratic rhythm.

She let him in. Why wouldn’t she?

He clicked a few pictures of the meter, jotted something down.Then, as casually as if he were asking for time, he said, “A glass of water, ma’am?”

She turned to the kitchen, still within earshot. A minute. Two. When she came back, the door was open.

He was gone.

At first, she thought maybe he’d stepped outside to take a call. Then she noticed her bedroom door ajar. Her drawer, too. She knew before she opened it.

Gone.

When her neighbor Subbu uncle arrived, followed by the police, it was too late. CCTV footage from a street camera caught only a blur of khaki and the back of a man calmly walking away with a leather pouch. No bike, no accomplice, no chase.

The inspector sighed. “Third case this week, same MO. All senior citizens. All women alone at home. All say the man had ID.”

The Anatomy of a DeceptionThe police later found out it was a small gang that had acquired replica lanyards, dummy ID cards, and a photocopied TNEB inspection form. They didn’t break in. They didn’t threaten. They just blended in. That was enough.

And here’s the haunting part: the women who were conned weren’t gullible. They were alert. Educated. Aware.

So what made them believe?

Not the uniform — it wasn’t even full.Not the face — no one remembered it in detail.It was the tone, the language, the clipboard, the badge — each piece playing a part in a theatre of trust.

This wasn’t just theft. It was psychological sleight of hand.A con pulled not through force, but through familiarity.

Welcome to Truth Bias

Sharda didn’t open the door because she was foolish. She opened it because her brain took a shortcut. It said:

• The badge looks legit ✅

• The man sounds like every TNEB guy ever ✅

• He’s asking for water, not money ✅

• He’s not nervous. He’s not fidgeting. ✅

  
  

So her defences lowered. And once trust entered, doubt didn’t even knock.

Psychologists call this truth bias — our brain’s tendency to believe what’s presented to us unless something clearly signals danger. And in India, this bias gets magnified because we’re conditioned to:

• Trust uniforms

• Respect officials

• Offer hospitality

• Avoid confrontation

  
  

It’s how a man with no weapon, no break-in tools, and no real credentials can rob someone in broad daylight — and walk out smiling.

Sharda’s story is just one of many.

Over three months in 2022, at least eight women across North Chennai — from Tiruvottiyur to Ennore — were duped in exactly this way. Some lost gold, others cash. One even handed over Aadhaar and bank details, believing it was a part of a “government scheme.”

What they really handed over… was belief.

This is not a story of a crime.This is the beginning of a pattern.And it repeats — in different clothes, in different voices, but with the same old charm of seeming “official.

In the next Episode, we head deeper into rural Tamil Nadu — where another kind of trust took root, this time promising profits, poultry, and prosperity.

But the eggs never hatched.

🔍 This Is Just the Beginning…

“The Man with the Lanyard” is just one face of a deeper, more dangerous phenomenon — a silent force shaping the way we trust, believe, and get deceived. It’s called Truth Bias — and it’s not limited to meter readers or ID cards.

In this blog series, we will unravel the many avatars of truth bias through real stories from across India — from emu farm scams in Tamil Nadu, to fake IAS officers, to WhatsApp doctors and viral lies that cost lives.

Each episode peels back a new layer of how we default to belief, and how that belief is weaponised — in homes, villages, offices, and even courts.

📚 Follow the series to read every episode. Trust us — you’ll never see “the truth” the same way again.

📰 Editor’s Note – Real Incident Reference

The events described in this episode are based on multiple real incidents reported across North Chennai in 2022, particularly in areas like Tiruvottiyur and Ennore, where elderly women were targeted by fraudsters posing as TNEB (Tamil Nadu Electricity Board) staff.

These incidents were covered in:

• The Hindu, Chennai Edition (Aug–Sep 2022)

• The Times of India, Crime Beat Chennai (Aug 2022)

• The New Indian Express and Dinamani Tamil daily, local crime reports

• Chennai North Police Advisory released during Q3 2022

  
  

The modus operandi involved fake ID cards, clipboard inspections, and impersonation — exploiting truth bias and public trust in uniformed authority figures.