He was a timid boy from the Calcutta suburb of Sealdah, son of a deputy collector in the West Bengal excise department, who has retired since. He was a mediocre student—a backbencher for his classmates—and dropped out of his postgraduate class in genetics in Calcutta University. He appeared in the civil services exam; failed but lied to his parents that he got through and would be doing his probation in Mussoorie. Instead, he took up a day job in an event management company—unnoticed, unappreciated and poorly paid. But who could confine an ambitious, smooth-talking, go-getter Debanjan Deb to a clerical apprenticeship? He sought fame—cut a couple of attention-seeking song albums too—and was determined to go low to climb the social ladder. Debanjan, the conman, was born thus. That was 2017.
For the world, he became an IAS officer and a joint commissioner with the Kolkata Municipal Corporation (KMC), travelled in a car with a blue beacon and hobnobbed with the who’s who of Bengal’s power circle. Fake letterheads with holograms, identity cards, email accounts resembling the corporation’s accounts (the lookalike kmcgov.org for the official kmcgov.in), bank accounts on forged IDs of KMC officials—the con job was complete with an office named “Urban Planning and Development” in south Calcutta, paying a rental of Rs 65,000 a month.
But like every thief that leaves breadcrumbs, his game was up when he invited Bengali actress and Trinamool Congress parliamentarian Mimi Chakraborty to a take a jab at one of the two free Covid vaccination camps he organised. She suspected something was amiss when she didn’t receive the government-authorised text message that confirms the vaccination. She also took ill. The MP reported to the police and investigators soon found all about Debanjan—a fakery factory who organised inoculation camps where around 2,000 people, including Mimi, were injected with the antibiotic Amikacin, a medication for bacterial infections. He and some of his associates were arrested and charged with attempt to murder among other charges.
The obvious question is: Who bankrolled the 28-year-old impostor? When the coronavirus swept through the land last year, Debanjan used his “IAS officer” card to bulk-buy sanitisers, masks, hazmat suits, gloves et al and stored them at a club. Detectives say he owes the sellers Rs 1.2 crore and also took a loan of Rs 20 lakh from a private bank. Debanjan donated the items apparently to impress politicians, bureaucrats and police officers. He posted photographs with them on social media, but always called himself a “public servant” on Facebook and Twitter. His name was on a list of dignitaries who helped install a bust of Tagore at a north Calcutta library this year.
There’s more to Debanjan than meets the eye. How did he get hold of so much money to fund his charitable work? Apparently, he bought genuine antibiotics for the free vaccine camp and had also written to the Serum Institute of India for CoviShield doses. Why is he doing it? Is it some sort of a narcissistic psychological disorder like going to any lengths for fame? Or, is he just a prop in a bigger scam?
(With inputs from agencies)
