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Fraudsters usually aim for modest goals: pretending to be cops, bureaucrats or even ministers to fleece the unsuspecting. But Ghaziabad, near Delhi, recently produced a scamster who thought bigger—much bigger. He didn’t just impersonate a government official; he became an ambassador plenipotentiary, set up his own embassy, and represented not one but several countries no one has ever heard of. Meet Harshvardhan Jain, a man with diplomatic flair and, apparently, very poor geography. He claimed to be the envoy of countries like Lodonia, West Arctica, Seborga and Pulwavia—names that are, in reality, obscure villages tucked away under existing sovereign nations. If at all they exist.

From his “embassy” in Ghaziabad—a city more known for real estate scams than real diplomacy—Jain ran visa and consular services. He had a fleet of Mercedes cars bearing CD (Corps Diplomatique) number plates, flags fluttering from every bonnet, and a staff that likely wondered when they’d get actual passports to stamp. To make his act believable, Jain displayed morphed photographs with Prime Minister Narendra Modi and former President A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, because nothing says “authentic diplomat” like a badly photoshopped selfie with national icons. When caught, he was sitting on a cool Rs 44.5 lakh in cash. No one is sure whether it came from visa fees to nowhere, donations to Lodonia’s imaginary government, or parking penalties avoided thanks to those CD plates. The External Affairs Ministry may have questions, but the Ghaziabad traffic police will miss him dearly.

Apparently, Jain was once in the glamorous company of godman Chandraswami and arms dealer Adnan Khashoggi. After such stellar networking, diplomacy must have felt like the next logical step. What’s bizarre is that Jain’s scam wasn’t pulled entirely from thin air. Some small countries do appoint honorary consuls, usually well-heeled businessmen who spend their own money to host flags and snacks at fancy diplomatic parties. In return, they get prestige, a few perks, and an excuse to drive around with flags on their cars.

Jain took this concept and ran a diplomatic marathon with it, without a finish line or a country. A few years ago, in Kerala, a conman claimed ownership of Moses’ staff, Tipu Sultan’s throne, and original paintings by Picasso and Raja Ravi Varma. Compared to him, Jain was almost modest. During Oommen Chandy’s chief ministership, one man even sat on his chair and tried to “rule the state”. What Jain’s escapade reveals is not just the audacity of the conman but the gullibility of the public and the laxity of the system. That he managed to fool cops, journalists and officials for so long is a damning commentary. In a nation of a billion, he found no one who asked, Lodonia, where?