Sally the Engineer?
Observed as Columbus Day in United States to commemorate the carnage committed by Christopher Columbus for getting mad after he had sailed in the completely opposite direction, there was no joy in surfing through history lessons when I opened the Facebook account today. This was anointed by the fact that it is the holy festival of Bakri Eid, the day Mohammed passed the critical test of willing to sacrifice his son, who was replaced by a goat last second, by divine intervention of course.
I had debated on the benefits of learning a programming language only some minutes before, and the Internet threw me a 'sign' to continue on stretching my learning curve. First was a video advertisement for American Express. Representing 1.2% of the female auto mechanics in the United States, Audra Fordin initiated a workshop series "Women Auto Know" to answer questions on the mechanical workings of motorcars. Managing her family-owned business circa 1933, she is one among the few cracking through the 'men only' autoclub.
Vandana, the Kinetic mechanic I visited in Bombay even before I officially acquired by two-wheeler driving license was the first female I knew in the auto-repair business. She was rough on the edges, as most male mechanics are too. The shop was originally owned/leased by her father who I would meet at the shop if Vandana was out for a test-drive of a repaired bike. He was already old when I was in college; I saw less and less of him in the following years, as Vandana grew more used to handling the workshop by herself. She had atleast two mechanic boys on hand doing the grunt work. Not like she was afraid of getting her hands dirty. Dressed in a beige checkered shirt with her hair oiled and tied into a ponytail, she was all business.
Her round face was open and honest; worn with the grunt work of dealing with men, she smiled beautifully whenever I asked her probing questions about my sea-green Kinetic Marvel 'Can you show me which valve needs replacement?' or 'Does this have to be replaced? Can't it just be repaired?' I would try to bargain.
She was well aware of the stigma attached to women being on both sides, and held her ground firmly to leering middle-aged men who tried to bargain with her. Of a short stature, her arms would automatically rise up to her hips when faced with hostility; a stance which psychologically associated with her appearing bigger. After both of my major accidents, I had dropped my Marvel off at Vandana's workshop, even when the place was shut for business on a Sunday. Knowing it would be taken care of well.
Tucked in a corner under the Kennedy Bridge in Grant Road, I despaired to sell my Marvel when it could no longer withstand waterlogging from the incessant monsoon floods. Last I spotted Vandana was under my house at the spare parts shop where she shopped often. There were a few gray strands shading her tresses.
I wonder if she has a daughter of her own whom she is prepping to pass on the baton.
I had debated on the benefits of learning a programming language only some minutes before, and the Internet threw me a 'sign' to continue on stretching my learning curve. First was a video advertisement for American Express. Representing 1.2% of the female auto mechanics in the United States, Audra Fordin initiated a workshop series "Women Auto Know" to answer questions on the mechanical workings of motorcars. Managing her family-owned business circa 1933, she is one among the few cracking through the 'men only' autoclub.
Vandana, the Kinetic mechanic I visited in Bombay even before I officially acquired by two-wheeler driving license was the first female I knew in the auto-repair business. She was rough on the edges, as most male mechanics are too. The shop was originally owned/leased by her father who I would meet at the shop if Vandana was out for a test-drive of a repaired bike. He was already old when I was in college; I saw less and less of him in the following years, as Vandana grew more used to handling the workshop by herself. She had atleast two mechanic boys on hand doing the grunt work. Not like she was afraid of getting her hands dirty. Dressed in a beige checkered shirt with her hair oiled and tied into a ponytail, she was all business.
Her round face was open and honest; worn with the grunt work of dealing with men, she smiled beautifully whenever I asked her probing questions about my sea-green Kinetic Marvel 'Can you show me which valve needs replacement?' or 'Does this have to be replaced? Can't it just be repaired?' I would try to bargain.
She was well aware of the stigma attached to women being on both sides, and held her ground firmly to leering middle-aged men who tried to bargain with her. Of a short stature, her arms would automatically rise up to her hips when faced with hostility; a stance which psychologically associated with her appearing bigger. After both of my major accidents, I had dropped my Marvel off at Vandana's workshop, even when the place was shut for business on a Sunday. Knowing it would be taken care of well.
Tucked in a corner under the Kennedy Bridge in Grant Road, I despaired to sell my Marvel when it could no longer withstand waterlogging from the incessant monsoon floods. Last I spotted Vandana was under my house at the spare parts shop where she shopped often. There were a few gray strands shading her tresses.
I wonder if she has a daughter of her own whom she is prepping to pass on the baton.
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