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Little people

Being buddeez with special children

A South Mumbai-based programme teaches the value of companionship to special needs children and opens a new world for them.
by Ritika Bhandari Parekh

Mumbai is a bewildering city for a newcomer. But give yourself enough time to observe how it works, and you will notice that it has a heart. Entrepreneurs abound and initiatives flourish here because Mumbaikars care. One such initiative is Buddeez.

Ami and ShaliniThe ‘Buddeez’ programme was started four years ago in South Mumbai to offer friendship with a difference. Started by South Mumbai residents Ami Mehta Kothari and Shalini N Kedia, the programme pairs special needs children with normal ones, thus giving each a chance to enjoy the joyous moments of friendship.

What the programme is about

Children with special needs may include those with learning disabilities resulting in dyslexia, or those facing delayed developmental problems causing autism. For young children like them, it is a challenge to have a social outlet for playing or even to make friends. Ami, a trained multi-sensory educator says, “Working with special needs children over the years made me realise that they do not have any interaction with other people, except for their siblings or parents. . I cannot imagine life without having friends, so I felt we needed to do something about it.”

The programme consists of students who volunteer to spend a 45-minute to one-hour session doing activities with a special child. For this, they’ve tied up with BD Somani School, which gives their 11th and 12th grade students an opportunity to become friends with special children. The students also earn grades as a part of their CAS (Creativity, Action, Service) curriculum.

Ami says, “A certain sensitivity and maturity is needed to make the special child feel happy and important. 11th and 12th graders tend to be a little mature and so we have zeroed in on them.”

Shalini says, “We hold two sessions. The first orients the mainstream children with our programme and the special children. The second session is where we talk about the child that they have to be buddies with. So four or five mainstream children who volunteer will have one special child. They are told about the special child’s likes, dislikes, allergies, favourites, peculiar traits. We familiarise the volunteers with this information, so that it becomes easier for them to get his attention.”

The volunteers are friends with the special child for two academic years. From meeting at parks to playing kho-kho or saakli, Ami and Shalini try to incorporate different activities for different children. “Some like to meet at home or play board games, while others love to roam in malls or coffee shops. We encourage volunteers to do activities that these children love,” says Ami.

There is an adult accompanying the volunteers to monitor each session. So if the ‘buddeez’ make pasta for the child that doesn’t like loud noise, the adult keeps a check on both.  Having four or five mainstream children is an advantage because some special kid may just want either boys or only girls to come. So this gives the supervisors the flexibility to adjust.

Success stories

Buddeez is slowly changing how people, especially their immediate family, looks at special children. Ami says, “There was an older special child and his normal younger sibling. The younger one would not play with the brother in the building compound. So one day, all these older boys from BD Somani came and gave him so much importance. They played ball with him and followed his instructions, which gave him a big boost. On the third day, the mother called and said the younger one took the older one down to play – all because the big guys had come and played with the elder child.”

Another incident had a non-responsive child, who for weeks would not play with his ‘buddeez’ group but simply ride his bike. The girls coming for the session were very disappointed with this. But after a few months when the girls were leaving, the child bid them goodbye saying, “See you next week.”

“Since the child was autistic, it was difficult for him to express what he felt. He loved the importance the girl ‘buddeez’ gave him,” reveals Ami.

Shalini adds, “In fact, we make a point to tell them at the orientation that some children will not respond, but don’t give up. They want you there, if they don’t want you, they will push you out.”

The project has the potential to sensitise school children and instill a sense of fulfillment and achievement in them. “They learn to think on their own,” explains Ami. “I remember when we took this child suffering from a lot of allergies and needed gluten-free and dairy-free food, to Priyadarshini Park at Nepeansea Road. He saw an ice-cream stall and demanded one. But the buddeez volunteers realised that he could not have the ice-cream because of his allergy. So one bright child comes up and says, ‘Oh! But he can have orange ice-cream.’ And so we went and got him an orange candy. It makes these children look out for solutions wherever possible.”

Volunteer to be a buddy

“We definitely need more volunteers,” says Shalini. ‘Buddeez’ is currently based only in South Mumbai. “We have special children from Bandra and Chembur who have approached us, but the lack of volunteers makes it difficult for us to go there,” Ami says.

Shalini says, “The attitude that friendship is a luxury for children with special needs, requires a change. It is a necessity, so instead of only working on their reading, writing, math and cross motor skills, we should make an effort to teach them friendship.”

If you wish to volunteer your child for ‘Buddeez’, you can contact Ami Mehta Kothari at +91 9820199092 or Shalini N Kedia at +91 9820028730.

 

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Diaries

Is gender equality a reality in Mumbai?

A Mumbaikar questions the term ‘gender equality’ in the context of Mumbai and comes away reassured, and also quite hopeful.
by Dr Pooja Birwatkar

Part 5 of the ‘Women’ diaries

A few days ago, tired after a hectic day at work, I had no option but to stand in the BEST bus. All the seats were occupied. I looked around, hoping that chivalry would prevail and some man would offer me his seat. But none of them did. It made me very cross with them. How could they sit comfortably when a lady was standing next to them? How rude!

As I mused over the issue later, I realised what a hypocrite I was. We talk so much of gender equality and female liberation, and so it should be completely okay that I was not offered a seat in a bus. If we talk of equality, then we must practice it as well. After all, like us women, even the men are tired. This brings me to analyse our own mega metro Mumbai. Is it equally easy being a woman here, like the men?

In Mumbai, with so many women heading out to work, it is clear that women are bread earners, too. They too contribute a handsome chunk to the family income. It is not unusual to find them in domains that are still considered male domains elsewhere. Women here are now traffic cops, ticket checkers, cabbyies, security officers, DJs, to name a few. Their office hours are as late as men’s. Of course, most working women also have the mandatory double shift, despite their jobs – one at work and one at home. There is still a long way to go when it comes to battling stereotypical women’s roles like cooking, cleaning and taking care of the children, that the female is naturally expected to execute. Men, wake up. We no longer expect you to offer us seats on public transport – should you expect us to handle all the house work alone?

You can walk on Mumbai’s roads care-free, as chances of you being ogled, stared and stalked are less in comparison to other places. Of course, there are sporadic cases of rape and molestation, and something better be done about it lest they become everyday occurrences. Yet, such incidents make us angry and not scared. Such episodes fill us with a sense of revolt and the courage to fight rather than bear it.

Single women, single mothers or divorcees, there is a place for everyone in Mumbai. No one labels you. They don’t have too much time to think about your life. You can stay alone in an apartment and have a life of your own, as the neighbourhood seldom keeps a tab on what you do with your life. You can eat alone in a restaurant and it can be the same restaurant on a daily basis. But I still feel there is a hesitance regarding this, as most women would, if alone, either occupy themselves with a book or be hooked to their cell phone. Wake up, ladies. You don’t need to pretend. It’s your world too and you have every right to be there.

And though I do not advocate it, you can smoke and drink without too many curious glances. There are friendly places where girl gangs can have their night outs. The city is quite open to homosexual relations and contrary opinions are normally not aired openly. Hearteningly, there are always a lot of people in your corner to support you.

I would not say that Mumbai completely believes in gender equality, but it fares much better comparatively. There is something about this city which makes you brave and hold your head high. You feel liberated and love life without questioning your gender identity. There is hope and place for all here and you are not made to feel different.

I just wish that on this Women’s Day all women resolve that we would not beg for equality but create equality in society. Let us start on the premise that we are and were always EQUAL. Do not thrust equality on us. We no longer need it. If at all any talk on equality has to happen, it should be from the angle of equalising men with women. 

Dr Pooja Birwatkar is currently pursuing post doctoral research and working in the area of science education. She has been associated with the field of education in the past as a teacher educator, and her area of interest is research in education. 

(Picture courtesy www.asianews.it)

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A different kind of road rage

Two traffic policewomen talk about their jobs, how citizens pose many challenges and why a little respect would be nice.
by Nidhi Qazi

Part 4 of the ‘Women’ diaries

It’s a normal day. Commuters are going to work. Vehicles are inching ahead of others to reach their destination as fast as possible. There is heavy traffic at junctions.

And there is the traffic cop stopping commuters who have broken the road laws in some way. Further down the road, there is a woman officer stopping vehicles, checking licenses, issuing penalty receipts. But wait. Within a few minutes, a driver breaks the signal and rushes past in a jiffy despite the woman constable’s stopping him.

“Many a times, we women are not taken seriously. People break the rules often when they see a woman traffic cop,” laments Madhavi Naik (name changed), a head constable at a junction in one of the central suburbs of the city. Madhavi’s day starts at 7 am and lasts till 3 pm, and she is on the roads for all that time. She adds that the job has its challenges like all other jobs; but as a woman, it’s the perspective of people around that is the most challenging.

“People still feel that the police force is best suited to men. Though my family is supportive, my husband takes care of children, packs their tiffin, drops them to school…but society still questions my choice of job and feels, ‘Aurat kya handle karegi traffic, kaise kaam karegi’”.

An aside here: when I was chasing this story, my request for an interview was turned down several times by the women, saying, “Hum kya baat karenge, humein permission nahin hai. Aap bade sahab ya kisi male constable se baat karo.” Nevertheless, I was able to hold clandestine conversations, albeit, faced with risks of getting caught!

Coming back to the women traffic police, what is a typical day in their lives like? “On a daily basis, we regulate traffic, ensure smooth movement for preventing accidents, penalise those who violate rules and also, at times, when traffic signals are not functioning properly, we inform the companies to look into the matter,” says Smriti Desai (name changed), a head constable at a Bandra junction. But performing these duties is easier said than done, as the traffic police face problems at both the micro and macro level. As Smriti puts it, “How do you ensure that people don’t violate rules when they don’t know the rules in the first place? Worse, they are not ready to accept that they have violated the rules.”

Madhavi says, “Out of, say 100 commuters, there are only two or three commuters who will accept their mistake and instead of arguing with us, actually pay the fine. We are humiliated almost every time but now we are all used to it. On a usual day, if you catch a commuter, he or she will either argue endlessly and say things like “Aap uniform ka faayda utha rahehain, humari koi galti nahin hai.” But Madhavi and her colleagues have learnt to laugh such allegations off.

The big picture is also a worrying one. “Over the years, the number of vehicles has grown but the width of the road remains the same. Moreover, whatever spaces exist are also taken up by vendors who come to Mumbai in search of livelihood. It is on these roads that the traffic police have to run the show,” says Smriti.

According to traffic police, around 300 to 400 vehicles get registered in a day in Greater Mumbai. The traffic police also laments the under-utilisation of the BEST bus transport.

Further, since there is a manpower crunch in the RTOs (Regional Transport Office), this gap provides an opportunity for agents. “People lack awareness about rules, also because they get their licenses made with the help of these agents and thus, they needn’t pass the driving test. There are no checks undertaken by the license-issuing authority – how does anyone know if the applicant is eligible to drive?” asks Smriti.

Citizen consciousness, or the lack of it…

“From traffic rules to traffic itself, it is the citizen’s attitude which really matters,” feels Madhavi.

She raises further concerns: “Why don’t pedestrians use the skywalks which are meant for their safety? Why can’t people use public transport or carpool if they are going in the same direction? Why do commuters not talk to us properly? We are public servants and thus deserve some basic courtesy and respect. For us, the women, it is worse. Even women defaulters look down upon us and feel that we are intentionally insulting them by penalising them.”

But all this said, these women also feel that they are respected and given total co-operation by their male counterparts. “There are days when I feel, ‘Why am I doing this job?’ Then I feel proud about being a public servant, a part of this system,” says Madhavi.

Though citizens need to take precaution, be better aware of rules, and the pedestrian’s sense of judgement needs to improve, these women also feel that they, as police need to engage with the younger generation on three pillars of road safety – Education, Enforcement and Engineering.

Meanwhile, a little respect, please?

The Women’s diaries celebrate the spirit of women on the occasion of International Women’s Day on March 8 every year. Look out for Part 5 next: ‘Does gender equality exist in Mumbai?’

(Pictures courtesy Nidhi Qazi)

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Diaries

Locked up inside her house…for 10 years

Ishrah Jahan’s younger sister Musarrat Jahan talks of the terrible years after her sister was killed in a police encounter.
by Humra Quraishi

Part 3 of the ‘Women’ Diaries

The case made international headlines when the news first broke – Ishrat Jahan, a 19-year-old student of a Mumbai-based college, was gunned down with three male friends, by police on a lonely stretch of road between Ahmedabad and Gandhinagar in 2004.

Ishrat Jahan encounterHer family back home in Mumbra heard about the case from the media headlines screaming out details of the encounter – it transpired that Ishrat had been on a ‘mission’ to kill Gujarat Chief Minister Narendra Modi, and was a trained LeT operative. How and why this bright 19-year-old student of B.Sc at Khalsa College got mixed up in the business is still unclear. However, both Narendra Modi and his closest aide Amit Shah have got clean chits in the matter.

After a long fight to get justice for their slain sister, Ishrat’s siblings and their mother are trying to rebuild their lives, though it is an ordeal. Shunned by society and friends, and left to their own devices – after all, who wants to associate with ‘terrorists’? – the family rarely interacts with anybody. However, younger sister Musarrat staunchly maintains that Ishrat was innocent and killed needlessly.

She also says that she has rarely stepped out of her house since Ishrat’s death in 2004. That’s 10 years of locking oneself inside one’s home.

Ishrat, the daughter and loving sister

Ishrat’s mother last heard from her daughter just three days before the former was killed on June 15, 2004. Ishrat had called from Nashik – she had gone from Mumbai by bus to meet her employer Javed there – and informed her mother that she had met him. She had been working as an assistant to Javed Shaikh – her family says that she’d met him just a month before the encounter – who offered her a job in Pune. The job involved frequent travel in India, and Ishrat would be frequently gone for a few days. Though her mother disapproved of the travel, the family was in such dire financial straits that there was no option but to allow her to go.

The family had lost its breadwinner – Ishrat’s father Mohammad Shamim died in 2002 after a long illness – and Ishrat, her older sister Zeenat and younger sister Musarrat started taking tuitions at home to make some money.

I first spoke to the family in the aftermath of the killing, and it was a depressing interview. It was difficult to not be depressed by the pain with which Ishrat’s younger sister, Ishrat's familyMusarrat and her mother Shamima Begum recalled the second oldest child of the house, how she had been financially supporting the family after the death of their father in 2002.

When I spoke to Musarrat again for this interview, I could hear the sorrow in her voice once again. It is apparent that in these last 10 years, the family has not been able to recover from Ishrat’s cold-blooded murder by the officers of the Ahmedabad Police Crime Branch.

I ask Musarrat if there is any change in their station or the realities they live with today, especially after it is now officially acknowledged that IB officers were involved in Ishrat’s encounter. Musarrat says, “Even now, we have not got insaaf (justice), because the two political men (at whose behest the murders were carried out) are not touched and they have not been named as culprits.”

I ask her to elaborate. She says, “That encounter in which my sister was killed was staged for political gains, so what justice is there if the two politicians – Narendra Modi and Amit Shah – are given a clean chit? After all, these two politicians had concocted the false charge that my sister had gone to (Gujarat) kill Chief Minister Narendra Modi, and so they had her killed in that encounter! They are responsible (for her death) and yet they are not named. Why?”

Home alone

Though in severe financial problems, Ishrat’s mother and sister continued to wage a battle for justice. To this day, the family stoutly maintains Ishrat’s innocence, and instantly refute the charge that she was mixed up in terrorist activities.

Still, I ask Musarrat, given the people she is dealing with, is she scared about being so outspoken about the issue? “If my family and I were scared, we wouldn’t have fought this case all these years. It’s been very tough for us. We have been ruined, devastated but we are still fighting for justice…we are determined to remove this terrorist tag thrown at my innocent sister, at us, at my entire family. You can’t imagine how difficult it has been for my mother and us to survive all these years. We have been ruined completely, but we are not giving up the fight.”

She adds, “It [Ishrat’s death] was such a blow, on all fronts – emotionally, socially, financially…ever since Ishrat was murdered, we just kept to ourselves and seldom moved out. We have become wary of stepping out and meeting even the neighbours. Our studies got disrupted completely and we were ruined…it was difficult to even survive, forget about books and studies. For five years I sat blank, in a trance-like condition. I gave up my studies, stopped going out, and didn’t meet even any relatives.

“All those years of our life are simply wasted. It’s only now that I have started doing a course, but only through correspondence. Even financially, our situation worsened. Most of my father’s relatives are no more. My maternal grandmother lives on her pension in her native place in Bihar and my mother’s brother also lives there. He is a salaried employee, so he just about manages to support his own family.”

The now 26-year-old Musarrat says that her family, originally hailing from Bihar, has been living in Mumbai for decades. Her father was a small-time builder who suffered heavy losses and died of a brain tumour in 2002. With the  death of her 50-year-old father, the entire responsibility of the family fell on the eldest siblings – Zeenat and Ishrat. Ishrat had even begun taking up part time jobs together with her college studies to keep the money coming in.

Musarrat says that to this day, the family has received no help from the Women’s Commissions which are supposedly there to help and support hapless women and their families. “No Ministry or even any political party has come forward to help us,” she says

And so the struggle continues…

Tomorrow’s diary: ‘I’m a traffic cop, but you make me feel inadequate’.

(Featured image courtesy Musarrat Jahan, other pictures courtesy archive.indianexpress.com, www.kashmirmonitor.in)

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Diaries

Trust in God, but carry pepper spray

Don’t just wait for ‘manly’ help – it is not ‘unwomanly’ to raise an alarm and protect your personal dignity.
by Vrushali Lad | editor@themetrognome.in

Part 2 of the ‘Women’ diaries

I was first molested by a 20-something man when I was 10 years old. We lived in pre-Gulf War Kuwait at the time, and I had accompanied my older sister to the grocer’s just a few steps from where I lived. He touched me twice between my legs, and as I watched him walk away calmly a few minutes later, even at that young age I remember being so ashamed that I did not raise an alarm though I easily could have. I let him get away.

There were several more molestation incidents as I grew up. Hands reaching out to pinch. Elbows swinging into ribs. Bodies being pressed against mine on a crowded bridge. I dealt with these assholes, fearfully at first, then with increasing violence.

Did the behaviour of some men put me off the rest of them? Nope, funnily enough. All my friends are men. I love men, they’re awesome. Only the creepy ones make me mad.

Cut to 2014. My temper rises at the teenaged boy who, accompanied by his friend in the restaurant, thinks it’s totally okay to keep staring at me over the rim of his beer glass. Of course, I have gone out of my way to ‘deserve’ this kind of attention – I am the only unaccompanied woman in the restaurant, and I do not pretend that a male partner will be joining me soon. I order a huge plate of food, sit cross-legged on my wooden chair, watch an old cricket match on the restaurant’s TV, yell for water.

I give this silly staring infant a full five minutes to quit staring. I can’t know what he’s thinking, but as his head keeps swivelling around in my direction, I know he’s not thinking, “This is the kind of independent woman I will raise my daughter to be – who will go to restaurants alone and not mind being stared at.” His five minutes are up, and I look away from the TV screen. Looking directly at him I loudly ask, “Kya dekh raha hai, bho%#@*ke?”

eve teasing Shocked, he whips his face around so quickly, I’m sure he’s broken his neck a little. Both boys do not look at me again. By now, I feel the eyes of the restaurant on me. The auntie on the next table looks murderous. “Kaisi besharam ladki hai,” she must be thinking. I finish my meal and ask for the bill.

I am 35, and by now, I have learnt several swear words. My potty mouth does not reduce my femininity (I think). My parents, however, worry about a bigger disorder that plagues their child – the one that makes me cause a huge scene and hit men in public. My mum tells me to be careful, my husband condoles the reason for my loss of temper, but not my outburst. “I worry for you,” he says, sighing.

Me? I find I care more for my peace of mind than creating a certain ‘impression’ about myself as a woman from a decent family, and I really don’t care, in the heat of the moment, if the guy I am pummelling turns around and starts pummelling me (though that would be embarrassing). The times when I haven’t reacted to such abuse are the times that I still recall with tears in my eyes.

Wherever a woman goes, whether returning home from work or going vegetable shopping with a child in tow, she is subjected to casual remarks, butt pinchings, breast gropings, and what not. At least more women are speaking out against these attacks (which are sweetly termed ‘eve teasing’). But most are still caught in the ‘Jaane do, these things happen,’ mindset. I can’t understand it – if we raise hell when somebody steals from us, why do we hush it up when we are humiliated for no reason?

Most people’s line of defence goes thus: ‘Go to the cops. File a police complaint. Get the perpetrator arrested.’ All of these are fine remedies, and they must be adopted, no question. But what happens in the few moments just after you’ve been inappropriately touched in a crowd, or a passing uncle whispers a disgusting suggestion in your ear? Do these remedies race through your mind first? Do you choose to keep walking as if you didn’t notice that hand on your breast, or do you turn around and satisfy your hurt ego with a filthy look?

You’ve got to do something.

I’m not saying everybody has to beat such men to pulp, but girls, don’t let them just walk away and grope somebody else a minute later. And trust me, no amount of filthy looks will help – those work only with close friends and family, who actually care for the sentiment behind the look. If you know who’s touched you, or said something disgusting, turn around that instant and go after the bastard. Run after him, turn him around by his shirt collar, and put all your strength into the hardest slap you can land on his face.

If he protests (and he will), slap him again. Kick him in the shins, for good measure. Don’t care if a crowd collects to watch you in action (and a crowd will, and don’t expect help either), and also swear at him loudly. If, after all this exercise, you still want to drag him to the cops, please do so.

As a journalist with Mid Day in 2005, I had to do night shifts for a week every month. Every city reporter, girl or boy, had a week of night shifts, where they literally worked all night, scouring the streets for stories, reaching the spot of a development, and so on. I’ve had more than my share of crackpot police constables asking me why I worked all night, directing the question to my chest than to my face, and with some even going as far as asking if I was single. I learnt to blank out the bad behaviour, choosing instead to wear heavy jackets when I could, and always going out for work fully dressed. I don’t know why it is, but the sight of a woman’s bare arms emerging from a sleeveless blouse drives some men crazy. They call it ‘modern’ clothes. Ergo, if I wore ‘modern’ clothes, I wouldn’t mind a bit of loose talk.

And despite my treatise on hitting back and the rest of it, dear girls, please also be careful. I’ve learnt to keep the punches arsenal in reserve, and to not go looking for trouble. In Mumbai, the ladies’ train coaches have a police constable after sunset. The sight of the police uncle in the train is a reassuring one, but he’s not going to escort you home. There’s no need to go all Princess Guerilla and carry a bazooka in your bag, but for your own sanity, be armed with a sharp tongue and a sense of instant justice. Keep a can of pepper spray handy for the times you may be mugged. Don’t merely wait for men or cops or the courts to help you – in a reasonable situation, at least make enough noise to pinpoint the abuser and attract attention to him in a crowd. Shame the man, and do it loudly.

More to the point, don’t be ashamed if some random man tries to get his thrills off you. The guilt is not worth it, and besides, isn’t it easier to own your life and your body than let the scum of the earth define what you should feel?

Vrushali Lad is editor of themetrognome.in. 

The Women’s diaries celebrate the spirit of women on the occasion of International Women’s Day on March 8 every year. Look out for Part 3 next: ‘Her sister was killed. But she fights on’.

(Pictures courtesy www.rnw.nl, archive.indianexpress.com. Images are used for representational purpose only)

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Women on the high seas

Three women working in the Merchant Navy have battled sexism, back-breaking work and unprecedented challenges in the line of duty.
by Nidhi Qazi

Part 1 of the ‘Women’s Day’ series.

A woman on the seas? Now, that’s a novel idea. But, don’t let Ankita Srivastava, Mandira Nayak and Neha Rao hear you say that.

The field of marine engineering is a highly competitive and tough one, peopled as it is with men who are spunky and difficult to faze. So how does a woman enter this hallowed space, and more to the point, how does she survive?

The Merchant Navy is a field fleet of merchant vessels that areused for transporting cargo and has two departments – the Navigation department, responsible for safely taking the ship from one place to another, and the Engine department, responsible for safe operation and maintenance of all the machinery (both mechanical and electrical) on board the ship.

So who are Ankita, Mandira and Neha?

The 30-something Ankita, based in Lucknow, is currently working with Campbell Shipping as Chief Engineer. She did her Marine Engineering from Tolani Maritime Institute, Pune. “I started my career as an Engine Cadet and after completing my sea time as Junior Engineer, I passed my Class 4 exam and subsequently the Class 2 and Class 1 exam. These exams are conducted by DG Shipping, India. Anyone seeking promotion to various ranks needs to clear these exams and acquire licenses to sail on the higher ranks.”

Says 28-year-old Mandira, who hails from Madhubani district of Bihar, “I am a Seismic Engineer, in WesternGeco Company which provides seismic acquisition technologies and techniques for subsurface imaging in any environment.” She has been an engineer since August 2007.

28-year old Neha, a resident of Mumbai, has been on the ship’s Maintenance Department which looks after the machineries for propulsion, electricity generation, air conditioning, refrigeration, sewage treatment, making fresh water, etc. “I started as an Engine Cadet, went on to become Junior Engineer and then Fourth Engineer. As a Fourth Engineer, I was in charge of the generators so had to carry out maintenance and repair on it. I was also in-charge of bunker operations. Bunker is the fuel of the ship. That is separate from the cargo that we carry. I was responsible for the loading operations of the bunker fuel and also its day-to-day monitoring.”

While Ankita and Mandira are still in the same field, Neha has shifted gears to pursue another career option.

The early days

While all three agree that the job is very different and challenging since no two days are the same, they also agree that as women, the challenges are compounded by other factors.

As Neha puts it, “I used to get too much attention from my colleagues. I was like a celebrity on the ship. I couldn’t fart without the whole ship (25 people) knowing about it. Half the time people kept falling in love with me! On a serious note, it is very tough to live normally when you know you are being scrutinised and judged more because you are a woman.”

In Mandira’s experience, since the field is male-dominated, there is constant pressure to perform in terms of physical strength and technical competence. “Even companies arriving for college placements were not keen on recruiting girls. We had to push ourselves harder to prove our competence.” She mentions that the general perception is that girls are not good at technical jobs and to further this, “our batchmates would tell us, ‘Seat kha rahi ho tum log, kyun ho yahan?’”

“But one needs to be strong willed and determined to not let all these perceptions and challenges affect you. If you enjoy your work, there are no limits to what you can learn and achieve. As a woman, what is important is to know your limits, have the required proper knowledge, skills and the right attitude,” says Ankita.

Already under constant questioning from people on the ship, matters were no different off it. People would make comments like, ‘Ship pe safe nahin hota, kitne aadmiyon ke beech rahegi?’ “People didn’t even know the nature of our work, but would still comment,” says Neha.

A typical day at work

Ankita’s usual day starts with the ship sailing from 7 to 8 am. “Everyone in the engine department meets in the control room to discuss the maintenance plan for the day. After going through various procedures and discussions, we go on to complete our job.” A job can be completed in a short while, whereas another job or some unforeseen problem can demand more time. She adds, “If all goes well, the day ends at around 6 pm. By that time, we are free and have ample time to enjoy with our shipmates, reading, watching movies, playing games, and hitting the gym – all of which are available on the ship. But when the ship is in port, the work can vary and can sometimes be very hectic as there can be inspections by authorities or maintenance of propulsion machinery or handling (operation and maintenance) of the cargo gear and other major jobs that have been planned.”

Neha’s typical day would start at 8 am with her reporting to the engine room. She would then be assigned the ‘Watch Task’, which involved either completion of maintenance work on generators or helping others with big machineries. “We would then break for lunch at 3 pm and again start the watch from 8 pm to 12 am,” she remembers.

However, the pressure to prove oneself is such that many fall into the trap of proving themselves so determinedly, that is sometimes exceeds the bounds of common sense.

Mandira recounts a case in point. “In our college practicals, for the tasks which were automated and required no manual work, boys would lift equipment to prove their strength. In our professors’ times, all tasks were to be done manually, but things had changed for us, but still the boys preferred doing the same manually in order to show that they were physically superior to us. In one such incident, a male professor sarcastically asked one of our female batchmates if she could lift a machine. She actually lifted it – it could otherwise be done through automation. Though nothing happened to her, it could have – she could have suffered a slip disc!”

What’s more, one’s partners need to be supportive if one has to succeed in this career. But that doesn’t always happen. “My ex-boyfriend would tell me, ‘There are girls who left sailing for their partners. Why can’t you?’” says Mandira.

Career high points…

Ankita’s career high points till now have been when she passed the exam for Chief Engineer’s license (Class 1) and got promoted later on. “I was aware that not many women had made it to that level and was happy that I was able to stay that long and make a place for myself in a male-dominated field,” she says.

Neha says, “My high point was when I cleared the Class 4 exams which we have to take before we can sail as independent Watchkeepers or Fourth Engineers. These exams were really difficult and I cleared them in a single try. I was also appreciated for my work a couple of times.”

…and the challenges…

“The biggest challenge is that you have to stay away from family and friends for months together. The job is physically and mentally demanding most of the times,” says Ankita.

Adds Mandira, “Being stuck in water for five weeks can be frustrating at times. Moreover, the 12-hour grill with operational and financial pressures in order to seek the company’s profitability keeps us busy and tired.” She adds that the nature of the job is such that one has to deal with rough weather, sea sickness, and disturbed sleep patterns on a regular basis.

Neha says, “I had to stay away from home, friends, boyfriend and any form of social life. Naturally, I would feel totally lost when I used to go back home – it was like the rest of the world had moved ahead and I was still six months behind.”

These factors aside, the engineers also face the dangers of natural calamities like hurricanes, high waves and pirates. As Mandira recounts, “Few months ago we lost a colleague in a heavy wave.” She adds, “We have to retrieve the ship gears in rough weather, and you may drown in the sea. Also, pirates are dangerous as they are everywhere and under the heavy influence of drugs and alcohol. We are trained to deal with them.”

Despite all the above challenges and perceptions, the career opens up a lot of space for experience and exposure, feel these women.

“Since my colleagues are from different nationalities, it is fun to be among a diverse group of co-employees. This is also a company strategy in order to prevent dominance of a particular nationality,” says Mandira. The field also offers the chance to travel the world.

As Ankita puts it, “At the end of the day, it gives a sense of achievement doing something the right way, of fixing things with your own hands. The satisfaction after trouble shooting a problem on your own gives a satisfaction which I think no other job can give. The effort, challenges and dangers aside, it’s all worth it.”

The Women’s Day series celebrates the spirit of women on the occasion of International Women’s Day on March 8 every year. Look out for Part 2 next: ‘Trust in God, but carry pepper spray’.

(Pictures courtesy Ankita Srivastava and Mandira Nayak)

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