Moni Mohsin , the amazing author of that delightful book " The Social Butterfly " describes how the narrator , got fleeced by an AC technician by the name of Soleiman , who just switched on an Air conditioner , claiming to have repaired it , and how the narrator , in her blind ignorance of all things technical , believing that an out of order AC had been fixed , paid him handsomely .
This story has gone down in the annals of our anecdotal history , not because the narrator was stupid , but because it finds resonance in so many of our own day to day dealings of similar nature , with people , mostly of the male gender , allegedly bestowed with "higher technical know how ." It is generally assumed , not unaided by women who rise to these stereotypes , that we , females , have no knowledge / inkling / desire to learn/ IQ to fathom how machines and other "more technical things" work .
The story begins on a wintry morning . Mildly foggy , sun bursting out , and loads of optimism in the air .
On my way back home from my kids' school , the car wobbled , listing more to the left ( Remember Prof.Calculus of Tintin ) .
Quickly jumping to the worst possible diagnosis , I assumed that I have a puncture , and that the tyres being radial , it is not visible in a standing car . Promptly I called up a neighbouring tyre puncture repairman , whom we shall call by his initial K . Now that I had already informed him of puncture , he swung into action and said that he will drop by shortly .
It is important to note here that a visit for a puncture repair to his modest , hole-in-the-wall shop , and a visit by K to your residence for repairs , were two different propositions . The difference in charges could be almost 400/- rupees.
That explains the eagerness to come over .
Now , that I had glimpsed the red flag , I decided to go to the parking lot and take a closer look myself . They tyre didn't look flat . I asked the opinion of my neighbour , a retired colonel , and an avid driver ( and buyer )of cars. He took one look , circumambulated the car , while humming to himself , punched the tyres , closed his eyes and whispered something . Then loudly proclaimed it to be a case of "less air ". And that I should proceed to K's shop post haste . In fact , try hard to beat him .
Thanking my stars for living next door to car whisperers , I quickly took my ailing vehicle to K's shop . At the shop sat a surly looking son , who informed me that K had gone to fix someone's puncture at home . I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was to my home that his progenitor had headed to .
After a short wait , K arrived on his motorcycle , looking mildly miffed .
Taking a look at the tyres , he quickly proceeded to drag a jack out . I stopped him and explained my present , changed and enlightened thoughts . His eyes widened .
He wanted to know "which Colonel ?" had imparted this wisdom to me, the hitherto gullible female . With a look of total dejection about him , he checked and filled air in my tyres and accepted his meagre 20/- bucks with shoulders stooping with resignation .
I had narrowly escaped being Soleiman-ised.
There are several other stories which can be chronicled under the head of " near Soleimanisation . Like the time I got a mere 60/- (instead of 460/-)back from the shopkeeper who suddenly became very busy on the phone . He later clarified he thought I gave him a 100/- rupee note , instead of 500/- rupee note. Not to mention , his regret filled apologies that followed me like flies , outside the shop too .
