Scooty for the beti and EV for the biwi

Esha named her scooty Riri, after herself. It cost Rs420,000 and she hasn’t spent a rupee more since on transport. Every time the scooty hums to life—when the 22-year-old leaves for classes at the College of Electrical & Mechanical Engineering—heads turn. “My friends think it’s cool,” she says. “Young women light up in public. They say it looks easy to handle.” Their reaction means everything to her. In a country where a woman’s movement is still being negotiated, the sight of a young woman riding an electric bike is its own argument. Esha has thought carefully about why that argument meets resistance. “One, the upfront cost. But honestly, why would a family invest in a scooty for their daughter when bhai is around as a free drop service?” she says. The second resistance comes from the feeble ‘log kya kahenge’ and ‘kuch ho jayega road pe’ fear. And lastly, Esha believes that women’s independence makes men uncomfortable. “The control only works when we’re dependent,” she adds. The economics of freedom are hard to argue with, though. Pakistanis have, in the last year or so, been floored by soaring petrol prices that electric two-wheelers are beginning to find their riders. A monthly fuel bill of Rs12,000 has doubled now. For Esha’s family, the math resolved itself: a steep upfront cost, undeniable long-term savings, a lighter machine that felt safer on the road. She charges the bike every night for a fraction of what petrol would cost, riding more than 60 kilometres without stopping at a pump or asking for a lift. “My family is supportive because they know I’m safe,” she says. Sana, 24, a NUST student from DHA Rawalpindi, came to the same conclusion but through a different door. She didn’t choose her electric scooty because it was trendy. Petrol bikes frightened her: the weight, the kick-start, the quiet dread of breaking down alone. But the scooty felt like something she could manage on her own, without depending on anyone. There’s also a physical safety consideratio