The clatter of the automotive line in Faridabad is its own language, CNC heads biting into metal, gauges ticking true. The women I met there speak that language fluently. They read microns the way most of us read moods: quickly, accurately, without fuss. And yet when we stepped off the shop floor to talk about UPI, a different hesitation appeared, as if the phone screen were somehow trickier than a 5-axis mill.

“Galti se paise kahin aur chale gaye toh?” (What if the money accidentally goes somewhere else?) one operator asked, wiping coolant from her gloves. Another pointed to the canteen QR: “Scan to Pay dekha hai, par kabhi kiya nahin.” (I’ve seen ‘Scan to Pay,’ but I’ve never actually used it.) It wasn’t a lack of ability these are women who program offsets and catch chatter marks with their ears. It was a lack of trust and familiarity with the flows behind a glowing button.

So we redesigned the session for a factory’s rhythm—short, sharp, and shift-friendly.

We met in the ten-minute gap between tool changes. No lectures. We started with two parallels they already knew: tolerance and process control.

PIN is your machine lock—kabhi share nahi (never share it).
OTP is a one-time inspection code—ek baar ka code, phir kaam khatam (valid once, then done).
Unknown links? Like an unverified toolpath: aap run nahi karte (you do not run it).

Then we practiced with the smallest possible stakes. A ₹1 transfer from my demo account to theirs and back again. Balance check. A test recharge. We mapped each step to a process sheet: Open → Verify → Enter PIN in private → Confirm → Observe Result → Log. The operator who first rolled her eyes at “apps” ended up teaching the next person, tapping the confirm screen like a cycle-start button. When the first ping landed, the smile looked exactly like it does when a part hits tolerance on the first try.

Safety was our non-negotiable. We showed how official customer-care numbers live inside the app, not on Google; how refunds work when a payment is “pending”; how to lock UPI instantly if a phone is misplaced. We ran a three-line chant till it felt like muscle memory:

“PIN/OTP kabhi share nahi.” (Never share your PIN or OTP.)
“Unknown links kabhi click nahi.” (Never click unknown links.)
“Numbers sirf official app se.” (Use phone numbers only from the official app.)

Heads nodded; a supervisor listening from the door nodded too.

By the end of two short huddles (one per shift), nearly everyone had completed at least one real task on her own phone. A few linked payroll accounts they’d never opened in their app before; one scanned the canteen QR with visible delight, no cash line today. The pride wasn’t loud, but it was solid, like a well-clamped workpiece.

I left with the whir of spindles in my ears and a reminder in my notes: complex work isn’t the barrier; unfamiliar work is. These women already live in a world of precision and consequence. Give them a clear map, a small practice run, and respect for their time—and they move through digital money like they move through metal: steady, exact, capable.

Next we’ll set up a fortnightly micro-clinic in the break room: ten-minute slots, quick PIN resets, scam-drill refreshers, and an HR-backed helpline number on every noticeboard. The canteen vendor, meanwhile, has promised to keep his QR laminated and visible. Tiny fixes. Big throughput.

On the factory floor, a good day is when the first part is a good part. In Faridabad, our first rupee was a good part and that’s how habits begin.