Six people, one calendar.

Spends his days building little sensors that talk to your phone — the kind that could one day fit a clinic into a shoebox. Around IRSA he holds the calendar and the constitution.

Builds tiny things — sensors smaller than a fingernail, a patch that quietly tracks UV until it composts itself. Steadies a panicked Thursday, and somehow always has gum.

Trained as a materials engineer, now at Siemens — and the person who keeps every Nowruz, every poetry night, every panel on time. Bring her a vague idea; she sends a run-of-show.

Counts twice, signs once, and trusts no spreadsheet without a paper trail. IRSA Aid lives at this desk — quietly, accurately, with a receipt for everything.

Works on the seam where machines try to read what the brain is actually saying. Owns the rhythm around here — minutes, motions, follow-ups, the glue that turns a chat into an org.

Professor of Electrical & Computer Engineering, and the faculty member who quietly makes a student-run group like ours possible. Knows the paperwork. Reads the room. Says yes.