A Driving Test

Manipal is suddenly seeing an onslaught of traffic policemen, all of them highly keen on ‘doing their duty’ which mostly comprises of stopping drivers randomly, demanding their license and other weird documents .Initially it was fun to ride a two-wheeler without a license, keeping my eyes peeled for any uniformed person, chuckling wickedly to myself that I had outwitted them. Catch me if you can!

Predictably, it wore out. When I started taking 10 minutes for a 2 minute trip (because I went through a ‘long-cut’ to avoid any non-license carrying drivers’ catchers) I thought I might as well get a license. (Aah, you guessed that? Wow. How? Oh, the title? Very smart, ehh?) I mean, a driver’s license can be given to someone who can drive, right? That’s something I can do. ‘Piece of cake’, I thought. But then… (Pause for dramatic effect. Spoilt slightly by giggling. Made up by turning it into a cough.)

Dad: So, you finally are going for a driving test?
Me: Yup.
Dad: Let’s go to the driving school walla tomorrow.
Me: Huh? I know how to drive. I have been driving for ages.
Dad: If you don’t go to the RTO through him, you mayn’t pass.
Me (insulted and all that): I can drive better than a lot of idiots with licenses. They can’t fail ME!
Dad: Listen, I don’t want any hassles with this. It’s always easier when you go through a driving school.
Me: You actually want someone to teach me to start the vehicle and toot the horn??
Dad: (exasperated) No, he’ll just take you to the RTO.
Me: YOU can take me to the RTO.
Dad (Now, patiently, with the air of someone explaining that one plus one is just a simple two): The agent will make sure you get your license. Else you will have to keep running around the RTO. Why take the trouble?
This is not right. I should be taking the test on my own. I can drive well enough to get a license.

Me (giving in): Fine, tomorrow, then.
Dad (with what I imagined to be a sigh of relief): Ok.

Next morning, a little reluctantly, I gathered a few passport-size photographs and the necessary documents and reached the driving school.

Lady in the office, “Give me the photos and the papers.”
Duly handed them over and plonked myself on a chair.
Lady: These photos won’t do.
Me: Why?
Lady: Your ears can’t be seen.
Me: Huh?
Lady: Your hair’s covering you ears. We need a photo with your ears.
Dad (suddenly entering the conversation): Can’t we assume she has ears behind her hair?
She (firmly): No.

Alas. What could I do? Dragged my feet to the nearest studio (I’m sure the driving school receives commission for photographing ears.) grimaced when he said ‘smile please’ and got an absolutely horrendous photo of myself. ‘I don’t care’, I told myself, quite irritated with everything in general.

Lady: Hmmm (pleased expression.)
Me: Hmmm (Good for you that you have a pleased expression.)
I was given a list of traffic signals to mug up, which I happily did (something to do instead of uselessly sitting around).
The principal of the driving school came up to me and asked, ‘How do you show that you’re turning left?’
Me: Err, turn on the indicator lights?
Princy: No. like this. (And proceeded to draw a circle in the air (anti-clockwise.)
All signalling to be done with your right hand. Prevents accidents.

(Wanted to tell him badly that if I take my right hand off the scooter and begin drawing geometrical figures in the air (keeping in mind if I was drawing it clockwise or anti clockwise) I was in grave danger of losing balance. Also wanted to tell him that I’ve almost never seen people signalling before they turn. Vroooooom and they vanish.)

Me: Uhh, ok.
Princy: This is how you signal that you’re going to stop.
(Raises his hand like we do when we answer the roll call in class.)
Me (unable to control it any longer): I’ve NEVER seen anyone doing that.
Princy: Uhh, they might ask you that in the RTO.
Me (resigning myself to fate): Ok.

Ten minutes later. Place: RTO. Time: About 12:00 (read blistering hot and sunny)

We (the others who’d applied for a license) sat down in a room which bore an amazing resemblance to a classroom. Sitting in front, facing all of us, sat a man who bore an amazing resemblance to a you-better-not-mess-with-me teacher.

‘No talking or I will send you all out’, he said, to complete the effect.
Just when he was ready to read out the first name, his cell phone went din chak. Gesticulating wildly, he went out of the room. Bored, I looked around. For reasons unknown, the walls had photographs of accidents. Gruesome ones, with vehicles crushed to pieces and glass strewn on the ground and all that. (There were 13 of them, if you’re one of those superstitious people.) Ghastly. Wonder what they were trying to say. ‘See, look what can happen if you drive. You’re here for a license? Ha? What do YOU know?’

He returned; looking highly satisfied with everything. He called out a girl’s name.
‘What do you do when you want to turn right?’
‘You bloody turn your vehicle to the right’, I wanted to say. Predictably, I chose to remain silent.
‘No, that’s not the way to do it’, he said. ‘See? I’m giving you the license. Learn all the signals, ok?’ (She’d come from the driving school. ‘So there’s something in what Dad said’, I thought.)

Next in line was a middle-aged woman.
‘Car driving, ehh?’
‘Yes.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I am the headmistress of _____ school (Obviously, my attention had been wandering quite a bit.)
‘Oh, you’re from that school?’
‘Yes.’ (Smiled politely.)
‘How do you get such a high pass percentage?’
‘Something, something.’ (Didn’t quite catch what she was saying. She was speaking too softly.)
‘All parents like to send their children to your school though it’s Kannada medium, no?’
‘Yes.’(Began talking about some student who had won many prizes for the school etc. etc. Took about five minutes.)
‘I will come one day to your school.’
‘Sure, sure. My pleasure.’
“I want to see how you get such a high pass percentage.’
(Smiles) May I go?
‘Yes, yes.’

(Self explanatory piece of conversation. No sarcastic comments required. The previous sentence was enough, in any case!)

‘Jayashree Bhat?’
I got up; fully confident of telling him all the ways he could turn around and come to a stop.
‘I want your address proof.’
‘Huh?’
‘You have given me only proof of your birth-date. I need address proof.’
I pointed at my birth-certificate which had my address clearly written on it.
‘It’s here.’
‘That’s not valid.’
‘What?’ (I mean, come on, it’s a certificate issued by the Government.)
‘You need to give me address proof by another document. (He was quite polite, surprisingly.)
Princy intervened but it was of no use. He wouldn’t have any of it. ‘Get me address-proof’, he said.
‘Ok, I will get it.’
Completely exhausted, my dad drove me back home, got the required address proof and gave it to Princy. He gave me a thumbs-up sign. (It means, ‘everything’s fine’, silly, in case you’re wondering about traffic signals and thumbs.)

What a day!
I have my learner’s license. Yay!
Hey, that rhymed, wow!
And the dogs go bow-bow.

(I actually wrote a poem! Larks!)