As Easy As Payesh
“Driving a car is easy, didi,” said my uncle’s driver to me once, while applying the brakes to avoid mowing down a cyclist. And to reiterate his statement, he added with a flourish of his hand, “Just like cooking.”
What he didn’t know was that I was not exactly Masterchef material in the kitchen.
“Hey! You can rustle up a decent sambhar and poriyal,” a voice inside me whispered. “Taking over the driver’s seat during an emergency should be your target. Simple!”
How difficult can it be?
The diminutive man in charge of the driving school in South Kolkata helped me with the enrolment. He assured me that many nervous beginners had not only received their licenses but also had gone on to become confident drivers. Visions of me participating in a Formula 1 event in India swam around me. But before I could grab the coveted trophy from our Honourable Prime Minister, no less, my future instructor brought me down from my airborne castle.
“I am very strict, madam!”
Bidding a temporary adieu to my dream of becoming a female (and desi) Schumacher, I nodded.
“Aapnaar naam, dada?”
“Chotu!” The reply was immediate.
How apt!
Why? Oh, Why?
It was a lazy Sunday morning. While the Bongs still lay in their beds, dreaming of mangsho and bhaat for lunch, I was waiting at the designated spot for my first lesson. A feeling of nervous trepidation mingled with the butterflies in my stomach. However, all thoughts dashed out of my mind when my groggy eyes registered the vehicle that would put my skills (or the lack of them) to the test.
It was a red Maruti 800. When did I last spot such a relic on Indian roads?
Chotu got down from the chota car and greeted me. Making himself comfortable on the passenger seat, he gestured for me to take my place behind the steering wheel.
There are moments when panic envelopes you suddenly, choking you, making you question your life choices. The steering wheel retained its dignity intact by a thick rope that looked like a noose to me. I cursed myself for listening to that accursed driver, who by then had had his license revoked for (finally) dispatching an errant biker to a place he rightfully belonged—the hospital.
The Not-So-Practical Lessons
“This is the ABC of a vehicle, ma’am. Accelerator, Brake, and Clutch!”
I made a mental note. It’s not rocket science. Chotu explained how the ABC worked. Hey, it’s so easy.
But everything looks simple in theory.
My first lesson began. I switched on the ignition and pressed the clutch with my left foot. The car inched forward like a snail. Gaining a fraction of the confidence I had lost that morning, I pressed the accelerator with my right foot. The initial thirty seconds seemed like a breeze.
“Brakes!” Chotu screamed.
I looked at the road ahead. A puppy was crossing the road.
“Shoo! Shoo!” I hissed out of habit.
Chotu plucked at the remaining strands of hair from his egg-shaped head and applied the brakes from his end.
The breeze had escalated into a full-blown cyclone.
A week of missed mishaps later, I called it quits. Who wants to go to jail for mistakenly pressing the accelerator instead of the brakes?
Little did I know that history would repeat itself a decade later in Jamshedpur!
“Hey! There is a Maruti driving institute nearby,” said hubby in an excited tone. Before I could open my mouth to lodge a protest, he carried on, “They teach you first theory, and then, you get to drive in a simulated environment. Finally, you begin your lessons on the road.”
My interest piqued. My confidence, which had experienced a pinprick, now inflated itself like a hot air balloon and soared into the skies of Sonari. Sensing my excitement, hubby added, “They have good cars. Let’s do one thing. Learn how to drive an automatic. It’s easier.”
I nodded. A week went by in a jiffy. I learnt all the road signs and promised myself that I would behave like an adult behind the wheel.
But I had forgotten, yet again, that everything looks good in theory.
Even Simulators Can Be Sinister
I took my place in the simulator. The instructor chose Beginner Level 1. My car would be cruising along on a near-empty street before hitting mild traffic. Fifteen minutes later, all I had to do was to park the vehicle in front of a shop.
My car picked up speed. At 30 km/h, I thought I would get a speeding ticket. My instructor shook his head. “You can drive faster, ma’am. It’s just a simulator.”
Oh!
I pressed the accelerator with a vengeance. The car vroomed ahead, and before I could sense what was happening, it had done the following in installments over the week I spent behind the simulator:
- Changed lanes without activating the indicators
- Jumped a red light at the traffic signal
- Rammed behind an SUV
- Made a right turn way before I was supposed to do so
- Hit a statue of Mahatma Gandhi [don’t ask me how or why]
- Ran over a cyclist [deja vu moments]
- Broke the barrier at a toll plaza
- Ignored a traffic policeman [bye, mamu]
- Forgot to apply the brakes while parking
- Exercised caution and parked my car a good hundred meters before the P sign [I congratulated myself on this acheivement]
It’s Not My Cup Of Tea
Winners don’t quit, they say.
But three practical lessons later, I realised that wise people can indeed quit. Hubby expressed his disappointment in me by clucking his tongue. I rang up the driving school and blamed my prolonged absence on a negative (and imaginary) ECG report.
Driving is not like cooking, I tell myself.
You can make amends if a recipe goes wrong. And unless you deliberately mix rat poison into a pale-looking khichdi and serve it to the unsuspecting and uninvited guests, you are not going to jail.
By Narayani V Manapadam
“Narayani is an IT Professional lost in the dreary world of Excel. When time permits, she loves to get lost in the maze of Word(s). But nothing makes her happier than being a cat momma to her beloved Uttam.”
She can be contacted at fraunara@gmail.com.
One Response
I so resonate with this! Totally hilarious 😂.