Behind the Wheels

When out on the road, I assume that everyone drives better than me. I like to believe that.

My father never taught us how to drive his dear old Fiat ORU 1272. Not that we showed any enthusiasm to learn. 23 years later, my husband did show some interest in improving my motor abilities but my curiosity in getting behind the wheels was always overpowered by the fear of running over someone.

When in Delhi I took some lessons from a driving school where my teenage tutor who had complete control over the second set of accelerator and brakes, kept me driving straight on clean and empty roads. I did not remember much of his rules except “Aunty, apne side dabaa ke chalna”. When I applied this rule to my practice sessions with Abhijit he was much alarmed at the concept and said “I hope you also noticed that the guy has a box on his car roof that says “Khanna’s Driving School”. Uske gaadi mein “apne side dabaa ke chalaane se chalega” not in my poor Maruti. You will get dabaaoed yourself”. I never understood any of the rules anyway. Neither Khanna’s nor Ray’s. Instead I managed my daily commutes happily jumping off and on DTC buses, sharing Red Line seats with ugly, lewd Jaats, patiently hiding my face against broken bus windows enjoying the hot searing May winds blowing straight from the Thar. I liked to take charge of myself. Definitely not in charge of other living beings. I managed 10 years without a hitch sitting on the passenger’s seat never doing any back seat driving.

My journey to the US, apart from the many jarring experiences which most immigrants have to go through, brought me face to face with the same reality of life that I had successfully avoided for so many years. Ridiculously enough, to buy a bottle of milk you had to know how to drive. After spending months riding Rutgers buses and several months after that sitting at the passenger’s seat again with Abhijit, it could not be avoided any further. I had to learn to control that steering and engine. Many warm summer evenings, numerous chilly winter mornings, countless sulking weekends fighting with Abhijit and several sessions at self confidence later, I went to take the drive test in Salisbury in August 2004: Flying colors in the written test and super failure at parallel parking. I congratulated myself. At least I could sit behind the wheels for that long. Next 4 weeks of reluctant but rigorous practices, more battles at home led to another failure at the drive test in Glen Burnie. Parallel parking. My foot! I exceeded my time limit and was 10 inches more than the required distance from the curb. The drive home on the passenger’s seat was fury incarnate. Not that I wanted to drive but it meant that I would have to practice again! Three weeks later, no practice sessions and a belligerent me, faced the officer at the Glen Burnie office once again. I didn’t care if I failed. I had promised not to take the test again. I was ready to go back to India but not learn how to drive. The male officer asked me “Have you taken a test before?”. “Failed twice” I retorted back. He smiled. I drove through the pattern. K turns, U turns, Stop Signs, speed breakers, everything went fine. I tensed as we got closer to the 4 sticks planted loosely on the ground. Strangely my officer said “Relax, you are doing quite well”. I wished myself luck and went through all the rules that Abhijit had painstakingly thrust down my throat a 100 times and more. I passed. I was little short of hugging the officer. I was sure he had been hugged many times before!

Grabbing a spanking new license that sported a pink heart and a Baltimore crab sign which said that I would donate my eyes in case of a fatal accident, I came back home riding on the passenger’s seat again. The day’s euphoria died down soon when Abhijit announced that he intended to take the passenger’s seat from then on. After that it was sheer misery! I wished I would have failed the test again and again because driving and clearing a drive test were two different things! As a kid I had dreamt of two things. The first one that I had long given up on: "that I had long dark hair up to my waist” and the second one was that I was driving a car. When the second dream was coming to fruition I wished it wouldn’t happen!

I closed my eyes changing lanes, my heart skipped a beat when 16 wheelers sped at 70 right next to me, I chanted mantras while being tail gated, I grabbed the steering before braking. I do all these things today. And more. As I swerve up the sharp curve at the measured distance, to the almost 70 degrees incline to the Lexington Roof Top parking, leg stamped on the brake, right hand on the steering, left stretched out to swipe my garage security card, I glance on the rear view at the impatient cars lined up behind me. One small mistake and I would go back crashing against them. I need to know that my brakes are doing fine. I swipe the card, take my leg off the brakes, and step on the gas at the exact moment. For me this action is comparable in accuracy and planning to the launching of a rocket.

On most Monday mornings, an attendant stands on the incline waiting to swipe the card for the members as a courtesy. I don’t think he receives broader smiles than mine from any commuter.