Red, Orange, Go!

This is a post that I started off a long time ago, in those days when I was learning( or rather mastering, for the learning had been done a long time before then) how to drive a car. In the winding narrow streets of Bangalore, for the larger streets were forbidden to a student still, I polished my skills. Of apologizing, delivering the killer looks and mouthing words I hoped would be taken for the dirtiest swears.

People have always complained about Bangalore traffic. The myriad traffic jams just when you have to get to work and potholes the size of craters can drive even the most patient into a foul mood. For the craters, there is the government to blame. Or maybe its the official language. Would it be fair to blame the politicians who spend the funds assigned for the 'infrastructure maintainance of state' to add a new lawn, an extra floor or solar panels to their already palatial residences. For is that not infrastructure maintainance, and are they not the state? One way or the other the potholes remain. Once every five years, just before the elections, one kind-hearted and scheming candidate does do the roads. The road-rollers are a welcome sight. The freshly tarred roads become playgrounds, and little boys walk-race with leaden slippers. A week after the road repair, the world is a happy place. It's spring time. The Bangalore rains take a cue from that and come as a mighty downpour. The green returns and so do the holes in the roads.

The traffic jams are easier to understand if you hail from Bangalore. The increasing number of immigrants, who for one mistake the language spoken here for Kannad or Kannadam(the northies and the Tams respectively; its called Kannada), are stumped by the driving ways of the native man. Its not in the blood or the soil, trust me. Its in the way they teach us. The good thing though, is that these immigrants learn quickly and mingle in the general pell-mell smoothly.

My driving classes included not just the basic lesson on gears and brakes, but also a list of reactions when caught in difficult traffic situations. They taught me the subtle art of recognizing when a situation demanded me to go on the offensive and when to get out with a meek 'sorry saar, tappu aagi hoyitu(sorry saar, mistake happened)'. They also had practice sessions, in which I had to scrape a car just right, so the other driver would be left wondering if he had been wronged, or if he was lucky to have escaped an accident which would have been his fault entirely.

Changing lanes are a game of power. If you can squeeze in between two cars on a lane, you are good. If this means you have stopped the car behind you and a few behind that one, thats a bonus. Jumping a traffic light should become second nature to you. And if you see a traffic jam, you should not wait. You should find the smallest free spot, squeeze into it and create a deadlock. If you hear a thousand different voices shouting at you, you have graduated in the art of driving. Did I mention learning the Kannada swear words, the looks and speaking through clenched teeth?

All that remains now is obtaining a license. This exercise builds your patience and perseverence like none else, with the intention that you may be prepared to remain stuck in traffic endlessly without complaining. Usually the driving schools charge you extra money, so you can bypass the trips to the RTO and not have to visit it until the day of the exam. The Officer there though, has the weirdest notion of driving and you invariably fail when you try to demonstrate the tricks. But after a few attempts, he remembers his own days of learning to drive, sympathizes with you and lets you have the document that doesnt question your driving skills for the next 20 years.

I had it easy though. The officer was my neighbour. He advised me to not pay the driving school the extra money since it was for the officers. He claimed he was an honest one and wouldnt really like to cream the neighbours. Noble man. Since I had refused to pay the driving school the extra dough, they wouldnt let me drive their car for test. My father, for all the claims of his love for me, wouldnt let me touch his car either. So I stood in the RTO office, in front of the neighbour-officer(NO from now), without a car, ready to take the test. NO taking pity on me said I could drive his car, which was parked in the basement. Only I had to stick to the parking lot and demonstrate my skills there instead of on the road. Not that he didnt trust me, he added. When asked to drive in reverse, I did so not stopping until the car hit a pillar at the back. I smiled sheepishly. He grunted, asked me to hop to the passenger seat, took the steering and parked it back in the spot where it had been a couple of minutes before then. Without another word, he signed my sheet, asked me knew how to ride a two-wheeler and signed against that as well. Maybe he feared I'd ask to borrow his scooter( bought from people's license money, I suppose) to get a two-wheeler license.

So here I am with a license and the wish to drive. In Los Angeles though, they need me to get a permit before I can drive for which I need to take a written test. I dont need to take another driving test for they trust the Indian authority. I have a date booked sometime next month. After then I can zoom around in a car. For a while though, I'll drive safely, stop at stop signs and keep to the left at all times. Wait, did I just say left?