My mother decides one day that I need driving lessons as she feels the right part of my brain needs activation. I lead a sedentary life, she says: only reading and studying. This was causing my intellect to develop in a lopsided manner. So I am promptly enrolled in a driving school.
The instructor says we won’t have practice on Sundays, and that I should practise driving myself on that day. So after I learn the basics through the week, both my parents and I get into our Maruti Esteem early in the morning the following Sunday. My mother sits in the rear and I ride shotgun as my father drives. “Let’s take her to the deserted field near the Vidhan Sabha where she can drive around in circles,” mother says. I am not too happy with the idea. I am not sure how I’m going to learn to navigate the nightmare of Indian traffic by driving around in circles in an empty field. But then I reason that Michael Schumacher basically drove around in circles for his entire career and he was considered one of the greatest race car drivers of all time. Why should I question his tried and tested method?
So we reach the aforementioned field and my dad and I switch places. “Keep your doors unlocked, in case we have to abandon the vehicle in motion,” mother says in all earnestness. Thanks for the show of confidence, mother. I put my foot on the pedal and immediately I am bombarded with screaming instructions from both of them — “Turn left here, turn left!” “Change gear, change gear!” “I don’t know what to do!” I yell back, “Stop yelling different instructions!” “Stop the car!” they both yell together. I remember my instructor’s diktat never to brake with a jerk, and so it takes a few seconds before the car comes to a stop. This sends both parents into a frenzy of panic. Never mind the fact that the speedometer only reads 10 kmph. “You will stop as soon as we ask you to stop! Not five minutes later! Or you don’t drive!” father yells. I can see immediately I am not going to be making much progress today. But I keep my peace and don’t yell back this time. As a currently unemployed burden on both state and family, I don’t have any means to access a car unless my parents deem me fit to drive theirs. I really don’t want to antagonise them.
“ They may be doing it in their own bungling way. But I'm grateful for all the trouble they take ”
Father asks to switch places with me again. They decide it’s better if I drive on a straight road in a service lane. At this point I remember the mythology I was taught as a child and wonder to myself if Shravan’s parents asked him to stop during their journey as many times as my parents were asking me to. I am certain he made more progress walking and carrying his parents on his shoulders than I was making driving mine around a field. I sigh and walk over to the passenger side. In the service lane I take the driver’s seat again. “Drive in first gear only. Never mind the engine, we’ll get it serviced,” I am told.
I agree and drive maybe 50 metres, before we notice a couple of cars parked on the side. “Stop and switch places with me,” father orders. He doesn’t want to risk me ramming our car into the cars parked on the side even though I haven’t crossed 15 kmph. He gives me back the car after driving it 20 metres ahead. I drive it another 50 metres straight till the service lane ends and then gives it back to him to drive us home. I can now feel pedestrians staring at us, like in a movie about a dysfunctional family. But I don’t mind really. The thing is, my parents have a very hectic six-day work-week. For them to wake up early on Sunday, their only day of respite, to yell at me and jolt and jerk through the streets with me to teach me to drive in their own bungling way, only reinforces to me what family is all about.
For that I am grateful.
manalika@gmail.com
