Accelerator,Brake,Clutch. Aaaeeee,Bheeee,Sheeee.

All my life ,there was the car. Other kids had Mr Bears and Blankys to calm and comfort them. For me it was the hum of the engine and the cool blow of the AC against my cheeks. After 18 yrs of being driven around ,getting my license felt like being granted membership to a club. That little square bearing my wrongly spelled name and someone's face who I refuse to believe is me ,seemed to signify less of a privilege or acquired right but more like something that has been such a long time coming, I feel like I've spent 18yrs of tapping my foot impatiently waiting for it to be handed to me.

My first day I sat with two other friends and clutched my seat for a good half hour.I had never imagined my life to be in the hands of these two jokers and a complete stranger.

As a student driver you have to understand that you are on the lowest rung of the traffic ladder. Rickshaw drivers either snort and shake their heads sagely,like keepers of the road or glare at you cause they recognize someone who will honk sharply everytime they try to squeeze in those two inches in front of you.Maybe they wonder at your audacity to choose over their surly services which make you want to make solemn promises to be good if you're allowed to live to see your destination.
Most people are also compelled to crane their necks and peer in at the "Naveen Driver". You get the distinct feeling of being in a incubator of sorts .I'm sure most of them would be so overcome with their own superiority to you, they would venture to pat your head or pinch your cheeks.
One of the most insufferable types are those who will insistently honk whenever you're struggling to tame your vehicle,like when you're contemplating the complex geometry involved in a U-turn. You'd think half the drivers are either rushing to catch a flight somewhere or answering a booty call .
We cannot forget the "Sir" here .What should be a fun and new experience of learning is lent "Bourne Supremacy-esque" amounts of tension .A slight mistake would provoke such dastardly reactions that would only seem appropriate if I had just run over a small child or old lady. I suspect a little part of him died every time I didn't change gears fast enough or braked too sharply. Often the sighs,groans and whines would reach such unbelievably annoying levels, I'd feel my palms itching to swerve into the nearest lamp post just to see if the shock and sheer grief would kill him. In the beginning ,when I didn't consider that he might have forgotten to take his anti-depressants,I'd perkily reply to his admonitions .But those soon gave way to curt nods or twitching of the eyebrows or simply singing in my head at the top of my voice to block him out.I recall I used to imagine myself,much better looking,driving my own car alone, only to be interrupted by a shrill "BRAKE CONTROL !"

As I mentioned I was with two friends of mine.We had some fun times, one particular time it was being explained to me how to turn the steering wheel and I was told to imitate the way in which water is drawn from a well. There was raucous laughter for a good ten minutes. I couldn't help thinking like what brats we might look like to him.A bunch of giggly teenagers,who'd chirp about their petty dealings and who were all presumably handed car keys of their own which is a dream for so many of the middle-lower classes.

I eventually did get my license without much event.No accidents, well maybe some accidental staring on the part of Mr Sunshine sir . Ironic that most of us choose private transport partly to escape lecherous lechers but we have to deal with them while learning just how to drive.Maybe as much as you try to isolate yourself from common India in your little Air Conditioned boxes, once in awhile you have to suck it up and blink,look around and realize which part of the world you live in,however swanky and privileged and protected your life maybe.

General update : the keys to the family's small car have all but been dangled infront of me. The only way I can be deemed fit and ready to take the car out without having national emergency declared by the folks would be if I endured another 30 days of driving school.What I already consider to be "My Car" dutifully awaits in all its ordinary glory. It won't be ordinary anymore, it Will be my first car.I'll have cheesy pictures of me with it that I'll show my grandchildren and lie about how I had to work to own it.

------- Deborah D'souza