By Devraj Singh Kalsi
After training for several months, I discovered that my driving instructor was not a qualified, certified one. With years of practice, he could easily take beginners for a ride. That he could bring the car to a screeching halt and avert head-on collision was his claim to fame recycled through unverified narratives circulated by his acolytes. Whatever he taught came under the lens of suspicion when I cross-checked with the driving manual and online videos. Nothing seemed to match with the tricks he passed on, making me feel the need to unlearn everything. The final moment of awakening arrived when my cousin laughed at my clumsy gear shifting exercise and raised the obvious question: who taught you driving?
A clutch of rapid-fire queries, based on observations, to assess my fitness to go behind the wheel deflated my confidence. I shared with him the reality of the fake instructor who fleeced gullible folks with his dignified facade. Always dressed in spotless white kurta like sober academicians, he did not come across as a man who negotiated sharp bends at great speed and mastered the art of rash driving. The windshield of his falsehood was smashed by a business rival trying hard to expand his start-up business. The veracity of accusations could not be established but the active involvement of my driving coach in a fraudulent network was further corroborated by some disgruntled former employees. Sadly, it was too late for advanced learners to cancel the admission and enrol elsewhere.
Excavating facts revealed interesting details. His driving licence – issued decades ago – was obtained after bribing the officials as he did not meet the eligibility criteria. Gathering false certificates of secondary school education and submitting those documents was an offence that never surfaced due to lack of investigation. He drove around the city and the state even though he did not deserve to be granted a valid licence. He cleared the litmus test and silenced those who expected him to make a blunder. He reversed the car with precision and amazing control. It was so spectacular that the senior officer, who had never seen such a move in the real world but only in action films, felt he surpassed the need for other examinations, thus allowing the bogus instructor to hit the road with legal approval.
Picking up driving skills while working as a helper for a lorry driver was his first big break. He gained experience and then switched to smaller, lighter vehicles he fondly referred to as toys. Once he became comfortable, he made it his strength and spent days and nights driving taxis and matadors. Nothing seemed to match the rule book as his learning process was organic. Practical exposure made him an expert and he taught others just the way he taught himself. All those who sought his guidance were granted licences very quickly and this was the key reason why he remained popular over the years.
His contacts were useful as many jobless and illiterate youth trained under him to acquire genuine licences just as he had done long ago. The issue of corruption was immaterial as he appeared to be a messiah who provided the scope to get employment. Even though his modus operandi was shady, nobody accused him of misdoings till recently. Tons of regret that I shelled out a premium amount to learn exclusively from him for an hour every day. His 1:1 tutoring model failed to impart flawless training. I feel ashamed of learning the ropes from an instructor who duped unsuspecting entrants by mentoring them without sticking to the rule book. He formulated his own set of rules and remained confident that accidents would never occur if his guidelines were strictly followed even on dug-up, potholed roads.
Clearing the driving test in front of the transport officer was a big victory for which I remained grateful to the driving school and the dubious instructor, even though I realised the need to learn a lot more to drive safely. He believed in pushing the learner to get rid of fears – like throwing a non-swimmer inside the Olympic-sized pool on the first day. We were encouraged to take risks in our stride and decide how to get past a stray dog or a stranded bovine in the middle of the road without honking incessantly from a long distance and disturbing the peace of the locality. There is no denying the fact that it was more of a trial-and-error method of learning under his tutelage. He expected the learners to observe him and learn. Instead of pointing out individual shortcomings, he sought focus on his style, hoping we would also pick it up like he did from his truck driver boss. Since he managed to get valid licences for all learners enrolled with his school, there was nothing called rejection or loss of fees. Evidently, the amazing clearance statistics never grounded his growth story.
Whenever I hit the road, I knew I had to face unexpected dangers. Driving through crowded streets and negotiating narrow lanes without scratches on the chassis involved prayers. Every day I had to thank God for keeping me safe. But one day I ran out of luck and rammed the front bumper into a pillar. As it was more than a dent, it had to be replaced. This accident led to a dent of confidence and I became afraid of my irresponsible driving, entrusting my spouse to handle the vehicle. Henceforth, all I did was to take the car out of the garage and park it right outside the house.
The sight of a truck pounds my heart even when I am not driving the car. I feel it is there with the ulterior motive of bumping me off, sent on a special mission by one of my hidden enemies. Such is the residual impact of watching masala potboilers from Bollywood that I suspect something fishy when I see a speeding truck either in front of me or catching up fast from behind. Although my spouse urges me to stay calm, it is the best example of anxiety attack that wrecks my state of mind. She suggests I should face more trucks to overcome this irrational fear but the beastly trucks and containers do not leave me in peace. I hold their domineering presence on the roads to be equally responsible for my failure to ace driving skills. Seeing other people remain composed in front of trucks makes me wonder how fearless they are. The highways are meant for heavy vehicles and it is common to find a fleet of trucks every hour. We often hear and read stories about drunken truck drivers bumping off car passengers. I always share such tragic news with my spouse to make her understand that my fears are genuine, raising concerns regarding the company-fitted air bags that fail to open up when required.
Recently, she asked me to hire a full-time personal instructor and learn driving once again as she finds it cumbersome to guide me on the roads. But I suspect all drivers have acquired the licence from the same instructor with dubious credentials. The retired gentleman in my neighbourhood has bought a swanky car and he drives around quietly, making my spouse shower compliments on his smooth driving style. Envious, I approached him one evening to know how he mastered driving and from where he learnt. I poured forth my sob story and he suggested I must begin as a fresher. I sought his help in this regard and offered my car for training purpose in case the safety of his vehicle was his worry. But he politely declined. However, to lift my spirits, he conducted a short theory test. My answers did not satisfy him. When I asked him why he refused help, he confessed he was also a student of the same school but he had to learn it all over again from his daughter who lived in another city. If a retired fellow can learn how to drive, there is hope for me.
Even though my licence is valid, I consider myself unfit to drive and keep others safe. The best way to use it is to furnish it as my address proof to get the cooking gas cylinder. I should have learnt driving before marriage like my spouse did. But then, I had no idea I would get any chance to drive. I admire those sunroof sedans in the Western movies where romantic, breezy scenes of long drives are filmed so well. But the ground reality of roads is quite bumpy here. You have to ensure safety of vehicles and lives, which is nothing less than a miracle in a chaotic world where car crashes have become common like fractures.
Devraj Singh Kalsi works as a senior copywriter in Kolkata. His short stories and essays have been published in Deccan Herald, Tehelka, Kitaab, Earthen Lamp Journal, Assam Tribune, and The Statesman. Pal Motors is his first novel.
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