The day I Almost Aced My driving Exam

In 1960 Milkha Singh missed out on an Olympic medal by a whisker. In 1984 P.T Usha missed an Olympic bronze by 1/100th of a second. On 2021 September 15, I failed my driving test at the very last hurdle – knocking over an iron pole at the very last turn of my H-track.

I sat in my car like a fool, hysterically punching the air with my fist. I was wearing on my hands a pair of cheap white color gloves, smelling rubber, and seen from a distance, looked like the udder of a cow.

The moment I knew I failed the test; I heard a voice inside my head grieving my herculean ego. It sounded exactly like the funeral prayer of lower-caste Hindus: Daivame Ninte Karyunam, Parethamavinekane (Oh, dear God, please shower your benevolence on the departed soul).

**

I was 27 when I took up driving lessons. Now I’m 28. Kurt Cobain, Amy Winehouse, Janis Joplin all died at age 27. But I refuse to die, partly because I wasn’t talented and half as popular as them.

It took me nine months to finish my driving lessons, thanks to Covid-19 shutdowns. From my side, I forced the driving school to push the date forward as I was in no mood to earn my license. And it is a truth that I’d not still be applying for the driving license, hadn’t all my remaining friends abandoned me, for the jerk I become.

The punching card alloted to every student keeps the record of classes taught, fees paid. Photo by Abhijith VM

**

When I turned 18, I began to scroll past the statutory warnings at the gate of porn sites. It was also the same age my father had sent my sister and me to learn to drive. She was a quick learner, a bright student, and the spitting image of her disciplined father. I, on the other hand, was a complete mess.

As expected, she aced her driving exam with flying colors while I abandoned the class after two weeks. There were two reasons why I quit driving: one, I have anxiety, IBS, and OCD (all undiagnosed hence I was suffering without knowing the demons I fight). Two, I hated our instructor. He once smacked on my wrist for making a mistake. No matter how old school people are, I got very little tolerance for violence, especially when on the receiving end is me.

I stopped going to the driving school while comfortably lying to Dad that I'm so good that I could race at Monaco Grand Prix.

**

When they told me I should attend the driving test on September 15, 2021, I told them over the phone to push the date forward. The female voice on the other side responded: this is the last date available.

I had no choice.

The success of driving on the H-track is all about mastering the tricks. You are inside an 800-cc four-wheeler that has a stiff steering wheel. It rolls like a 90-year-old man shaking and shivering. Forget the accelerator as the car is rigged, like the one inside the wall of death.

H-track is marked with the orange ribbon, intertwining all the iron poles to draw the letter H.

Driving starts from the left-hand side. You roll the car to the other end and stop when your shoulder and last iron pole are parallel. Then, do a reverse until you meet a knot on the orange ribbon. Then turn the steering wheel to the right side until it is impossible to turn it anymore. Release the clutch to roll the car reverse to arrive at the belly of the H. Now, turn the wheels, put the car on reverse gear, and drive to the right-hand side of the track. Repeat everything to reach the left-handed side, and you are entitled to a sigh of relief.

**

On judgment day, I woke up as early as 5.35 in the morning. I had not seen this time with open eyes in a very long time. I was stressed, anxious, and taking deep breaths to cope with the possible public scrutiny subjected to later in the day.

The instruction was crystal clear; Everyone should reach the driving school by 7.00 a.m. As the man who made the announcement did not stutter, I obliged him. 30 minutes before departure, I felt butterflies in my stomach. I was crying and laughing at the same time. Then started a sharp sensation inside my stomach that sent me to the toilet at least three times in less than 20 minutes. I almost vomited but regained my composure and faced the mirror. Before my OCD kicked in, I left home.

As we reached the ground, I saw Mad-Max-style vehicles parked on the track. I could feel the glass of hot water I drank earlier in the day trying to climb its way through my mouth. I placed my right hand on my heart. I lost count of my heartbeat with the seeping noise of the crowd around me.

**

Kerala Motor Vehicles department car arrived around 9.10 a.m. The officer was a plump, bald man. Like Albus Dumbledore, he brings with him the gift of silence. A deep stare at the queue and he would say, calmly, “observe 1.5 meters social distance from each other or I send you all home”

Fifteen minutes later, he would make another quick announcement, “I don’t insist you all stand up. If your feet hurt, go sit somewhere nearby. Don’t stand for long. But remember – social distancing is the key”

There was a man in Infront of me, waiting for his turn at the motorcycle track. He was well above age 40. He was nervous, anxious, and had no knack to hide it. He kept asking me questions, relevant and nonrelevant. I smiled, giggled, played down, and finally suggested he shut up. I knew I was transforming into a vampire and need to settle this once and for all, but they’d not call me.

**

A couple of weeks ago, when I was trying to lift a now nonrelevant dumbbell, my trainer told me and then to everyone on the floor, how naïve I’m with dumbbells.

A mock driving test is being carried out at Vazhamana Ground, Vaikom in Kottayam Photo by Abhijith VM

He had a reason to say so, he believes. I don’t have the knack to do ‘Gym stuff’, he thinks. And when one of my classmates joined Gym, they have told my trainer, how good I was in school and they all consider me a geek and not a masculine, sport-loving guy.

My trainer then developed a joke – I’m good at theory and suck at practical things.

For me, a fan of self-deprecating comedy, however, this jibe felt like rubbing salt on my already manifested low esteem. Yes, I had a history of scoring low marks for Mathematics because I hate doing practical problems, or that I avoid queues because I hate them, or I’m not very good with machines, drillers, and tools because I think I’m not good enough for them.

I told myself, maybe I’m exposing my knack-lessness by being myself, maybe I need to act.

**

Five hours passed and we are all waiting for the H-test to begin. I was the third person to jump into the driving seat. I was powered by a lemonade – the only thing I had besides that half glass of hot water in the morning. The car began to roll. I kept the pressure on the clutch to make sure that the vehicle was not stopping all of a sudden.

 I passed the first curve, the second curve, followed by the third curve. Now, the only thing that separates me from going home victorious is a single bend. I glanced out of the window to see nervous faces on the other side of the ground. My Driving Instructor was hiding behind a tree, wearing a copper color shirt, waving hands, and signaling me to turn the steering as hard as I could. I knew I was in trouble. Then I did the inevitable: I let defeat sank its teeth on my back.

***

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Abhijith VM

Content Writer at Asianet News (Digital Sales.) Hibernating Journalist. Previously: Times Internet, Mathrubhumi. Bi-lingual. Opinions strictly personal.