The beast

The initial interest started sometime during my ninth standard. The summer vacation was a good opportunity to start with the basics. But my definition of basic differed from that of my Dad’s driver. There I was foaming up a rich lather and scrubbing the sides of the silver Gypsy King as gently as possible, lest I’d leave an unintentional mark. An entire week’s hard work promoted me to the next level where I was allowed to touch the steering wheel and make some sense of it. As the two week long summer hiatus came to an end, so did my tryst with the four-wheeler. Then came the winter holidays where, little by little, I learnt how to balance the steering in the stolen fifteen minutes before my parents left for work everyday. Every morning I would wake up with butterflies in my stomach. Actually these were more like nervous moths. The driver, on his part, saw himself to be a sort of middleman. No more walking up the sixty odd steps to collect the car keys and lunch bag from the house. His undercover assistant would be dutifully waiting by the paan shop, right below the house, with both the items. This is my story of how I learnt to drive, and till date I am yet to perfect the skill.

Driving back to Deen from the highlands

Over the years, I have built enough confidence, or at least push myself to the challenge, of driving my folks around. We all know accidents are bound to occur no matter how skillful or experienced we may claim to be. Thankfully I don’t have too many in my black book. The first one involved a Maruti 800 that we had back in the late nineties. I missed a pedestrian’s foot by an inch I think. Then came an army green Bolero. My late grandmother was seated in the front and I was trying to take a turn near the monastery when I lost control. All of a sudden we were balancing the car which had its two right tyres on the carpeted road and the other two on the untrimmed grass. Within no time a sea of monks swarmed towards the car to lift it back to stable ground. These days we have a Mahindra Scorpio to take us around. This car has by far been the most challenging for me. First of all, it is one of the first models of the car so the gear requires extra effort. Secondly, the size itself poses a problem. I feel female drivers are very cautious because we don’t have the interest, courage or confidence to fight off unruly drivers on the highway, whereas men, no matter how wrong they may be, always defend themselves in a manner that makes the other person withdraw the allegations. Add to this the confidence with which rash drivers take their vehicles around. My cousin is a testament of the previous case. Be it a two wheeler, a sedan or an SUV, he simply doesn’t care. Coming back to my point, we girls always tend to play it safe.

Soaking up the summer sun after a wash

So far I have had two episodes with the Scorpio. One involved an incident where I was backing the car. It was a downhill turf and I had recently learned how to raise the car through a combination of the brake and accelerator with my right foot, while my left took care of the clutch. I was so proud of the feat that I didn’t see the wall closing in behind me and within a split second I heard a loud ‘Bhayo baini’ (Enough sister) from my driver. The second incident took place last night and I still shiver when I think of it. The jerk coming from the opposite direction had his high beam lights on which made it impossible for me to see how much space I had in front of me. Before I could make out what was happening my two left tyres went down the drain and in that moment the only thing I could think of was bringing the vehicle back on the carpeted road. My father shouted at me for being a rash driver but I still blame the a**hole for not switching to the dipper light. The most amazing part was the fact that I didn’t stop the car once we were back on the road. I calmly changed gears and kept driving. With the heavy downpour and insensitive and illiterate drivers on the highway, I think it was indeed a miraculous escape. I accept a lot depended on me as well. Had our driver been in my place, he would have managed fine. A little further above, we stopped the car to check for damage and thankfully there was none.

This morning as my parents walked towards the car, on their way to offer condolences in North Sikkim, I watched anxiously from the balcony. Dad took a good look at the right side of the car. Check. Then he scrutinized any damage to the left side. Check. As my younger brother pulled the car out of the main parking gate, he looked up and waved at me. Poor fool! He thought I was watching them leave when I was actually standing with my hands clasped in a tight fist for any signs of the night before.

Nevertheless, the Scorpio in all its grandeur makes me very proud every time I sit behind the steering wheel. Because when the engine starts roaring all else sounds like a whisper. Because when the king takes its place on the highway, the rest pave the way for the big one. Because when you tower a few inches above the rest it makes you feel like you are in charge. And, most importantly, because I am a girl and dominance is not synonymous with my gender. With the latest incident added to my black book, it seems the beast is going to take a while to be conquered. But I will make sure I perfect it soon enough.