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“Clutch press…CLUTCH FULL PRESS MA!! 1st gear, start, slowly leave clutch no Ma not full leave…start la half leave Ma!” yelled my driving instructor Kumar as I took of on a jittery start on the Thirvalluvar Nagar Beach Road. “Second!!” RTO ellaa gear'um pottu kaatta solluvaaru ma!! …Sir I don’t understand Tamil sir...I said…very politely... not something I am known for I must add.
He muttered some inaudible and I’m sure incomprehensible words, of which I could just grasp “4 Gears Ma! First “apparam” Second “apparam” Third “apparam” 4th, stop. Reverse stop. Clutch press gear change, leave clutch accelerator press”
Had I not been trying so hard to drive the beat up Maruti I would have thrown up my hands in frustration and yelled “God how many times do I have to tell you- I DON’T UNDERSTAND TAMIL!!” Instead I drove on.
With the wee bit of generosity he had shown by using a couple of English words (glad he didn’t say “Or gear, rend gear” or something on those lines) I managed to complete the dress rehearsal.
There were 5 of us from the driving school- 2 Marutis and 3 Santros.
I chose to ignore the impudent manner in which we were addressed.
We were there at the “Test Ground” by 9:30. It was almost 11:00 when the RTO “Almighty” turned up, twisting and twirling his enormous bushy mustache holding a thick bulky register in his hand. These government officials have always made me wonder whether a thick curvilinear mustache is considered a sure sign of power and prosperity!
We began with the “Maruti’s” first, me being Bushy’s “first catch” of the day.
We all piled into one of the driving school’s Maruti’s which had definitely seen better days- Bushy, Kumar and but obviously me. “Seatbelt, Seatbelt” Kumar hissed into my ears disrupting and destroying all my mental preparation for the test. “20 classes, 20 classes I took with you, you meanie and you never made me wear the seatbelt even once grrrrrr!” I glared at him.
I took off, once again on a jittery start, with Kumar leaning over whispering aloud instructions on what I was supposed to do. Talk about Spoon-feeding I thought watching out for Bushy to react through the corner of my eye. He didn’t, I wasn’t surprised. Guess he was used to it.
“Cheri Done” pompously proclaimed Bushy, 3 minutes into the drive. “Test done” translated Kumar. “Purinjada” I hissed back, slamming the door shut behind me as I jauntily walked back towards the rest of the junta.
The test was followed by the issuance of the license. If the test was anything to go by, I had a Herculean task lying ahead for me to undertake.
Our papers were thumped into our hands and all of us-3 Santros and 2 Marutis trudged our way towards the Thiruvamiyur RTO Office. Once there our papers were hurriedly snatched out our hands by our driving school “local” RTO guy Karanan, who claimed that “he knew his way around” there. He herded us women towards what seemed like a never-ending queue of people waiting to be allotted their passport to the world of “x” wheelers.
Our wait didn’t last long. Within minutes our papers were handed over to us.
Ah! the papers! I got a chance to glance at my papers that were dutifully filled out by my driving school. “A mole on my right hand” was to be my distinguishing mark. Wow I wondered, 24 years of my life I haven’t seen a mole that these guys noticed in 20 classes!
Now all that was left was to get my snap clicked for the license. I handed my papers to one officer who peered at them.
“’Seeta Vaman Bodke’ uhhh??… This should be only Seeta Vaman madam, where did this Bodke come from?”
“Well Sir, back where I come from, our surname is our identity and not just our dad’s name!” I could have screamed that out but then it would not have made any difference.
“No Madam it should be Seetha Vaman” he said firmly. “Seeta I yelled, there is no hetch in my name and its SEETA VAMAN BODKE just put it as I tell you ok???” I almost yelled.
Unconvinced he handed my form to me and sent me to the “keep your footwear outside” air-conditioned room for my snap to be clicked. Not the kind to take a second chance I explained each and every detail to the lady who was to convert my personal details into binary bits. The photographing session which strongly reminded me of my voter id card snap session took hardly a minute.
I was asked to wait out.
“Seetha Seetha” yelled one officer waving out my license. Excited I reached out for it only to realize that the RTO had aged me by 74 years! “My birth year is 1981 sir and not 1918.” "Uhh?? ennache Madam??" He asked. Knowing limited Tamil was proving to be a major pain at all the wrong places."Birthdate Sir" i repeated.
“Seri Madam I change it” he replied indifferently leaving me with a sinking feeling that such “trivial” mistakes were a usual state of affairs there.
“Seetha Seetha” he yelled again 10 minutes later. Too irritated to notice the “hetch” effect on my name I took the card from him.
Driver’s Name: Seeta Vaman Bodke
Father’s Name: Bodke
“Sir my father’s name is not Bodke! It’s Vaman. Bodke is my surname!! I yelled exasperatedly.
“Whaat Surname Madam, it should only be father’s name Madam don’t get confused” and he smiled.
That was the last straw. “I am not from the south why don’t you understand that Sir, not all are from here, just change it ok!”
My yelling seemed to have no effect at all on him. “Seri Madam” he once again replied in his now familiar indifferent tone.
Fuming I sat on a creaky old bench, only to be further infuriated by the snickering sounds I could hear the Murugans and Karthikeyans of Chennai making all around me.
“Be calm, Breathe in Breathe out” I told myself. I kept doing this till the officer reappeared with my card. This time he didn’t yell out my name, instead he walked straight towards me and handed over the card. I checked the card. Over and over again. No errors, no typos. 3 attempts to get it right wow!
“It’s correct, thank you” I muttered and quickly made my way out of the godforsaken place.
