Awesome Blossoms: Horn OK Please (2 page)

SECTION I

TULIP

By Paddy Padmanabhan

***

He makes up stories, makes it your own

He makes you want to go to places unknown

He makes you laugh, gives you reasons to cry

He makes you think, and wonder why

He's a storyteller
.

There's no one he hasn't seen

No time or space he hasn't been

He fills you with imagination

He's part of every conversation

He's a storyteller.

No color of skin, no nation state

Can hold him down, or seal his fate

No boundaries, no race to the end

Just open roads, across continents

He's a storyteller.

So turn the page, take your chance

Rock and roll, do your dance

No explanations, no right or wrong

Let the wind in your hair carry your song

Be your own storyteller
.

***

CHAPTER ONE

By Kartik Iyengar

***

In life, all good things come hard, but wisdom is the hardest to come by.

- Lucille Ball

Picture Perfect

I
t was a bright Saturday morning as I sat down with a few pots of tea, staring at my driving license. I’ve started doing this every day since the day I got my new Driver’s License or a DL.

Most of the people you might know would be the ones who prefer reading newspapers or checking their phones while enjoying the
ir tea in the mornings, unlike me who prefers staring at a piece of plastic.

You may find that a bit strange, but it’s
really not. I see my grumpy, angry face on it every day and that tells me to that I must change the way things are. It makes me want to spread a few smiles. It’s actually turning out to be an inspiration now. Well, let me tell you as to why I picked up this habit. I request you, dear reader, to fish out your driving license and take a good, hard look at your picture on it for a few painful moments.

I can assure you that it will not
be the most flattering picture of yours. Even if you’d like to disagree, it will certainly not be the
‘Selfie’
that you would like to post on your Facebook profile and expect a few hundred likes.

They say every picture tells a story. Well, this is my picture and it is not perfect but it does tell me a story that I would like to share with you. About m
e, I’ve been driving for donkeys’ years and now it seems such a long time ago when my friend and I drove down all across the country in an SUV.

It was a night when we had shacked up in Dehradun. We had chosen a seedy hotel since it was cheap and we were badly strapped for cash. Only when we skipped town in the morning and were about a hundred kilometers away from the city did I realize that I did not have my DL with me. I had no recollection of where it was, whom I could have given it to or how I could have probably misplaced it.

Worse, both my friend and I had no recollection of where we had stayed the previous night. Neither could we remember the name of the hotel nor the street for some strange reason. Our GPS had died on us some time ago and we were still a long way from home. It would not be for over a month before we headed back and started towards
Kaynakumari
from
Ladakh
.

I called up my friend in
Dehradun
and asked her to check as many cheap and shady hotels she could risk going to just in case she was able to find our hotel and by some divine intervention – find my DL. She was at her wit’s end for there was no landmark, no name, nothing we could provide as a clue for the futile hunt.

She gave up after two days and we decided to stay back at a hill-station called
Kasauli
till I could hear back from her. Finally once she gave up, my friend and I went back to
Dehradun
and upon finding a Police Station, reported the loss of my DL.

I was clueless about what I could do. Fortunately, I had a color photocopy of the same
with me. I also had a picture of the same on my phone, to boot. The Inspector was kind enough not to laugh at my woes and handed me a copy of the report and instructed me to file for a duplicate as soon as we got back to base station.

People wear medallions and
bling around their necks. It was then that I turned extra cautious and started wearing the spare key to my SUV around my neck lest I lose that as well. So unless I lost my head along with my neck, I wouldn’t be left without a spare key in case we lost the SUV keys as well. Of course, if somebody stole our SUV itself, that would be a different story altogether.

On our way out of the Police Station, my not-so-bright friend stopped by at the local stationary shop, bought a glue stick and a pair of scissors. He neatly cut out the photocopy of my lost DL and stuck in on the front and rear of my credit card that was anyway useless and unpaid. He then gleefully handed me a DL-lookalike piece of plastic for our journey.

That was as smart as he could get. I looked at my grumpy picture on the DL and let off a string of expletives and cursed myself for being so careless and stupid. Careless for losing my license and stupid enough for letting my friend do what he had just done. Fortunately, the road trip happened without any untoward incident and I soon wrote a book about it.

Every now and then, I would stare at my new custom-made DL and frown when I looked at how grumpy I appeared in the picture. I decided to change my picture and flash a smile for my duplicate license.

Upon my return, I made a dash to the local RTO (Regional Transport Officer) and patiently stood in the queue for three hours till it was finally my turn. The lady at the counter took down my details after giving me an ugly stare after she looked at the custom-made DL my friend had gifted me.

After a long, pregnant pause she announced, “Sir, There was a problem”. I gulped and looked blankly at her. She plainly looked at me and told me that the DL that I had lost was not valid and should not have been issued in the first place. “Holy Cow! Why couldn’t you folks have told me about this problem before issuing a fresh license for me in the first place?”

She shrugged and replied, “I’m sorry, Sir, it is a mistake on both sides. But you must now apply for a Learner’s license (LL)”. I rudely walked away without thanking her for her assistance.

Alas! As a child, I lived in a fairly backward state where the RTO agents didn’t even have an abacus to boast of  – forget co
mputers – and they had issued me a DL when I was grossly underage. No wonder, it seemed to have been made of parchment paper and looked like a used napkin with a photograph stuck on it.

When I had shifted base to another city in another state, I had applied for a new DL just to get myself a cool-looking plastic card. The RTO there had issued me a duplicate license – plastic, of course - for they were going through the computerization era then but had no means to validate the authenticity of my first Driving
License. But now, when I had gone to apply for a duplicate (third) of my duplicate (second) license of my original license (first), I learnt that it was invalid.

The world around me suddenly came crashing down when the lady at the counter told me bluntly that there was no way I should be driving with my custom-made DL and would have to apply for a learner’s license and start afresh right away.

With my head hung in shame and despair; I recalled my childhood days when a boisterous, over-enthusiastic Uncle of my mine who boasted of a lot of local connections had gifted me my first DL when I was barely fourteen. He’s now dead and gone, but he had me live in shame now for my childhood stubbornness when I wanted my bragging rights among my friends back then.

It was a common practice for pre-teens to have fake DLs, all around the world, yes, but in the not-so-developed states of India back then, one could easily bend the law. Driving had always been a passion for me and I had been a victim of my own stupidity in the pre-computerization era.

The guilt, remorse and anger inside of me took me to a local driving school. My shame knew no bounds. Always on the right side of the law, this was certainly a smear mark for me to carry the burden anymore. I approached a Driving School and duly filled out all the forms. I was told to start my lessons the very next day.

For anyone at my age, the very loathsome thought for a roadie to attend a driving school and apply for a Learner’s license before applying for a permanent Driving License can have a devastating impact on one’s morale, confidence, ego and self-respect. Unfort
unately, I had no one to blame but myself.

Over the next few days, my family would face the wrath of my fury for my childhood folly. It was ironic that having passionately driven all over the world – in the US, in Europe and across India – I now had to eat humble pie and attend a driving school.

I woke up the next morning and while brushing my teeth, I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked exactly like the guy in my previous DLs. Now I knew where the frown had come from. The anger, the irritation and the frustration imploded inside me and the impact of it all bloomed on my face and gave birth to a frown that got captured in camera and made its way to my DL. 

It was obvious that all the folks in the house kept their distance from my preachy self then. The breakfast was on the table and a neatly wrapped sandwich was kept beside it along with a bottle of orange juice. Fuel for my soul and coolant for my brain as I left for my driving classes.

I was met with sniggers and stares of young brats at the driving school as I made my way inside to meet Ismail, my driving instructor. Ismail, a lanky twenty-year old with neatly cropped hair, measured me up from head to toe and smiled and slid into the passenger seat as I tried to fit in behind the wheel. I sat inside a dinky, smelly car that was a mess of a ride. Neither the steering wheel nor the brakes were under my control and the car moved as though its wheels were rectangular.

“Go easy, Sir, please be patient. I know you can drive but rules are rules. We have to do this if you want your Learner’s Permit”, said Ismail cheerfully as I fumed. Even the wise words of wisdom and exuding cheerfulness of Ismail didn’t make me smile. “How many days of this grind, Ismail?” I asked. Pat came the reply, “Till you learn to respect the rules, Sir”.

I shut up and decided to follow his orders after his retort.
Left! Right! U-turn! Stop! Careful!
I learnt many other monosyllables over the next few weeks. Ismail maintained his composure while I continued to whine.

Over the next few days, I was to learn about road signs that I swear, I have never seen anywhere in the world. With my ne
wfound knowledge, I wondered if Ismail had made a mistake and was trying to get me a DL to drive the Mars Rover on some remote planet in some faraway galaxy.

A few weeks later, one fine morning, Ismail announced, “Sir, we are going to get your Learner’s license today. Please be at the RTO Office at 9:00 AM sharp. Bring all your documents”.
Whoopie!

“Please don’t lose your temper over there, Son, I’ll come with you”, said my Dad when I broke the news to him that I was to be there at the RTO office for the next few hours. It was like standing in a long queue just to pay homage to the Devil incarnate.

My Mom promised to pray for me. Not for me to get my Learner’s permit, but for me to maintain my calm in the crowded RTO Office. A few dozen people in front of me, the queue moved at a snail’s pace.

I saw my Dad giving a running commentary about my temper-check to my Mom every thirty minutes. Closer to evening, my Dad started to panic as he realized that there were still about forty
people ahead of me in the queue and it was time for the RTO Office to close.

I was almost close to attaining Nirvana after my PhD in Road Rules and signs when out stepped a short, stout man from the RTO Office and announced, “All of you, please come inside”. I wo
ndered what his majesty was up to as a drop of cold sweat trickled down my forehead. Scared at the very thought of a repeat run the next morning, I grudgingly stepped inside the small, cluttered office. My Dad gave me a thumbs-up and smiled nervously.

The RTO, Mr. Patil, I learnt shortly, had assembled the entire crowd inside his office to lecture us on the road safety. Standing with a bunch of nervous students, I felt I should at least get a senior
citizen’s discount and be allowed to go through the interrogation first. It was a Spartan room cluttered with piles of neatly tied files stacked on top of each other from floor to ceiling, gathering dust. “So much for computerization” I muttered under my breath.

“Are you comfortable, Sir?” asked Mr. Patil to the group. “Yes, Sir!” nodded the nervous group, worried that any other answer might prove to be costly. Then began a grueling, hour-long session about traffic safety, rules, regulations, poverty, hygiene, cleanl
iness and reasons for holes in the ozone layer. I was fidgeting and getting impatient.

“Do you have a problem, Sir?” said Mr. Patil, as he singled me out in the group and realizing that I stood out like a sore thumb, tried to be nice to me. “None at all, Sir, are we done yet?” I retor
ted, my impatience and impudence getting the better of me.

“Five more minutes”, replied Mr. Patil, looking at his watch. The lecture went on for another thirty minutes. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy the session. He was a good orator, probably not a good timekeeper though.

It took me quite a while to fathom the very purpose of the session till the end when Mr. Patil, in his late fifties announced, “So I’m going to give all of you your Learner’s permit. Please be careful and prepare well for your driving test. I know you are prepared. Do well, good luck!”

I felt on top of the world as though I’d just won the Nobel Prize for peace. My Dad hugged me tight as though I’d just come out alive from the Intensive Care Unit post a brain surgery. It was a miraculous escape indeed; post a five-hour long wait. Ismail stood smiling outside, waiting patiently along with my father and assured me that everything will be just peachy.

I was supposed to practice for a month before being summoned at the RTO for the driving test for the Driver’s license. I knew I needed lots of practice in keeping my sangfroid under extra ordinary circumstances like these, not necessarily driving. The next day, I met Ismail and my confidence hit rock bottom when I held a Learner’s license that yet again resembled a used paper napkin. This one didn’t even have my grumpy picture on it.