Geetanjali Krishna: Driving me crazy

PEOPLE LIKE THEM

I've always believed that old dogs have a hard time learning new tricks. That is why my husband's enthusiasm about teaching me to drive on Delhi's clogged roads kind of left me cold. The fact is that I can drive, but not in traffic. Anyway, backseat driving is so much more fun. "I need a learner's licence first," I argued, trying to postpone the inevitable, hoping all the horror stories I'd heard about the transport officer's office were true, "there's no way I'm breaking the law!"

But I'd reckoned without my husband. The next day, I found myself standing outside this dirty office surrounded by seventeen-year-old hopefuls. The room was small, the line large, and the general populace bored but willing to be amused.

So they whiled away their time pinching, prodding and poking the only woman around "" me. I stood it for a couple of minutes, then fled. "Don't worry," said my husband, he of unshakeable will and faith, "I'll send someone to stand in your place."

The call that came a few days later probably just came at an inauspicious time. "Madam, we need your proof of address, the phone bill in your husband's name won't do," some babu rang to say. But I didn't have a ration card, and my voter's ID card was ten years old and had an old address, I protested.

"But how do we know you live with your husband?" he countered cleverly. What did he suggest then, I asked. "Licence, maybe?" he said. My brain suddenly went into a slow burn. "How on earth can I furnish that, when I've just applied for one, that too a learner's licence?" I countered.

Unapologetic, he said he'd been thinking of something else. "So what are your educational qualifications?" he asked. I replied I had an M Phil degree. "Can I see a copy, duly attested by a gazetted government officer?" he asked.

OK, I thought. Indian roads are overflowing with illiterate drivers who probably can't even read the speed signs, and this guy wanted a copy of my MPhil degree! "That's not required as per the rules "" I just need a learner's licence to practice driving before I take the test," I said irritably. "But we decide whether or not to grant you this licence, and we want to see it," he persisted, "anyway, we need some more details, all attested by a gazetted government official."

"The proof of your date of birth is mandatory "" far too many underage people apply for learner's licences!" he said next, "and your passport photocopy hasn't been attested!"

"I am 38 years old," I spluttered, "do you think I'd make it up? If I'd been sixteen and applying for a license, I'd probably lie and say I was eighteen, or even twenty "" would I be mad enough to say I'm 38? The best proof of my age is probably my anti-wrinkle cream!"

Obviously, that call ended disastrously. He said to check after a week, and it's been much more. The funny thing is that now, in my usual contrary fashion, I really want to drive.

"The easiest thing is to pay a tout or a driving school "" not only can they get you your learner's licence, for a nominal amount they'll get you a permanent licence as well," advised my driver. He added helpfully, "We could also just bribe the babu and be done with it."

But as a law-abiding citizen of a democratic country, I want my licence the right way even if I wait till I'm seventy for it. Till then, I guess Delhi's roads will just have to wait.