Dubble-o-Six

The Department of Motor Vehicles (herewith fondly referred to as DMV) is very similar to our RTO office, only that you dont see brokers in here, atleast not many who have it written on their forehead, shoulders and other spottable places. Otherwise it is pretty much the same: queues, people from all walks of life and loud swearing.

The DMV has multiple phases in which they can fail you. First they have a written exam which has 36 multiple choice questions. A handbook of 90+ pages, containing tables of acceptable alcohol levels to age/weight limitations for a child-restraints. Two bits of pearly wisdom which would make the universe go in the reverse if I didnt know right away. The last time i actually "studied" something for three consecutive nights was for my Component Object Model Exam. Scraped past in that, scraped past here too.

The second phase is the car inspection phase. The instructor, who failed a young kid before he could even start the driving test, proudly proclaims to his colleague that he failed him because he didnt like him. That kid, looking smart, polite, decent and instanly likeable. On the other hand you have me whom even Mother Teresa would have a problem liking. Sigh. The instructor could have stopped at that, but he laughed and that was exactly the same laughter one should not hear before taking a driving test. It would explain why i pointed to the head-light switch when he asked me where my rear window defroster was. To add insult to injury, he even gestures: "Sir, I asked for your Rear(pointing to the rear of the car) Window (a square block drawn in the air) defroster (stuck here for a while and proceeding as if nothing happened)". Atleast i knew where the emergency brake was and that meant a promotion to round #3.

The third phase is the actual drive where the instructor sits alongside. I had a feeling that regardless of how dedicated to the job one was, one couldnt get that suicidial. But this instructor chose to become the trapeze artist who wakes up thinking its going be his routine stunt, only without the net. Driving on an empty road, in a medium sized car, in a country known for speeds can be intoxicating. And as i floor the pedal, a signal few feet from me hurriedly turned yellow, as if acting on cue. The car and I got into this converstaion

Ah, food for thought.
Do I stop ??
yes.
Do I go ??
yes.
oh shucks, am too close to the stop line, is it still yellow ??
Maybe
Its Red. Its Red. Its Red. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
Wait, dont panic, you __can__ stop the car.
can i ?? CAN I ??
you got the brakes for chrissake. Apply them.
Yes.
Apply them hard.
Err. yess.
I said Apply them hard you moron.
Screeeeechchchch.
Leave alone the driving test, if there had been an old woman around, it could have been a charge of culpable homicide. The car pointing in the wrong direction and across the mandatory white line. The instructor scribbling furiously in his results sheet. An insurance agent groaning at a lost oppurtunity. A young couple who were about to cross the road, realising the unpredictability of life and falling in love all over again. The car and the signal chuckling over their little joke. The Author, shaken, stirred and drained down the gutter.

I tried to sign off this blog with a brilliant end, but they all turned out to be unfunny, long drawn, dull, boring, monotonous, dry and at one time, unsurprisingly, all in one. So I'd just tamely say that inspite of all the prayers by pedestrians and motorists alike, I did get my licence and the world as we know it is not going to be the same anymore.

The bell that tolls, tolls for you,
The grim, you see in your rear-view,
Hide in the trenches or run to the hill,
Coz dubble-o-six has a license to kill.