My Desperate Passion!

My ‘Desperate’ passion is inspired by my friend Anu’s post ‘My undying passion’ (http://ahn-myvoice.blogspot.com/2010/05/my-undying-passion.html) !! Though hers was 'Undying' and mine 'Desperate', our passion was one and the same and that is ‘Driving’

The unsaid protocol usually followed here is as follows :- Schooling in Dubai- Higher studies in India- Return to UAE after college - Get a license- The job hunt- Then Marriage. I was no different! My dad got me registered with Sharjah police driving institute, which is no doubt the best in the emirate and strictest.

My driving classes started. My instructor was a nice Pakistani lady who conversed with me in Urdu. I made quite a number of friends in the institute as batches of students came and went... while I stayed there like a steady milestone. The silver lining was that no matter my driving improved or not, my Urdu did. So did my instructor’s English grammar.

All my tests were quite adventurous. During one of the test, the police who was taking my test took me to a junction and asked me to take a right. I smartly gave the right indicator, checked the mirrors and took a neat right turn in the ‘wrong’ entry! And they failed me for being obedient.

The test that followed was the most memorable one. I drove fantastically. When I was asked to take the wrong turn, I haughtily told him its not possible. I had checked my mirrors dramatically, literally turned my necks 90 degrees for the shoulder checks! It was just perfect! As I was parking my car after my flawless driving, the Police remarked ‘very good Habeebi’..I was bubbling with excitement that I forgot to put the gear in parking mode and as I lifted my feet off the brake, the car hit the pavement with a ‘thud’ !! While the poor guy slapped his forehead , and the others in the car gave gasps, I simply sat there with a dumb grin. And there again I lost the test.

My next and last driving test was eventless and I got my license in flying colours or rather ‘crawling’ colours. I guess the people there were so tired of seeing me around that they decided to give me my dream card.

Post-License Period

Most people pass in their first or second test. I claim I am a better driver than them because I learned much more thoroughly than them. But that doesn’t seem to convince my dad who would not even let me touch the steering wheel. If at all after hours of pleading and begging he would let me drive around our building,it would be with him sitting beside me…..holding his breath. When I realised that his BP was shooting up, I stopped driving for the sake of my love for him. And it did wonders to my confidence.

I was soon getting married and I thought he would be a better sport. How pathetically can anyone be mistaken? Driving with my husband was a wide awake nightmare. He was so arrogantly proud of his first-attempt-passed-license that he would even dare to tell me when to apply brakes and when to accelerate. The biggest challenge I faced while driving with him was to manage the steering with one hand, while trying to strangle him with the other. Anyhow that episode too came to a quick end as that was easier than getting divorced.

More than a year had passed and the license card shone in my wallet. Don’t tell me I did not make use of my license. It was my most prized identification proof that I flashed at anyone who even asked what my name was!!

Gradually…very very gradually seeing my sad puppy face, I was permitted to drive within a given radius whenever the car was not being used and I would almost look forward to my husband being out of town so that I could drive his car. This endeavor too was short lived; Thanks to my pregnancy and post pregnancy season of almost one and a half years, I lost touch of my already deprived driving skills.

Coincidentally, this April for our wedding anniversary, as a mark of respect for bearing me, my parents gifted my husband with a new Toyota Fortuner. (My husband does feel that to put up with me ideally he should have been gifted a Benz or BMW) Nevertheless, he was happy ...but I was the happiest as I could get the old car all to myself.

Since then I have been refreshing myself on which is the brake and which is the accelerator.. Trying out new roads, losing my way and somehow getting back home. But that was not enough to persuade my family to let me drive till Knowldege Village where I had began my classes. For months I was fighting as a single brave soldier against a battalion of ‘well-wishers' who were as enthusiastic as wet bread about me driving all the way. But at the end the victory was mine and now I drive the 45-50 kilometers from home and I am overjoyed. I did lose my way, met with dead ends and came face to face with camels, but I do manage to reach my destination ...in a single piece...safely..… as long as there is petrol in my car!

For most people driving is not a big deal. But for me it is as I had wished for it from a very young age. It doesnt come naturally to me and had to put in a lot of effort and even fight against odds, making it a very desperately fulfilled passion of mine.