“Papa ki pari hai (she is Papa’s angel),” said my cabbie sarcastically, pointing to a woman driver. He was annoyed that she was not giving him the right of way despite his repeated honking, which woke me up from my daydreams.
I seethed over the demeaning way in which he spoke about her. As I looked for words to express this in my limited Hindi vocabulary, the woman and my cabbie had moved on. Earlier, a male friend had told me, “Women riders are a pain on the road.”
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Past incidents like this haunted me as I became a car parent and started driving in my mid-40s. Armed with a 15-year-old driving licence, when I finally hit the road in the National Capital Region (NCR), fear dominated everything else.
Over 15 years ago, when I learned driving in Bengaluru, I was daring, confident. However, buying a car did not work out then. After I moved to Delhi in 2015, I got complacent with the Metro and round-the-clock cab availability.
A reluctant car buyer and nervous driver, I did not announce my latest adventure to anyone, other than those I met regularly. When I shared news of my “new companion” with my closest group, a male friend asked, “Who will drive?” No “congratulations” prefixed or suffixed to his question. While my WhatsApp status gets updated even with a new book or gift, my car, no one saw. Neither did I distribute sweets in the office when I bought the car. I feared that I would give it up any day. Days of severe driving anxiety followed.
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Over a month after the purchase, the night before I had to travel to Khan Market from Noida, I could not sleep. I got up, my mind made up to put my 45-day-old car on OLX for sale. And yet, I drove and reached my destination without a hitch.
On the way back, I had a woman friend with me. When I expressed my concern over “risking her life” as an amateur driver, she said, “You know, only women underestimate themselves like this. No man would ever say that he is not a good driver.”
I tried to recall if I had heard any man say that. I couldn’t remember any. “You are driving fine. Just go ahead,” she cheered me on.
My friend would be proven right a few days later, when a male friend wanted to drive my car and the vehicle shut down midway due to improper clutch use. This person, who claimed to have over 30 years of driving experience, was left red-faced. I laughed, not because I claim to be an expert driver, but over the way he refused to accept it.
Another male friend who came to Delhi for a visit refused to get into my car since I was driving. I had to park my car near his Delhi accommodation and take him around in a cab.
The way I overexpress my fears and anxieties in public, everyone around me knows about my driving “incapabilities”. Men — only men — taunt me for not clocking 1,000 km even after six months, not taking the car to the office over fear of parking in a congested space or the slow speed at which I drive.
I did not buy a car to prove that I am an expert driver, nor do I aspire to be in a Formula 1 race some day. I bought myself a car when I could comfortably do so, without taking a loan, to make myself more independent. I decided to master driving to help my mother move around when I’m home in Kerala, instead of waiting for a cab or an autorickshaw on sultry days, even as our car enjoys a siesta in the shed.
To those who feel I lack the most crucial life skill: I may not have the confidence to hit the top gear on every road, I may need help to parallel park, I may not attempt a long drive any time soon and I may never be able to tame the machine fully. But I can converse with a dog. I can sleep with a smile listening to the rain. I can be friends with a 5-year-old and also an 85-year-old. I can help an elderly woman carry her groceries up the stairs. I can cry over the death of a pigeon chick. I can multitask at work. I can do a lot more. And these are what matter to me.
So the car engine shutting down cannot make me feel embarrassed. I start again and move on.
The writer is an Associate Editor, The Indian Express
National Editor Shalini Langer curates the fortnightly ‘She Said’ column
