“Go left, left, left, left”

So far I’ve been driving in India on the basis on of international driving license. I had decided to get an Indian license and a few months ago I just about managed to obtain a learning permit. That is an entertaining story in itself – but for another time.

So my status as of a couple of weeks ago was that I had an Indian “Learning License”. I had gone through a driving school to obtain this. The school was charging me money just for the process without doing any training. Given the large number of people with international licenses who’ve landed up in Bangalore, the schools have recognized a good opportunity and even have standard rate cards for this service.

As the learning license was nearing the end of its validity, I decided that I cannot procrastinate any further and must face the bureaucracy to get a proper Driving License.

My previous experience with the Regional Transport Office, the agency that grants these licenses had been rather stressful to say the least. So, with much trepidation and reluctance, I called up Manjunath at the same driving school that helped me get the learning license. He asked me to deliver the Learning License and a photo to his office, and tells me to show up at 9am on Saturday at the RTO.

Suffering from the punctuality disease, I show up exactly at 9:00am on the dot at the RTO office on 2nd floor, having parked my car outside. Upon arrival, I called Manjunath who informed me that he would be there in “10 minutes”. Tired of waiting after 20 minutes, I had decided to sit in one of the 25 bright red chairs arranged (or rather, bolted) in 5 neat rows in front of the inner office. Some guy who seemed he was an official asked me “DL or LL?”

It took me a moment to realize what the initials stood for and I blurted out “LL”. Quickly realizing my mistake I said “DL. DL!” He waved his hand -- Swallowing my pride, I looked hopelessly at him, trying to decipher the meaning of the hand-wave. He made me get up from the seat: the seats were for men only. No I am not kidding! The seats represented the men’s line. The women’s line had no seats – standing only.

Another 20 minutes later I spotted Habib from my driving school. More hand-waving occurred, which I interpreted to mean “Wait”. A few minutes later, I had signed some forms and was standing in a line.
Soon I found myself in the office of the same official who had uprooted me from the men’s chairs reviewed my forms, gave them back to me with a stamp and again waved me away!

Determined to not be hand-waved away this time, I asked him in Hindi where I am supposed to go next. He impatiently muttered something and pointed me to the door. Oh well, so much for my pride…

Outside I found a bunch of men and women carrying forms with the same yellow sleeve which identified them as customers of the same driving school as mine. So I decided to wait near them. When Manjunath approached, defying hand-waving norms, I deliberately voiced my question: “what’s happening? Where is the test going to happen”. He told me to go wait downstairs near the road. 15 minutes later he shows up again. On asking, I was told to drive my car to the Post Office road for the test.

I followed the directions and ended up at a street where some 15 men were waiting. I was the only woman there. After 15 minutes,, like a flock of birds taking off together, they all start walking in one direction. I followed them. It turned out we were standing at slightly wrong corner. I re-park and wait again.

Finally I spot both Manjunath and Habib. I run over and demand that they tell me properly what is going to happen. Don’t just tell me to wait or the next micro-step in the process. Who is going to show up? When/where is the test going to take place. Etc. For the first time I get two complete sentences in response . Somewhat mollified, I wait for the next step.

Like Moses parting the red sea, a group of cars bringing the Test Takers (don’t know what else to call them) cut through the throng of waiting legal-drivers-to-be. I wait.

Manjunath asks me to drive to a certain point where the Test Taker is standing on the side of the road. He takes my papers. Tells me to go make a round and come back. I was expecting him to get into the car so I hesitate. He repeats in English: “Go left, left, left, left. Come back.”

I smile to myself and take off, obediently making left, left, left, left and returning to the spot in question.

Before I can even come to a full stop near him, the Test Taker shouts, waving his hands “Go! Go home!”, at which I promptly take off.

Ah, but the story didn’t end. When I called up the driving school to pick up the license, they say I haven’t taken a photograph. He accuses me of running off after the previous weekend’s test instead of going for a photograph. I exclaim that despite my repeatedly asking them, they had told me nothing about going back for a photograph; Habib had told me to go home after the test. He muttered something about a “card license”. Exasperated, I went back the following weekend, got the photograph done. Putting two-and-two together, I figured out that the “card” license which fits in a wallet has a computerized production process, and therefore, they needed a digital photo instead of the print photo submitted during my previous visit.

Oh well, now I’m keeping my fingers crossed – I’ve gotten the driver’s license but the birthdate is wrong. I don’t think I have it in me to get it corrected. I’ll simply be a day older in anything requiring a driving license proof.