From the driver’s seat to being driving force

Every time I add a year to my age, reflecting on the reality of getting older, I take stock of my life so far, its struggles and failures, achievements, and accolades. Old age may impact the body but keeping the spirit young is in one’s own hands.

A passion for pursuing new things has stood me in good stead, but there is a regret that has always bugged me. Despite my best efforts for decades, I have failed so badly that I had to drop the idea as a hopeless case.

I can’t drive.

If you think that driving makes a woman strong, independent, confident, and empowered, then I’m not that. To be in the driver’s seat was never meant

to be and all my life I have turned to my family and friends to ferry me around for the smallest of errands. Right from being “shohar-driven” to chauffeurdriven, I have been the pampered and privileged one.

Proud of pedalling a bicycle in my younger years, I had thought riding a scooter would be cakewalk, but bruised elbows and knees put the brakes on my dream, so much so that even taking a two-week car-driving course three times couldn’t restore my confidence in my abilities.

The last time I tried my hand at driving was a few years ago with our gardener-cum-driver, a youngster in his twenties. I rammed the car into an electric pole that resulted in sparking in its wires. With bated breath, I waited for a blast to engulf us both, and felt sorry for the young boy. Thank God that didn’t happen, but it buried all my hopes for the future.

It’s another matter that I could somehow get a driving licence that remained buried in the deep pocket of my handbag for 10 years, while I kept shuttling between local buses, rickshaws, and auto-rickshaws.

The worst torture has been going out shopping with my husband, for whom it is all about preparing a list for the purchases, marking the shops, and deciding the route. For me, the entire experience is like that of a child whose mother holds his finger tightly not allowing him to go around looking for his favourite toys.

But this handicap has its own charm. My perennial presence in the passenger seat has cemented our bond. Even he doesn’t want to travel alone now, whether it’s his academic conferences, or visiting friends and relatives. Going on long drives, listening to music, watching beautiful nature around, taking a nap at will without worrying about the traffic zooming past, comes as divine bliss for me. Moreover, it provides me the opportunity to reflect on things uninterrupted, and many of my writings have taken shape in the mind during these long drives.

BUT THIS HANDICAP HAS ITS OWN CHARM. MY PERENNIAL PRESENCE IN THE PASSENGER SEAT HAS CEMENTED OUR BOND