Awesome Blossoms: Horn OK Please Read Free Page A

cheerfully as I fumed. Even the wise words of wisdom and exuding cheerfulness of Ismail didn’t make me smile. “How many days of this grind, Ismail?” I asked. Pat came the reply, “Till you learn to respect the rules, Sir”.
    I shut up and decided to follow his orders after his retort. Left! Right! U-turn! Stop! Careful! I learnt many other monosyllables over the next few weeks. Ismail maintained his composure while I continued to whine.
    Over the next few days, I was to learn about road signs that I swear, I have never seen anywhere in the world. With my ne wfound knowledge, I wondered if Ismail had made a mistake and was trying to get me a DL to drive the Mars Rover on some remote planet in some faraway galaxy.
    A few weeks later, one fine morning, Ismail announced, “Sir, we are going to get your Learner’s license today. Please be at the RTO Office at 9:00 AM sharp. Bring all your documents”.
Whoopie!
    “Please don’t lose your temper over there, Son, I’ll come with you”, said my Dad when I broke the news to him that I was to be there at the RTO office for the next few hours. It was like standing in a long queue just to pay homage to the Devil incarnate.
    My Mom promised to pray for me. Not for me to get my Learner’s permit, but for me to maintain my calm in the crowded RTO Office. A few dozen people in front of me, the queue moved at a snail’s pace.
    I saw my Dad giving a running commentary about my temper-check to my Mom every thirty minutes. Closer to evening, my Dad started to panic as he realized that there were still about forty
people ahead of me in the queue and it was time for the RTO Office to close.
    I was almost close to attaining Nirvana after my PhD in Road Rules and signs when out stepped a short, stout man from the RTO Office and announced, “All of you, please come inside”. I wo ndered what his majesty was up to as a drop of cold sweat trickled down my forehead. Scared at the very thought of a repeat run the next morning, I grudgingly stepped inside the small, cluttered office. My Dad gave me a thumbs-up and smiled nervously.
    The RTO, Mr. Patil, I learnt shortly, had assembled the entire crowd inside his office to lecture us on the road safety. Standing with a bunch of nervous students, I felt I should at least get a senior citizen’s discount and be allowed to go through the interrogation first. It was a Spartan room cluttered with piles of neatly tied files stacked on top of each other from floor to ceiling, gathering dust. “So much for computerization” I muttered under my breath.
    “Are you comfortable, Sir?” asked Mr. Patil to the group. “Yes, Sir!” nodded the nervous group, worried that any other answer might prove to be costly. Then began a grueling, hour-long session about traffic safety, rules, regulations, poverty, hygiene, cleanl iness and reasons for holes in the ozone layer. I was fidgeting and getting impatient.
    “Do you have a problem, Sir?” said Mr. Patil, as he singled me out in the group and realizing that I stood out like a sore thumb, tried to be nice to me. “None at all, Sir, are we done yet?” I retor ted, my impatience and impudence getting the better of me.
    “Five more minutes”, replied Mr. Patil, looking at his watch. The lecture went on for another thirty minutes. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy the session. He was a good orator, probably not a good timekeeper though.
    It took me quite a while to fathom the very purpose of the session till the end when Mr. Patil, in his late fifties announced, “So I’m going to give all of you your Learner’s permit. Please be careful and prepare well for your driving test. I know you are prepared. Do well, good luck!”
    I felt on top of the world as though I’d just won the Nobel Prize for peace. My Dad hugged me tight as though I’d just come out alive from the Intensive Care Unit post a brain surgery. It was a miraculous escape indeed; post a five-hour long wait. Ismail