Awesome Blossoms: Horn OK Please (3 page)

I carefully hid the learner’s license in the glove compartment and since I had a police report for a lost license and the custom-made DL that was my crutch before this entire incident, I once again put it back in my wallet. It was supposed to give me a bolster shot for my sinking confidence. The after effects of driving school began to show at work.

I would see funny road signs materialize out of thin air while at meetings and I even started to pause and look both sides before even entering restrooms. Somewhere deep down in my subconscious mind, Ismail would be barking out orders and telling me how long to keep the lever pressed when I used the flush. I was heading towards a nervous breakdown. My parents sensed my depression.

And one fine day, I was shocked to see messages overflow in my
Whatsapp
messenger,
SMSes
pouring through and emails flooding into my inbox from my Dad. He had received a call from Ismail and wanted to inform me that I had an appointment the very next day. Too scared to call me, my Dad kept pinging me through every secondary mode of communication while I was at work.

I finally called it a day late that evening and entered my house and decided to face my Dad. I rang the doorbell and an ominous
silence gripped the living room. My Mom looked as though she had something dreadful to tell me.

My Dad sat on the sofa, staring at me as though he was stru
ggling to muster up enough courage to tell me something really awful. Something evil had sucked the life out of the house.

“Dad,
it’s just a license to drive, right? Not that I’m asking them to give me a license to kill”, I said, trying to sound funny. Right. It was a very important day for me when I would be presenting a Business case to my leadership at work, trying to secure investment to work on path-breaking innovation designed to push up the level of thought that existed in the current way of creating complicated software. Instead, I had to chuck it all and stand in the RTO Office for countless hours and have someone ask me to convince him I could drive and hence deserved a Driver’s License.

I was faced with the dilemma of having to trash my regular work plans and get my DL in place instead. “You don’t mess around with Government officials, Son, they call you – you don’t dictate to them”. I wondered about the very existence of God then. I twiddled my thumbs, sighed and gave in. It was my fault that I didn’t have my DL in place the right way when I was a dumb tee
nager.

This was cruel. This was severe punishment. I had to pay the price. I called up my Boss at work and expressed my inability to attend a critical meeting. I gave him the truth and he laughed and hung up the phone. I called my colleague and asked him to steer the meeting instead. He sniggered.

I called up my subordinate and informed him. The line went dead. I went into my room and hit the bottle. A bottle of cold water down and since I had to be there “sharp at 9:00 AM”, I crashed out before I let depression get the better of me.

I woke up to a dark, grey morning. Even the birds were not chirping. My breakfast was on the table and my Mom wasn’t around to face my surliness. I walked across to the garage to find my Dad standing there solemnly.

He made me feel as though we were going to a funeral. Dad panicked and I could sense it when Ismail called. “What do you mean get a two-wheeler and a four-wheeler but ask your son not to drive? How am I supposed to handle that?”

All hell broke loose as I came to know that I had to ride a two-wheeler with gears and a four-wheeler with gears as well since I needed to have two vehicles to take two tests if I needed a DL that would allow me to ride as well as drive.

I rushed back to the garage and tried to breathe life into my bike. It was like trying to flog a dead horse and bring it back to life. It was 8:55 AM already and there was no way I could call up a friend who would get a two-wheeler to the RTO Office so quickly.

We chose to take the SUV and figure out the two-wheeler bit later. Ismail promised my Dad that he would arrange for one when we got there. We reached the stretch of road that was the designa
ted spot for conducting driving tests, sharp at 9:00 AM.

A long, three-hour wait later, a serpentine queue of around fo
rty two-wheelers formed in front of me with five cars behind my SUV. Ismail was busy orchestrating the show like Beethoven conducting an orchestra.

“Can you get me a two-wheeler with gears and a helmet please?” I asked Ismail as just two more bikers remained to take
the test. Ismail looked around like a confused popinjay and said, “Sir, could you just ask someone who has already taken the test?”

Damn! I cursed under my breath and let my Dad sit inside the SUV as I went around begging for a two-wheeler and a helmet. No luck till I met Robin who’d just wrapped up his two-wheeler dri
ving test. He stood there with a girl and looked like the perfect victim to me. I hoped he would lend me his bike and the helmet.

“Bro, can I please borrow your bike and your helmet for some time? I have to take the two-wheeler driving test and don’t have one. Please?” I said, putting on my most heart-melting face poss
ible. He looked at the girl as though I was asking him if I could borrow her. She nodded at him and Robin replied, “Sure thing, bro. But can you drive a bike? It’s got five gears!”

“Hell! I can drive anything”, I said, “Thanks a bunch! You see that SUV over there with the old man inside? That’s collateral”. Before he could change his mind,
I grabbed the helmet from him, and rode off. Ismail sighed a sigh of relief as he stood with my papers and handed it over to the Inspector. My Dad was watching me, munching on a sandwich. My sandwich!

“Drive for two hundred meters, do a U-turn and come back here”, ordered the Inspector. I did. And I rode a bike after ages. A short ride later, I brought it to a screeching halt in front of the Tra
ffic Inspector. He smiled as he signed his approval on the application form.

Robin walked across and I thanked him profusely for the bike and immediately got behind the wheel of my SUV. My Dad was still munching on the sandwiches; he had eaten my share as well. I felt better now with one test down and clear.

The Inspector walked over, opened the door and sat in the passenger seat. “Drive!” He said, “Can you? Follow my orders. OK?” “Yes, Sir”, I said as I eased down the handbrake and drove what I loved the most. My SUV -
Motormouth
. I had the A/C switched on in full blast. ‘Inspector Sharma’, his badge proudly proclaimed.

“Do you always keep it so cold? It’s freezing in here”, asked the Inspector. “Yes, Sir, I always do. Keeps me cool”, I replied. Not a word more, not a word less. I‘d learnt that from Ismail.

After a round of driving around a stretch, Inspector Sharma asked me to park, reverse and do the complete routine. “With such a big vehicle, how do you intend not to create a traffic jam while trying to park in a busy street?” he said.

“Sir, I’d rather take an auto-rickshaw to such places”, I said. He guffawed. I knew the ordeal was almost over as he asked me to stop the vehicle in front of a temple. He then got out and told me to proceed to the RTO Office and have my picture taken. I’d never seen Dad be so quiet for such a long time, that too in the backseat. Ismail popped out of nowhere and told me that he would meet me at the RTO Office.

The final ordeal was when I stood in the queue with jumpy people trying to break the discipline and rush through the simulator test before proceeding to get their picture taken for the Driver’s License. It left me tired and I tried to force a smile at my Dad and all that blossomed was a smirk. Maybe, that’s the reason for a grumpy face on my DL.

Maybe, that’s probably your story as well. It was finally over when I walked into the sweltering room and was asked to get my fingerprints taken and looked into the camera. Deadbeat, I tried to
smile. Nothing. Over five hours of waiting, only a Botox shot could make me smile.

Ordeal over, we thanked Ismail and walked out of the RTO O
ffice towards the car. I bought my dad a soda as it was late afternoon and we just stood there, watching the world in which the RTO employees live day after day.

While I stood there near my SUV waiting for my Day to finish off his soda, I saw the lady at the counter who had asked me to apply for a fresh license and made me go through this ordeal. She was on the phone, probably talking to her son, “Have you finished studying? It’s such a busy day for me, I just got out to grab som
ething to eat! Please study hard. I’ll see you in the evening. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it today….anyway! Happy Birthday, Rahul!” 

It was her son’s birthday. She had been busy managing difficult people like me on such an important day of her life. I felt a pang of guilt for having been rude to her the other day when she
had asked me to apply for a fresh license. It makes me want to rethink the way I do. It’s not that just you and I have tough jobs; everybody is doing something important for a living. It was a big learning for me.

I saw Ismail standing near a food kiosk, hurriedly gulping down a sandwich
. With a cellphone in the other hand, he was probably dealing with clowns like myself who think that their problems are prime and demand all attention from people like Ismail.

He maintains his calm and composure while dealing with ev
eryone without acting like a jerk. Another learning for me as I wonder why I consider my problem to be the one that needs maximum attention and someone else’s problem doesn’t matter to me. Do you?

I happened to spot Mr.
Patil as well, the gentleman who lectured a bunch before handing us our Learner’s license. He was sounding off a moron of a driver who had parked his car wrongly and created a traffic jam. Mr. Patil was giving an earful to the errant driver who hurriedly tried to get off the vicinity.

I realized then that Mr.
Patil was not just an orator; he is also a doer. It is thanks to people like him who bring sanity to the madness all around us. If it were not for good Samaritans like him, dear reader, the roads would be full of selfish people like you and I.

Lastly, I also happened to watch the Traffic Inspector, Mr.
Sharma, buying fruits from a vendor, haggling over the price of mangoes. Fuming, he reached for the wallet, paid the fruit vendor before carefully placing the bag on his old motorcycle, readying to go home. It made me realize that he is human too, trying to make ends meet and getting rattled about things when expenses do not match incomes.

I was rudely interrupted by Dad who was noisily trying to fi
nish off the last drop of the soda from the bottle with a straw, “Can we go now? I’m tired”. I hugged him as I realized how lucky I am to have him in my life, someone who selflessly wasted a day of his life just to ensure that things get done and I don’t blow my top.

“Yes, Dad, let’s go”, I said cheerfully.

“Why don’t you call your mother? She’ll feel happy if you tell her that you’ll always be a good citizen”, he said. I did. She felt proud. She’d been waiting patiently to hear that I’d not lost my temper and did everything right that day.

As I drove back home, I realized how important it is to be a good citizen, more importantly, a good human being. And I was smiling.

I took a
Selfie
along with Dad. I won’t post it on Facebook
ever. After all, it is … ‘Picture Perfect’.

***
 

CHAPTER TWO

By Christina Francis

***

To be left alone is the most precious thing one can ask of the modern world.

- Anthony Burgess

When Al Qaeda Visits Valparai

V
alparai is a lesser-known, peaceful little hill town in Tamil Nadu; that stays hidden behind misty clouds for most part of the year. It hardly makes news and barely attracts the kind of tourists that its neighbor Ooty does. So when I overheard a worried group of tea plantation workers of Valparai speak in hushed tones about a possible attack by Al Qaeda on their sleepy town, I had to stop in my tracks and listen in. The dreaded terrorist group chose Valparai of all places to start their India operations? “Can’t possibly be,” I chuckled, hoping to reassure the motley bunch, who by now had turned their worried faces towards me. “Can’t be... Afghanistan is light years away, and the stakes are too low here in your lil’ town,” I quipped, trying to lighten them up.

“No madam, it is true. There is every possibility that Al Qaeda is on the prowl even as we speak. We better head back to the
guesthouse. The beacon is already flashing the warning signal,” said Muthu, my trekking guide, as he clutched the straps of his backpack like a school boy and hurried me up.

“A beacon that warns you of terrorists?” I thought out aloud, shaking my head in disbelief, still laughing.

“Ayyo...ille amma...not terrorists of the human kind; but terrorist elephants!” Muthu said.

It was now his turn to laugh. At me. And then the story unfol
ded:

Al Qaeda is the moniker given to a herd of elephants living in the Nilgiris
. They traverse the lush forest lands of Mudumalai,
Annamalai and the neighboring hills as they move around in a herd of seven, searching for food, water and shelter. Occasionally, they take a detour and wander into the villages on the fringes of the forests. And when they do, all hell breaks loose.

Al Qaeda usually arrives at night, and remains hidden till the village streets empty out. Once the sun goes down, they start their march into their chosen destination, and then there is no stopping or turning back. They mow down everything that comes in their way, literally.

The local ration shop was ransacked the month before, I was told. Groceries were strewn about, the table and chair was trampled and the account books were scattered all over the place. 

Another time, they attacked a couple of houses on a street – breaking open doors, destroying furniture, and tossing around gas cylinders like they were toys.

They come with the intention of wreaking havoc; I was told. The little village was particularly scared this time because a woman working at a local tea plantation was killed recently. Rumors were rife that it was Al Qaeda’s doing, though there was no official record confirming the same.

As I heard about Al Qaeda, I remembered my stint at the
Pinnewala
Elephant Orphanage in Sri Lanka just months before, where I spent a lot of my time bathing and feeding orphaned baby elephants. I thought of those wonderful moments I spent communicating silently with a giant bull elephant whose limbs were mutilated in a landmine blast. He was leaning onto a barricade because his legs couldn’t take his weight; he was in pain. I stood there looking at him for a long time, and then I saw tears run down his eyes. “I am sorry. So, so sorry we did this to you…” I whispered to him, my heart breaking into pieces. I didn’t expect him to understand, but I felt the need to tell him that nonetheless. Tears ran down my cheeks as well. At that moment we established a soul connection. He tried to reach out to me with his trunk, and we stood like that, in silence, for a long time. Like two long lost friends grieving a common grief.

If elephants can be such gentle giants, then what was up with Al Qaeda, I wondered. I was determined to find out.

As I asked around, I heard more stories about the disruptive behavior of this ‘rowdy herd’ as someone called them. But none of the villagers seemed angry – they were strangely perceptive, despite all the fear that Al Qaeda caused.

“What can they do…? We’ve taken away their homeland…,” said Muthu, explaining the full story:

As recently as 20 years ago, when Muthu was a young boy, much of Valparai’s private land holdings and tea estates we see today was forestland. Weak environment laws, lack of awareness and the rapid growth in agro-industries led to large parts of reserved forest lands being converted into private land. So, acres of dense evergreen forests were cleared over the years to make way for manicured terraces for tea plantation. Sprawling bungalows of planters popped up at various tea estates, around which shantytowns and villages filled with plantation workers mushroomed.

As the forests receded, its inmates kept getting pushed further and further inside. Most of the animals just learned to cope for lack of choice, some perished, some disappeared forever, some dwi
ndled in numbers dangerously. But elephants, they are a different breed altogether. And this I learnt from Sunita, the manager of my guesthouse, who had been living in tea plantations around Nilgiris pretty much all her adult life. She told me about the story of another elephant herd who visits a planter’s bungalow almost every year:

“These elephants have been appearing here every year for as long as I can remember. They walk up to the bungalow, and walk in through the gate like they belong there, march around the lawns, uproot some trees, and walk on straight ahead, and head out from the back gate. It is like an annual ritual for them. Last year, a new family had moved in to the 80-year-old bungalow. They were caught unawares when their jumbo visitors turned up, and in the chaos and cacophony that ensued, the agitated elephants turned unusually violent. They tore down the front door and walked right through the house, ransacking pretty much everything in sight. After a while though, they calmed down and walked right out of the back gate,” Sunita said, claiming that this could be a result of their ‘genetic memory’.

Elephants are extremely intelligent creatures, with excellent memory. Experts have found that baby elephants sometimes remember places they’ve never seen before, and know exactly where to go from there. This, they attribute to genetic memory – the ability to remember things solely by virtue of inheriting the memory of it at birth. And this was the point Sunita was trying to make:

“This herd of elephants might belong to a family that has been walking along this path for years. Over decades, the forests
made way for plantations, guesthouses, roadways and the like. But their memory tells them that this is where their ancestors had come. And they want to tread that path, no matter what. It is no fault of theirs."

Even electric fences don’t stop them, I learnt. Elephants are smart… Using a branch, they check if the fence is electrified. If so, they uproot a tree to bring down the fence and then cross over. Talk about determination!

Do these elephants understand that wood is a bad conductor of electricity? Sunita seems to think so. “They pass down ancestral wisdom, memory, fears…because they are all essential for the survival of future generations. For instance, elephants are naturally peace-loving and we’ve seen how they can co-habit with us, especially when trained. But, if a she elephant has seen anyone in her herd being hurt or killed by a human being, she will always remember it. And then, she will not only be wary around humans but also teach her offspring that humans can mean danger. That perhaps explains why some elephants are so antagonized by humans.’ 

So, does the ‘Al Qaeda’ have a collective genetic memory, filled with fear, anger and a sense of revenge? Is that what makes them so averse to humans, I wondered.  

If so, who is the real Al Qaeda of the two -- them or us?
 

***