A Driving
Expedition
by Preeth Ganapathy
I never drive
if I can help it. Humongous traffic jams on roads
accompanied by impatient glares from fellow
drivers just do not make it worth the hassle. So,
it is my husband who usually drives, while I sit
beside him content in essaying the role of a deft
navigator.
But this
lockdown, I was struck by an idea, like a
lightening lighting up the night sky. Wide roads
stretched out their arms tantalizingly, beckoning
me to drive through them. So I decided that when
the need for buying essentials arose, I would
drive down to the local grocery store. This way,
my latent driving skills could be sharpened
within the confines of lockdown regulations.
The D-day
finally dawned. I pulled up my socks at the
imminent prospect of getting behind the wheels.
‘Do not
get confused between the brake and the
accelerator,’ my husband proffered sage
words of experience.
‘Don’t
drive too fast on empty roads,’ my father
said.
‘You’ll
do fine,’ my mother smiled.
I got into the
car and maneuvered it to the accompaniment of a
barrage of instructions from husband. The nuts
and bolts of my driving skills were rusty and
needed oiling. Tension hung heavy in the air. My
thoughts wandered back to the time when I sat for
a particularly difficult math exam, back in
school. The question papers had been doled out.
It was time to start answering.
It was my
husband’s turn to play navigator, as we
moved at tortoise pace, along the pathway from
the parking space to the tarmac. We made it to
the store eventually, with me stopping at all the
signal lights and switching on the indicators
wherever required, even though the roads were
completely empty. The drive back home was equally
smooth and uneventful.
‘Take a
deep left,’ husband said as we neared home.
A small reception party comprising of my parents
and my toddler eagerly waited at the door.
Parking the car in front of these onlookers was a
real challenge now. Feeling the spotlights shine
bright on me, I began my performance.
Pressing the
accelerator, I made two turns of the steering
wheel to the left. The car stood poised to make
it through the narrow entrance. My heart swelled
like a balloon with the pride of success. I now
had to inch along just a few meters.
‘Stop,’
my husband yelled.
‘Preeth,’
my mother cried.
‘Don’t,’
my father shouted.
‘No, no,’
said my toddler waving his tiny fist frantically,
probably imitating the elders. Seconds later, I
heard a loud scrunch.
I had
unwittingly turned the steering wheel, a few
degrees left, damaging the two flowerpots that
lined against the compound wall. Three long
scratches adorned the side of the car. They will
forever remind me of those seconds when I lost
concentration.
What was that
saying again? Ah yes, pride always comes before a
fall. Always.
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