My misty mornings in Mangalore

Usually the whole of first week you just get to move the steering wheel like a dummy when your instructor handles the rest of the controls. But just by 2nd day I could take charge of most of it. Sir was visibly impressed. Being the sucker for praise that I am, little did I mention about the previous lessons from dad. (Then why I have joined a driving school is another story.)

The slot of this driving school mate is just before mine. He comes with gelled hair, butt hugging jeans and all early in the morning. He can easily replace Sallu in Tere naam2 if it's ever made. Can't point a reason, but he irritates me. We don't even acknowledge each other's presence. They pick me up and at a particular place we switch places and I get the steering. Each time sir pushes the seat behind by a good dozen centimetres and I look at this guy through my mirror and smirk mildly. My cheap thrills.

Notorious stories about few nasty driving instructors trying shady tricks are quite known. Women sometimes insist on female instructors it seems. Sir runs his school all by himself. So his 30 years old brain's solution, he calls every girl 'beta'. Even if you are 20.

His chatter ranges from a wide variety of subjects. He gives me the highlights of FIFA WC. He'll tell me how rewarding it would be if I choose to pursue an MD in gynecology. Next moment he talks about this newly opened store where his wife bought dress materials from. A rickshaw tries to overtake us from the left. This man now builds my vocabulary of filth in Tulu. (He is of some help, I must say. Like Calvin says, "Life's disappointments are harder to take when you don't know any swear words.") A while later the gossip update in the MLA's house continues. Before I realise, my half an hour's up.