Nothing has inspired me to take up walking quite as much as applying for a learners license.

I don’t mind riding a bike honestly, it’s just that the roads are always filled with tourists or people preparing for the next Grand Prix. I’m still not very confident in reading traffic ques and often drive as slowly and as carefully as possible. I wasn’t really enthusiastic to learn how to ride a motorcycle anyway.

This wasn’t a very smart thing to do since everyone expected me to have learnt it already. To their credit the cities extremely unappealing public transport might have had just about everyone thinking  the same way. But for some reason I dreamt of just buying a bike and cycling everywhere. It’s not like I could afford anything else anyway.

Having accumulated sufficient guilt about letting the bike at home rust away, I decided to try and learn to ride it. I insist the quality of my riding has improved but unfortunately I’m required to prove this to the government.

The whole process was eased by a troubling enthusiastic uncle of mine (who could stand to improve this own riding) and a rather work obsessed broker. The broker, my uncle said, was a great man because he was able to get everything done and work hard “despite being a Muslim”. Casual islamaphobia aside the process was painless but slow.

The painful part of the process was all that happened at the office. The broker seemed to die a little on the inside once he realized I couldn’t speak Kannada but could understand it. He wore a quizzical look for the rest of the day. I expected a test of some sort but all that greeted me at the BDA was long lines.

Eventually I was sent in to some guys office. He barked with a fury only small hairless dogs can manage. Between his quiz that involved complaints about lack of documents, his assistant stuck his hand on parts of my face and asked me to read things off a dusty chart. Eventually I realized I was expected to answer his yelling and not stare blankly. The poor broker looked at me like he was afraid he was seeing things.

However my tactics were effective. The man yelling at me seemed equally puzzled and must have been questioning my hearing but gave me my documents anyway. The rest of the day involved waiting for a clerk to finish eating her lunch and waiting in a long queue that stretched into another hall. They told me I’d get my learners license tomorrow and I wondered why anyone would do this to themselves every five years.

Q prompts : Queue, Quiz, question, quality.

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