Driving and driving tests

All Bloody Indian men think they are fantastic drivers. Even the ones who don’t drive. A non-driving Bloody Indian in the US was once heard to say, “I’ll be able to pick up driving really easily here because I know all the routes.” (He said “rowtes”.)

He was a constant backseat driver, telling you to wait, telling you to go, telling you to turn right when you were in the furthest lane from the turn, telling you to stop… IT’S A RED LIGHT – WHY WOULDN’T I FUCKING STOP??? IF YOU DON’T TRUST ME TO STOP AT RED LIGHTS, WHY THE FUCK DID YOU ASK ME TO DROP YOU? TAKE A TAXI, OR ARE YOU TOO CHEAP FOR THAT?

Those IT boys are leaving our shores and causing mayhem on the roads of the US. They believe they know all there is to know about driving, and regularly run through stop signs, turn onto main roads without looking, have no clue what a blind spot is, change lanes without indicating…

Making a mistake in a new system is totally understandable, but the Bloody Indian does not believe he’s made a mistake. He’ll blast through a four-way stop sign and then curse the “blind fucking American scoundrel” who tried to run him down.

Good driving here, and there
A “good driver” in civilised societies means somebody who is courteous, aware and safe, but firm. A “good driver” in Bloody India is somebody who steers with one finger, drives with an elbow on the window, goes at three times the speed limit and accelerates and brakes as violently as the car will allow.

Bloody Indians love using the word “control” in this context. “He has great control yaar”.

As a result, some rental companies in the US have started refusing to hire cars to Indian IT boys. Some IT companies have got tired of paying insurance and now use shuttles for their employees.

The number of accidents is astounding. It’s all the Americans’ fault of course. “They don’t know how to drive men. They keep stopping even when there is no traffic on the road. They drive inside those white lines men – don’t they know the car is supposed to be over the lines? Eh, why are you waiting men? Just go.”

You’re an idiot. You don’t know how to drive and you have so much to say? And also, dickwart, after you get out, you don’t need to slam the door so hard. This isn’t your Kailash uncle’s Premier Padmini from the year 1940. It isn’t the door of the Godrej cupboard that your ancestors hid in during the Sepoy Mutiny. It’s a modern car with doors that close with just a push. You slam the door like that again, I’ll cut it off using the boot lid – you’ll find out why we Bloody Indians call it a dicky.

Real driving tests
I lived for a few years in a country that had a lot of Bloody Indians, and also a reasonably difficult driving test. Certainly more difficult than the one I had in India, where the examiner stood on the third floor of the RTO and watched me drive out of the parking lot, around the lane outside (where I was hidden from view most of the way) and back in again. I passed because I remembered to stick my hand out of the window and wave it up and down to signal I was slowing down, and then held it up to signal I was stopping. The man walking in front of my car carrying a red flag did a great job, so I tipped him well.

I met many Bloody Indians who would come to that country for a licence. I became adept at guessing how many tries each person would need. The ones who needed to learn how to drive from scratch, and who were a little nervous before the test, got it fast. Sometimes even on the first go. Most of the women, unless totally uncoordinated, got it in three tries or fewer.

The people who did the worst were the men who already knew how to drive.

One person told me, “I used to drive in India – I could steer with just one hand man – I’m good. I’ll get it first or second try.”

I told him “Ten tests minimum, you fool.” We bet. I won. The asshole backed out and didn’t shave his head.

Most of these people were too bloody minded to learn from their mistakes. There was a little bit of bias against Indians in that country, but not a lot. This would be their excuse. “Bastard examiner, I didn’t do anything wrong. He failed me. Nothing I did men, nothing – and that gandu failed me.”

“There must have been something.”

“No man nothing! I just took a turn a little fast once, but otherwise nothing men, nothing.”

“So you took a turn a little fast?”

“Yes, but he failed me because he hates Indians.”

There it was. A lesson that could have been learned. But because the person believed he’d failed only because of somebody else’s bias, he went and failed again. And again. And again. And again.