During school days, we went on vacations to our maternal hometown, Mavelikkara in Kerala. It used to feel different, a distinct sense of honour. My late grandfather was from a historic Valiamadom family (Tharavadu). Everyone treated the family with utmost respect for their lineage, for his great contributions to education and society, and for the kind, hospitable person he was. I used to love hearing my mother called Kochu Thamburatti (the young lady of the house), and us siblings referred to as Iyer Sir inde kochumakkal(Iyer Sir’s grandchildren). Some of the older generation living there still call us by those titles. They had also owned a car for a very long time, since my mother was a child.
The Ambassador Years
As far as my memory goes, owning a car in those days was a true symbol of affluence, even if it was a Maruti 800. Growing up in Mulund, Mumbai, the cars I saw most often during my schooling years were the Maruti 800, the Fiat, and the 118 NE. A Maruti Omni van occasionally passed by. It was the SUV of its time, until the Tata Sierra and Sumo arrived.
The first time I enjoyed the luxury of a car ride was in my hometown. We had an Ambassador, a white Ambassador. It was the car that took us around to so many tourist attractions and temples in South India and It had the presence of an elephant on the road. I loved watching the driver shift gears, work the clutch and brake, gliding through the roads.
I grew up on stories: my uncle teaching himself to drive by parking the car in and out of the garage when he was in grade 7; my grandfather’s rash driving; and my biggest inspiration of all, my grandmother, who learnt to drive at 55. These stories gave me immense motivation.
I wanted to drive. I craved the joy of controlling the car, wanted to understand the mechanism, wanted the freedom, and most of all, the confidence that came with knowing I could go wherever I wanted to.
The White Omni
Owning a car was a long shot for us in the 90s. Dad never liked cars; he disliked the rules that came with owning one, not to mention the upkeep. But over time, with persuasion from all of us, he finally agreed to get a second-hand car, a white Maruti Omni. I was in grade 8 at the time. He joined a driving school, passed his test, and got his license. Driving schools back then were a little better than today. But getting a license was a breeze then and still is now.
He was never interested in driving, nor did he ever enjoy it. The van stayed parked in our lot from the day we bought it. Whenever he did drive, it turned into a small adventure. A cop once caught us for darkened windows. We hadn’t known the rule. Another time he switched off the car at a signal on a slope. It started rolling backwards while he struggled to restart it. And there was the time he nearly hit a rooster crossing the road. He realised driving wasn’t his cup of tea. But he did fulfill one deep wish of mine – picking me up from school, along with a few of my friends. The joy of seeing your parent waiting for you is unexplainable.
A Girl Who Wanted to Drive
My family knew how badly I wanted to learn. The first time we inquired, my age was the sticking point, since I wasn’t 18 yet, but the trainer didn’t mind. It never worked out anyway, because we sold the van soon after all the frantic adventures. Looking back, I realize my mom never once got in the car when Dad drove, for fear of his shaky driving and getting stuck somewhere.
When I got married, my husband turned out to feel the same way about cars as my dad. Imagine the dilemma. The only difference: he loves being chauffeured. I had moved from one house where a car sat unused to another where a car simply wasn’t a priority. Then COVID happened. Being stuck at home brought out the long-lost desperation and wish to finally learn to drive. The thought of driving my twins ten kilometers to school every day made the desire even stronger.
When you want something badly, you see it everywhere except in your own life. I used to feel like the world had reached a point where owning a car was as common as candy for everyone else, everywhere except in mine. I may sound materialistic, but honestly, why not? If something serves your needs, gives you independence, and makes life easier, why shouldn’t you want it?
A Licence, But Not a Driver
And then one day, I got my license. It was one wavy ride getting there.
My driving instructor assumed I was a returnee renewing an old license. No matter how many times I told him I had no driving background at all, he still expected me to know terms like “long turn” and “short turn” while I was managing gear, clutch, and brake for the first time in my life.
Driving schools these days exist mainly to get you a license without too much hassle, teaching just enough of the figure-eight, the L and the H tracks to clear the RTO test. So with a freshly earned license and no real confidence to drive on the road, I bought my first car anyway: a small, cute Maruti Spresso. I wasn’t looking for anything grand, just something a beginner could feel safe learning on.
There’s a small, funny footnote to the test drive. I was completely clueless behind the wheel, and the salesperson’s face showed he knew it. Four or five months had passed between getting my license and buying the car, with no practice in between, so my muscle memory had nothing to recall. I was anxious, nervous, and quietly thrilled that my wish was finally coming true.
The Instructor I needed
The car was here. Now, how do I actually take it on the road? That’s when I found the best instructor I could have asked for: our security guard’s daughter.
With two tiny tots at home, my time was tight, so we worked around my schedule: early mornings, before the day really began and before my twins’ online nursery classes started. This was right after COVID lockdowns eased, before offline school had resumed.
She taught differently. She focused on every small detail, and always on the actual routes I’d use in daily life. And constantly through each lesson she kept talking about various things. One day she told me: “You might think I’m talkative, but this is your practice — multitasking while driving. When you’re driving with children, family, or friends, they’ll talk to you, and you need to be able to focus on the road and answer them too.”
I was in awe of her, and deeply grateful. She taught me everything: adjusting speed over speedbreakers, tackling U-turns, the logic behind long and short turns, the unwritten rules for narrow lanes, reading the vehicles ahead, overtaking, and so much more. I hadn’t realised there was so much nuance to it. Most importantly, she taught me how to keep my peace of mind on Bangalore roads. To this day, her instructions echo in my head every time I drive. She was that good.
I still remember the first time I took the car out alone to get the number plate fixed. My instructor was busy, and I couldn’t wait. The same salesperson who’d seen me struggle on the test drive was stunned to see me park the car. “Wow, ma’am. Good,” he said. There’s no better feeling than having your effort recognised.
Then came the first time I drove down the steep slope into my parking spot. Butterflies in my stomach, but I managed it. The self-worth, the confidence, the pride I felt were unimaginable. It wasn’t just about parking a vehicle; it felt like I’d finally fulfilled a wish I’d carried since childhood – one that had waited years to manifest.
The Long Road
It’s been five years now. I’ve upgraded my car since then. Driving has duly served its purpose: school runs, hospital visits, vacation trips, and everything in between. I’m glad I never stopped. My parents’ support and their nudges were the biggest reasons I was able to fulfill this childhood dream.
I’m neither a gearhead nor a road-tripper, but I love driving, for the freedom and control it gives me, for the happiness I see in my kids when they say “Mamma’s come to pick us up,” and for the look of pride on my husband’s and parents’ faces when they get to sit back and be chauffeured around by me.
On every long trip before this, I used to feel a persistent urge to ask the driver to pull over and let me take the wheel. Somehow it never happened; either the opportunity wasn’t right, or my little ones were too small to be left unattended in the back.
But recently, I finally went on my first long road trip: a four-hour drive each way for a family vacation to Sakleshpur. The sheer dopamine rush of driving on the highway was incredible. It was a big milestone on my bucket list. I really wanted to see if I could do it, and with my cheerleaders at home cheering me on, I finally took the wheel. It is a journey I will treasure forever.
I felt compelled to write this down because I believe many people like me are unknowingly manifesting things, small and large, throughout their lives—we are all just working our way toward a better version of life. My grandmother—the same one who learned to drive at fifty-five—used to say something that has stayed with me longer than almost anything else: “Delay does not mean denial.” Learning to drive is just one small part of my story, but when a life’s core theme revolves around waiting for the right time, the wait can be the most frustrating part. The momentum often gets lost somewhere in the waiting. And yet, we keep trying.
Even now, I am still mastering the nuances of long highway road trips. But this recent journey gave me the confidence to plan many more, and I am looking forward to the next one. Every single drive still fills me with pride. I am proud, grateful, and forever a little amazed that I finally made it to the driver’s seat.
If you have been through something like this, a wish that waited years, a late start, a dream that took its own time, I would love to hear from you. Leave a comment below or write to me at theskymusings@gmail.com.