On The Wrong Side

For a country with a reputation of strict law enforcement, it is quite shocking that one doesn’t get penalized for driving on the ‘wrong’ side in Germany! Having witnessed only the British alternative since birth, the keep-left traffic system had been stone-etched into my subconscious well before my arrival in Germany. Therefore I can be blamed for neither of the first bloopers like waiting for the bus on the wrong side of the road, checking the wrong side while crossing the road and getting into the driver’s seat of a taxi! And having traveled only by public transport during my masters, it had sufficed to come to minimal terms with this laterally inverted system. But after joining my new job, it became quite desirable if not absolutely necessary to get a German driving license, which meant of course that I had to learn to do it exactly the other way. 

‘Converting’ my Indian license to a German one is actually a misnomer, as taking both theory and practical tests was compulsory. After spending a couple of weekends with the study material, I decided it was time to get behind the wheel. My first hour on the road however turned out to be well short of a good start, to say the least. Well, what else could I expect when the steering wheel, direction indicator and gear box were all mounted on the wrong side in the Audi! Thankfully they had not switched the orders of the pedals and the gear changes, which might have otherwise compelled me to give up altogether, even before I switched on the ignition! I had never driven cars with that much electronic control before and it took me some time to get a hang of this clutch pedal causing the engine to stall time and again. I was also guilty of wearing sports shoes a little too broad for comfort in the pedal space and so I often unintentionally stepped on both the brake and accelerator pedals partly. The resulting awkward jerking of the car together with the stalling of the engine and activation of windshield wipers instead of direction indicators made me look worse than a beginner. 

If this terrible mix-up of controls was not enough for me to focus on while driving, the complex system of traffic signs, lane driving, speed limits, right of way regulations and unwritten rules overloaded my brain. Further, German being a non-native language for me, admonishing instructions from my annoyed trainer under pressure situations made me go blank and I resorted to unwarranted braking, once almost causing a rear end collision on a highway. When we were through, the trainer was very generous and uncharitable in his feedback - I did not know how to handle the vehicle controls, did not look into the mirrors often enough, could not maintain speed, could not keep the car in the lane, could not start driving uphill, could not park correctly, did not observe road signs, did not follow traffic regulations, in short – I JUST COULD NOT DRIVE. He was quite shaken by the close call and said that I was a dangerous driver and that he had no intention of risking his car and life for the little fee I paid him. He questioned my driving experience in India and found the prospect of me passing the driving test with this level of proficiency laughable. Let’s just call it, A TERRIBLE START! 

After venting his anger and annoyance thoroughly, he finally seemed to cool down and decided to give me “one last chance”. I felt like shit as I walked back home, but tried not to get bogged down by the debacle and told myself that it was just starting problem. At home, I ran through the forgettable hour in my mind and made mental notes of where I actually went wrong and how I could avoid those mistakes henceforth. I watched some driving trainer videos online and got some hints about where to expect which traffic sign and how to quickly deduce the applicable regulation on the fly. Although I still felt quite uneasy going to bed, I somehow felt that it could only get better from here. 

The next day’s spin was indeed much better, although not excellent. More suitable shoes and the lessons learnt last night eliminated more than half from the previous day’s mistakes. I myself watched what I was doing wrong, observed more on the road as I drove, paid utmost attention to every one of the trainer’s instructions and tried to translate every one of his words into action. He was always sharp in his directions, often harsh in his criticism and at times ruthless in his admonition, appreciation was quite unknown to him. But he knew his stuff and told me exactly how it is done. So I held on to my nerve, tried to separate his lesson from his lecture and worked hard to do it right, at least to save me his irritating comments! The second session was good enough for him to make the next appointment and some more after that. I made use of the time during daily bus journeys to office to observe the bus driver driving, the different traffic signs and the other vehicles on the road. I worked on the details bit by bit and reduced my mistakes from one class to the next, until my trainer finally announced me as test-ready. A week before my test, my trainer was informed who my examiner would be and we trained a couple of stretches which that examiner usually prefers. 

The big day started with some last minute excitement. Due to some administrative problem, the examining authority had changed the examiner! The earlier scheduled examiner would have been quite forgiving towards small mistakes during the test, but this one expected perfection. Each second of the hour that I had to wait for my turn seemed to last forever as I tried to give myself some pep-talk. “My driving skills are good enough, so the examiner does not matter. Worst case, if it doesn’t work out this time, big deal. I will do it the next time!”. When the moment of truth arrived, I spoke to the examiner only in English, a tip from my trainer to avoid lengthy questions and conversations with the examiner in German! The examiner was thorough as expected, checking my knowledge of the vehicle controls, making me drive through all possible speed limits and testing my parking skills among others. Starting up a hill and parallel parking were still my weak points, but luckily the former was not tested and I managed to park perfectly in the test. At the end, apart from a couple of minor comments, he was generally satisfied with my driving skills and gave me the go ahead! 

Early next morning saw me waiting to lay my claim on that little card in front of the driving license office. When I finally had it in my hand, I could not hold back a broad smile and a silly giggle, eager to show it off to anyone who would care to have a look. With the license to challenge the 130 km/h ‘advisory’ speed limit on the German Autobahn, it was now just a matter of finding myself the right car and hitting the road!

Just Another Day @ The Office

The weird but familiar tone grew louder and more intense. Or maybe it was just my senses gradually becoming aware of its shrillness, having been forced to transcend into consciousness. Although my mobile phone tried its best to make the unenviable task of waking me up sound like music to my ears, it hardly made waking up early on a Monday morning less painful. It had been one of those nights when I had had the weirdest series of unrelated dreams and it took my mind a couple of minutes to separate reality from fantasy. My muscles, having been taxed by long hours of cricket the previous evening protested and resisted any movement beyond to put out the alarm and I was almost compelled to give in to their demands. But then, it was to be another day at the office. 

One of the projects that I was working on stood at a crucial stage and the technical challenges facing us had been quite unforeseen. In spite of the umpteen number of road blocks and detours, the solution could have been awaiting our arrival around any curve now. Munching a sandwich, I limped on, constantly looking at my watch, lest I miss the hourly bus. Hardly a dull moment passed during the 25-minute ride, with the constant chatter of my beloved beside me. The bus packed with Indian colleagues on deputation gave a lively “bangalorely” din to the otherwise banal journey. Overhearing some of the amusing narrations of their adventures over the weekend, either in different parts of Europe or in their kitchens, was quite inevitable. In the meanwhile, our bus hit the final stretch up the hill to the picturesque company premises, amidst vineyards, fields, forest and hills, more a setting of a hill resort than a product development centre. 

Pushing in the power buttons of both my computers, I initiated our team’s tradition of starting the day with a coffee, a significant catalyst to cordial team spirit in German companies. As expected, the just concluded weekend was the topic of the day at the coffee table. The football loving German colleagues were quite perplexed by the craze of us Indians for the ‘weird’ game called cricket and I promised to teach them how to play it sometime. Further, mountain-bikes, weather, trekking, girlfriends and movies kept us indulged as the clock ticked on, until one of us had to remind the rest what we get paid for! 

Back at my desk, last Friday seemed a haze in the distant past, as I tried to recall where I had spent my hours in office, in order to log my effort. The emails told me nothing new. The customer wanted the deliveries to be made day before yesterday, whereas it was practically possible only tomorrow and we would only manage it day after tomorrow. Both projects which I worked on stressed again that theirs was high priority and I agreed with both of them in writing. That meant, I would have to log close to the 10 hour maximum limit on daily working hours again. Having done away with the emails, I opened the necessary programs and documents and dove into the matrix of concepts, software, resources and bugs. 

After a couple of paragraphs of documentation, few lines of code, an hour-long customer call and one more coffee break, it was ‘Mahlzeit’ around half past eleven, about the time the early starters’ tummies begin to growl. The hungriest one stood up first and pegged on the others to join. Some joined immediately, while others wanted to type in last words into an email or a last line of code, and eventually stood up after some coaxing from the others. Having gotten used to the earlier german lunch timings, I joined the team for the short stroll towards the canteen, a huge hall capable of seating over 1000 employees at a time. In spite of a good number of choices on the day’s menu, most of the courses were out of my ‘scope’, being beef and pork and I joined the queue at the vegetarian pasta stall. After picking up a serving, I made my usual stop-over at the spices counter to ‘indianize’ the pasta with generous garnishing of red chilli flakes, raw chilli slices and tabasco pepper sauce. After collecting cutlery and exchanging a recorded exchange of standard pleasantries with the lady at the cash counter, I scanned the sea of colleagues until I found a familiar face with hands motioning towards him. Having now learnt the ‘art’ of dining with western cutlery, I enjoyed the wok as much as the talk at the table. Most conversations were quite general, although work-talk cropped up once in a while. Lunch was followed by the routine walk around the campus, enjoying the display of luxury test cars as much as the sunshine and scenery. 

Back at business, heavy activity in the tummy drained the blood from my brain and it began to hibernate having been spoiled by the weekend siestas. Another round of caffeine ‘doping’ became quite inevitable to shake off the sleep mode and my German colleagues hardly needed to be coerced. With the clouds of drowsiness cleared, I got down to preparing for the review meeting of the concept I had developed. Although the technical feasibility of my design was in question, the review discussion showed that the political dynamics among different departments involved in the project, the historical reasons for certain project decisions and the geographical distribution of the project team worldwide became equally relevant. Although the discussion made us lose track of time, I had to eventually call it a day due to other plans after work. 

Fitness training and learning to drive on the ‘wrong’ side of the road drained out my remaining energy and I was quite relieved when I landed on my bed at the end of it all. It felt great to be alive, after riding the roller coaster once again. There was a feeling of satisfaction and peace, in spite of the fatigue. That’s about all I remember of that night, till sometime later, I heard that dreaded tone again.

A Ride Back Home

As I discovered, a year and a half in Germany is not long enough to get so used to luxury, that one cannot manage with what’s actually necessary. Consider the public transport system for instance. Having survived the city buses in Bengaluru (once upon a time called ‘Bangalore’) through the years of college and job, the local trains and buses in Germany are definitely a luxury in contrast – punctual, sparsely occupied, smooth ride and seating almost always available. But luxury is accompanied by discipline – stopping only at stops, entering only in a queue, no opening windows and no sitting at the open door of the moving train! Being spoiled by order for a considerable time, I have often wondered if it would be tough to get adjusted to the imperfect systems, once back in India. But my experience during the home trip this march confirmed otherwise.

A short walk brought me to the bus stop nearest to my aunt’s place in a residential part of Bengaluru. A bus was just driving away as I arrived. I instinctively dashed after it, signaling to the driver with waving hands. My age and physical condition commanded only a reduction in the speed of the bus, so I sprang onto the foot-board and grabbed the closest rod. Feeling quite proud of the feat I had not had a chance at for some time, I found just enough space for both my feet on the floor of the bus.

Being the peak morning hour, I was compelled to accept the ‘closeness and warmth’ of the office-goers. But I had no intentions of gifting my wallet or mobile phone to any one of them in return. So I reminded myself to constantly be on guard for any hands in my pockets other than my own! With one hand on my wallet and the FM radio playing faintly into my ears, reminding me of the continued presence of my phone, I could safely hold on to an overhead rod with my other hand. Having bought my ticket from a gymnast of a conductor doing his rounds, I settled to observe the sights and sounds in and around.

Most sounds from within seemed to have something to do with mobile phones, a must-have in India today. Some of the most important people must have been riding with me, because phones rang constantly and a couple of phone conversations even lasted throughout my journey. A few not-so-important commuters entertained the rest of us with FM radio playing loudly on their handsets. The rest was the noise of traffic jam, brought to you by idle drivers and idling engines – the honking, the swearing and the revving.

The sights were more amusing. Blessed were those who occupied the seats and they had to ‘give back to society’ by carrying the bags of standing commuters on their laps, whether they volunteered to or not. A short tussle of prospective takers always ensued when one of the ‘chairmen’ showed signs of getting off. Heads turned as bored men in colourful shirts indulged themselves with the colour of the fairer sex in passing buses! Commuters boarded and alighted at will in the slow moving traffic and bus stops became quite redundant. The bikers and autowalas took advantage of the steering handle to maneuver into the narrowest possible gaps, irritating those driving with steering wheels. The closer to the city centre we got, the slower progress became. Some meetings would have to be postponed, some appointments cancelled and some connecting transport missed. It seemed to be a long and unyielding battle between the fast metropolitan life and the slow moving traffic. However the latter was winning.

Being lost in this reverie, I almost missed my stop. Once back to reality, I struggled towards the door in a hurry, inviting frowns and fuss, but managed to alight just as the bus moved on into the ever thickening traffic. But for some reason, I wasn’t complaining. I somehow felt comfortable in this setting, in spite of the lack of comfort. It felt good to be back home.