Pragmatic Pretensions

I moved to the UK in 1992 and drove on an international licence, renewing it every year as I left and re-entered the country. My driving in the UK was predicated on holding a valid Indian licence.

I was working in Liverpool in 1996. On a pleasant spring evening, I was in a pub with some English friends. One of them started joking about ‘chicken-catching’ Indian driving. I argued that we had honed our instincts to perfection and so on. But I couldn’t duck the truth. What my friend said in 1996 is still true in 2026.

At the time, the UK licence was in paper form. Most seasoned drivers had tattered old paper licences. I dished out my plastic Indian licence card and scored a point.

“At least our licence looks respectable,” I said smugly.

One of them took it from me and examined it closely.

“It’s expiring soon,” he said.

True enough, my driving licence — a requisite for keeping my job — would be invalid in months.

I immediately applied for a provisional licence and, after three months, found a test slot in the city of Bradford. On the test date, I drove from Liverpool to Bradford on the motorway, put on an L-plate after I reached the centre, and presented myself for the test. The examiner told me,

“Don’t do anything special because I’m here. Just be your normal self.”

So I put on Dire Straits at full blast, rolled down the window, stuck an elbow out, and took off with screeching tyres.

I failed the test and had to take six driving lessons, unlearning most of what I had picked up over some fifteen years of driving in India, before finally obtaining a UK driving licence.

More than driving, I learned that in life one sometimes has to put on an act to succeed