Since Sir bought himself a scooter, Sir has to get a driver’s license. Our international driver’s licenses only allow us to drive cars, not two wheelers.
After studying the one long sheet of paper with all the road signs, Sir goes to the driver’s license office this morning. It seems you have to battle with quite a bit of Indian administration before you take the test. You register at 4 different doors before being allowed to talk to the “test giver”. This is good for the Indian unemployment rate, since each office/window employs a few people, but it is time consuming and morale taxing. Fortunately, a driving instructor had spotted Sir getting out of the car and approached our driver. Of course, for a fee, he would help navigate the upcoming chaos. 500 rupees later, E. is ready to take the test, that is, until the test giver notices the hearing aids.
Sir, you have hearing aids. Yes. You cannot take the test. Huh? Yes, your hearing is bad, you cannot hear well, you cannot take the test because you cannot drive if you do not hear well. Huh? I cannot take the test? I didn’t know. It’s not in the book. No sir, it is not in a book. So where is the rule? There is no rule sir, you cannot hear, you cannot take the test. ALL RIGHT THEN. You see, I have my international drivers’ license here with me. Yes Sir. This license allows me to drive a car in India, right? Yes Sir. I am allowed to drive a car legally in India without getting a new license right? Yes Sir. With or without hearing aids? Yes Sir. I can drive a car but not a scooter? Yes Sir. But these are not “hearing aids”. These are “super hearing” aids. I don’t have bad hearing, these give me super hearing. Ok Sir, you can now take the test.
Madam wants a new dress. She has seen a royal blue dress a month ago in a store on Commercial Street and has wanted it ever since. But it’s a very elaborate dress, all chiffon and sheer sleeves, almost an evening gown, and there is no reason to buy it to have it hang in the closet. Until now. Next week we have a fancy dinner, and, ha ha, I have an excuse to buy it. Luckily they have it in the store next to us. It’s still as gorgeous as I remembered. I try it on. Or try to try in on. After I pull it over my head and put my arms in the sleeves, I get stuck with both arms up in the air. I carefully open the door, give a pathetic look at the sales lady standing in front of the door (they always wait in front of the door) who comes to help me rearrange the three layers and 10 pounds of fabric. She tries to zip me up but it only goes so far. She tugs some more, calls her colleague to the rescue. One is pulling on the fabric, the other pulling unsuccessfully at the zipper. I am starting to feel like a complete idiot, and the 3 of us giggle away. I tell them it’s not going up. But Madam we can have it taken out. No thank you, not a full 3 inches, the dress is too small. No Madam. The problem is that your bra is padded.
No it’s not…