On Hot Wheels

Best Teeth - On Hot Wheels

Good afternoon. Today, I discovered Best Teeth - On Hot Wheels. Which could be very helpful in my opinion and also you. On Hot Wheels

Push came to shove. I would never let arrogant chauffeurs rule my life naturally because I did not see it fit to drive an automobile. The fact that I was 13 years in training, was a well private truth.

What I said. It is not in conclusion that the true about Best Teeth. You check out this article for facts about an individual need to know is Best Teeth.

Best Teeth

One hot day, I take the plunge. Getting into an auto-rikshaw, armed with my latest learner's license and oodles of self confidence, I go off to the latest driving school which I had joined exactly three years ago in my last bid at freedom. The guy there remembers me.

"You will have to pay some more money," the guy said.

"How much?" I want to know.

"Rs. 800." quickly I call hubby on the mobile - I like my spouse to know exactly where his money is going, even if he is a thousand miles away in one of those meetings. Tomorrow, I want no complications.

"What can you do? You want the license, don't you?" Hubby's wisdom knows no bounds.

Going back to the guy I say, "Ok, I will pay you Rs.400," he accepts and I get to fill yet other form. Just as I was finishing, he says, "After they process the forms, we will know how many citizen will be permitted to attend the driving test. They have only one License Inspector."

The wait would be excruciating. My fatalist mind goes into overdrive. What if my form gets rejected?

What if he thinks I don't drive well enough?

My reliance in my driving skills evaporates quickly when I see my co-applicants - all wannabe drivers with resolute looks on their faces.

We are sent off in the studying car on a test run along the road we would drive on. That goes well enough.

Head honcho of driving school appears in his latest acquisition - an Lpg powered Santro Xing.

I decided to make conversation with him in the name of research. Anyway, he is seeing into my case just for the money (what else can I expect?)

"On an average, how many citizen come in for a license?" I venture.

"Four-wheeler or two-wheeler?"

"Both." Might as well know, I think.

"Well, at least a hundred. Not all of them pass," he volunteers just as I jam his brakes, stalling his car, appearing like I have one mission in life - to ruin his new Xing. He leaves, "and if you do, it's a miracle" out. His look says it all.

The sun beats down on us. We are all sweating it out among lethargic roadside dogs, who hog all the shade the single tree offers, sleeping off the heat. The inspector arrives. We are taken to another, sunnier part of the road. Memories are being made here, I think.

It is time. Names get called in sequence. "Ameeta Agnihotri" he says. My hands go clammy. If anyone fails the test it will be me, I think, sending up a prayer. "God, please. I have to get my license."

"Start the car," inspector commands.

I do. Smoothly, I convert the gear to first, releasing the clutch, but not wholly letting go, while gradually pressing the accelerator, in one fluid move.

I no longer need three legs to operate the three pedals in a car. As it picks up speed, I move into second, then third gear, and finally into fourth. Cruising along, I let instinct take over, my foot hovering above the clutch pedal like it is my lifeline.

"She just does not let the clutch go," Inspector comments. Hurriedly I move my foot off it.

"Stop there" Inspector points. Car screeches to a halt, (you don't want to be a rally driver, my brain reminds me) while my tongue finds its way between my teeth and I bite hard, almost drawing blood.

"Now reverse," wow. That's a dicey one. "Parallel to the curb," Inspector's voice is curt. I try my best, but the car is at an angle. Have I botched it?

"Ok. Go and wait at the office," he says scrawling furiously on my Learners License.

I trudge off, my gait tired and my shirt drenched in sweat. Halfway there, an auto-rikshaw screeches to a halt a mere inch from my foot. I jump. An oiled head pokes itself out. I look warily at it, for it has a huge smile pasted on its face and is saying, "Madam!"

"Huh?!"

"It's me, Sarvanan," the head says. Recognition dawns. He is one of the drivers I tired studying with and was the cause of my rendezvous with a lamp post, the lump on my head and the crack on my windscreen. Instinctively my had reaches for the exact spot.

"Can I drop you somewhere?" I look skeptically at his newly decorated auto. Plastic flowers are pasted on. Gold and black tassels hang from varied vantage points. Loud music plays on the stereo. Nothing would entice me to get in that edifice. Not because of the way it looks, but because of the person at its controls.

"Uh, no, thanks, Sarvanan," I am softly hesitant, still seeing at his contraption.

"Ok," he sounds thrilled to have impressed a woman of stylish taste and shoots off while I stand breathing in the dusty fumes.

"You've got it," driving trainer says. It takes some moments to sink in. Mine is the first name they called to hand over the tiny plastic piece that would permit me to Drive. I was home, free. The first person I call is, of course, hubby. Then the girls, who are distinctly blasé. "We knew you would maaa," is all they say.

In their minds they dance, for I have just signed myself up for mother-slavery. Now I have no excuses.

I hope you obtain new knowledge about Best Teeth. Where you'll be able to offer use in your day-to-day life. And above all, your reaction is passed about Best Teeth.