Gives me the chills!!

 

For an immigrant, securing a driver’s license is one of those notches on the checklist of ‘things to do’. Canada’s graduated licensing program is rational but poses challenges for the newly arrived resident. Getting a driving abstract from the home country and convincing the Drive Test officials of the authenticity of your documents, is one of them. When I first visited the Burlington Drive Test center for my G1 licensing exam in December 2020, the lady at the desk refused to award me driving credits because my Indian driving license had ‘something wrong’ with it. No further explanation was provided. Almost a year later, another official from the Mississauga Drive Test center took a long, hard look at the same license. Scratching the edge of the chip embedded in the license to check whether it was real, she finally accepted it.

The next and more real challenge along the Canadian licensing journey – the G2 road test – reared its fearsome head. My Google search history got populated with the monikers – three-point turn, parallel parking, downhill parking with the curb, et al. I have driven on the chaotic and laisezz-faire roads of India for close to two decades and executed all those maneuvers multiple times without a second’s thought. In a new country and with stricter traffic rules, those vehicular contortions suddenly seemed more difficult.

With a smiling Sikh instructor in tow and at the helm of that ever-popular instructors’ car – the Corolla – I drove for the first time in North America. It was exhilarating and nerve-wracking; the better roads came accompanied by other cars, pedestrians, and buses; all of whom seemed to have more ‘right of way’ than I did. Back in India, this property of right-of-way if there was one, rested with the one who could accelerate faster, weave in and out, and swivel to be the first. 

Feeling prepared, I went in for my G2 drive test at the Burlington temporary site. It was bright and sunny, and my examiner was a smiling Sri Lankan named Pradeep. I remember I was excited but not nervous; confident in my two-decades-old driving experience in India. It took me all of 3 minutes to fail my test when I dawdled on an advanced green light. With the smile never leaving his face, Pradeep made me go through all the mandatory driving tasks for the remainder of the test without letting me on to the fact that he had already failed me. Back in the parking lot after the test, Pradeep uttered those demoralizing words, “Unfortunately, you were not able to meet the Ministry’s standards today...”.

Another bright noon eleven days later, and I was sitting behind the wheel of the trusty Corolla in the Oakville drive test center parking lot. This time, I was nervous. I was trying to keep my mind blank, but unerringly, my thoughts would turn to the very real prospect of a second failed attempt. I had already spent a lot of time and money on the driving lessons and the car rides to and from the test centers. Sensing my nervousness perhaps, my instructor gave me a piece of gum. Then, an examiner, Steve, got in the car and proceeded to give me the pre-test official ‘talk’. By this time, I had already sat in the car for close to half an hour (Steve was late) and was itching to get on with the test. Silently offering a prayer to the powers-that-be, I drove out of the parking lot. The traffic was sparse; I remember I was not feeling any emotion – I was just cued onto whatever Steve was saying from the next seat.

Ten minutes later as my instructor would tell me later, we pulled into the parking lot where Steve had his last directive for me. He indicated a vacant spot and asked me to reverse-park. The previous minutes had been uneventful, but suddenly, I felt a little anxious about that little space. I felt I went too far ahead to make the turn properly. So, I made a little adjustment and slowly reversed into the spot. Finally, it was done but the car was not strictly in the center between the lines. I asked Steve if I could try to make a better placement.

Steve asked, “Why?”

I said, “The car is not exactly at the center.”

“Can you see both lines?”

“Yes.”

“Then, it’s ok. You don’t have to be perfect.”

“Alright.”

“I am happy to tell you that you have met the standards of the Ministry today.”

And just like that, I got lucky the second time…again! Waiting at the center to get my temporary G2 license, I was not ecstatic or relieved. I felt a curious detachment from the entire experience because my mind was already moving forward to the next things to do. Later in the night when I was alone, I offered myself a silent note of congratulations and drifted off to sleep with visions of the Oakville parking lot floating around.

Give it Back

 
The province of Ontario runs a recycling program called the Ontario Deposit Return Program (ODRP) or simply, ‘Bag It Back’. Presently, it applies only to alcoholic beverage containers. The way it works is this – a mandatory deposit is collected at the point-of-purchase (10 cents for the smaller cans/ bottles and 20 cents for the bigger ones). Once the user returns the empty container to The Beer Store, which is the official collector, the deposit amount is returned. The results of this program are phenomenal – almost 80% of all empty alcoholic containers are being returned. Instead of being dumped into our landfills and potentially affecting our soil and water, this waste is getting recycled.

Which brings me to the story of my cousin brother and his early days in Toronto. My brother came to Canada in 2016, moved into an apartment block overlooking the lake, and spent the first few months as a jobless immigrant. It was then that he struck upon the idea of generating a small income from collecting the used cans and bottles he could see strewn all along the lake’s beaches. So, he would go comb the beaches every morning. On his salvaging spree, he was surprised to see other Torontonians (what a wacky moniker!) doing the same.

Young, old, hobos in their scruffy clothing, well-dressed people, immigrants like himself, homeowners whose backyards opened onto the lake – he would come across all sorts. Some of them, my brother guessed, were just like him – wanting to make an extra buck, but then he would also encounter many who just wanted to keep the place clean and safe. Many of the early morning walkers would thank him for doing his part as a conscientious resident. My brother did this for a week and earned almost $ 20 – 30 daily. He says he stopped when he could no longer overcome his discomfiture when he had to acknowledge those words of gratitude being uttered by total strangers.

Sometime later, he got his first job. Those first few days, my brother says, showed him the strong sense of duty of the people of this great city.