In Calcutta, you don’t need to drive to get a driving licence. All you need to do is some back-seat driving — sit behind a driver and “watch carefully” what he does down a 100m low-traffic stretch.

Welcome to zen and the art of car driving tests where sitting quietly and watching carefully can get you a licence to kill on the chaotic streets of a city that does not care.

Getting behind the wheel in the presence of a motor vehicles inspector is a basic requirement to be eligible for a driving licence.

But on Wednesday, Metro was witness to a farce called the driving test where a trained driver was at the wheel, the candidates were in the back seat and the motor vehicles inspector was missing in action.

The farce played out on Penn Road, off Belvedere Road, where driving tests are conducted for the Alipore RTO (route transport office).

Every Wednesday afternoon, applicants congregate here to appear for a driving test in the presence of motor vehicle inspectors.

Wednesday the 28th was no different with the aspirants assembling from 11.30am. By 1pm, there were close to one hundred hoping to get a licence to drive a light motor vehicle (LMV).

The training cars from various motor training schools — Shib Lokenath, Ganguly, Mahamaya, Das, Hare Krishna and more — had been trundling in from noon. The candidates had queued up on either side of the road awaiting their turn behind the wheel.

There was no sign of any motor vehicles inspector but the drivers and officials of the driving schools suddenly shifted gears and revved into action. Documents were fished out from bags and candidates instructed to line up in order of their training schools.

Next step, candidates in batches of four were herded into the cars — none in the driver’s seats, all in the back seat. The wheel was taken by a representative of the driving school.

“Shouldn’t I drive?” asked one bewildered candidate.

“No,” came the curt reply from the 20-something driver. “You all carefully watch how I drive. Otatei kaaj hoye jabe (That will do the job),” he said, into the rear-view mirror.

Once the candidates were on board, the driver started the car and drove barely a hundred metres and then returned to the starting point. “All of you have successfully passed your driving test. You will get your driving licence,” he announced.

The procedure was repeated with clockwork precision and within 45 minutes all the candidates had “passed” their driving test.

Almost all without laying a hand on the wheel.

The few who did were put in the hot seat once those conducting the test realised that a Metro camera was at work.

A tall man in shades appeared from nowhere, checking the documents of the applicants and barking out instructions to the training school representatives. With the camera on him, he started questioning all the candidates on various aspects of driving.

A few of the remaining candidates were then guided to the steering wheel, with the inspector finally doing what he was supposed to from the start — taking up the seat next to the candidate.

But this was the last car for the day, and even if a few got to grab the wheel, the rest were still made to sit in the back.

When Metro tried speaking to the inspector, he got into the car of a driving school and left the spot in a hurry.

“I was shocked. I was expecting to at least drive the car to clear my driving test. No wonder the city streets are so dangerous,” said a candidate in her mid-20s.

Metro had in December 2007 exposed another aspect of the scam when this reporter had obtained a driving licence by paying Rs 3,500 and a pack of cigarettes to touts and officials at the Beltola public vehicles department without ever having driven a four-wheeler.

Do you have a licence-scam story to share? Tell ttmetro@abpmail.com