What has been your biggest wish?
What would you consider as the one goal that if you reach it, would dwarf all other accomplishments of your life?
What scenario do you envision which you would say is a dream come true for you?
These are very subjective questions and naturally, every one of you would have a different answer to them. As a writer, I have always dreamt of being the best author of my time and possibly for generations to come. As they say, no harm in dreaming big.
As of now, I try to write to the best of my abilities – penning down my thoughts on whatever idea comes to my mind on a particular day. I may be writing a blog one day, a story the next. I sometimes indulge in writing a poem or two as well. On some days, the words flow out on paper and I write well. On others, it’s a struggle to complete a single meaningful sentence. Although, one thing that I do make sure of, is to sit at my desk daily and write – never mind if it’s a thousand words or just one random thought.
On one such fateful day, I kept staring at the white screen till my eyes ached, but could not think of anything that would wipe off the smirk that I am sure would have been on the blank page had it been a face. I remember thinking how wonderful it would be to have a Genie at my service a-la Aladdin. I could then just command him to fulfill my wish of being the best writer the world had ever seen. At least I would not have to suffer the embarrassment of having an unwritten page in front of me for hours. I would no longer have to tear my hair apart for want of the perfect word to convey the exact feeling I wanted. No need for sleepless nights researching a subject through multiple sources, books and references only to write one authentic, truthful statement. I would then surely be spared of the torture of the editing sessions that never seem to end. No glum evenings bashing myself up for yet another rejection slip from a publishing house. One rub of a lamp, one wish, and voila – I would become the most celebrated author on the planet.
Just as I had this thought, I kicked myself for being a lazy wish-all. This is the real world, not the one from the Arabian Nights or the imaginary one dreamt up by Walt Disney. If ever I had to become a writer of note, I would have to do it the hard way, the right way, slogging it out, improving bit-by-bit and by bettering my words – not by wishing for some magic spell from a Genie of yore.
I smacked myself on the head, took off for a breath of fresh air, splashed my face with some cold water and got back to my writing space with a determination to write – not just dream about genies and magic.
Planting myself firmly in my chair, just as I moved my mouse to let the screen out of its sleep, the Genie I was thinking about just a while back appeared before me in his full grandeur. As I rolled my chair away from the screen in a daze, barely managing to stay in it, I saw a larger than life physique bathed in a glowing bluish aura. A disproportionate upper body, legs that seemed to have been added as an afterthought, a cheerful face with eyes the size of snooker balls, a pony-tail serving as a reminder of what may have been long locks of black hair some millennia ago and a well maintained wily goatee. I couldn’t place a finger on it yet, but I was sure that something wasn’t quite right. I blinked my eyes twice and pinched myself to make sure I was not dreaming. I wasn’t. The Genie was here – in the flesh – or perhaps more to the point – in the spirit – right at my desk.
After a roaring yet somehow innocent bout of laughter, the Genie resized himself from being a giant to a miniature that now sat atop my writing pad next to my table calendar. He could see the amazement in my eyes. His appearance here was obviously the stuff of dreams for me. But my reaction was one he had surely seen countless number of times. After all, he had been a genie since ages. He just sat there, turning my writing pad into a makeshift sofa with his feet spread out on the desk itself.
“So… you want to be the best writer ever, is it?” he inquired of me.
The innocence in his tone of voice was not complemented by the sly grin on his face or the look that said, ‘I know you too well.’
“Y…Yy… Yyyee… Yes. Is there something wrong in wishing so?”
I don’t know how these words slipped out of my mouth or how I gathered the courage to roll my chair back, closer to my writing desk. Maybe it was because of the fact that there wasn’t anything wrong with the question per se. Also, the Genie was now the size of my palm, not the one towering over me just moments ago. But I was still sitting with my eyes trained squarely at the bluish miniature, ears alert to pick up any change in the ambient sound, the balls of my feet off the ground, hands tensed – ready to react to – to what? I didn’t know yet. I was wary of the Genie. Was he the same jolly, happy-go-lucky, always there when you needed him one from the tale of Aladdin and Jasmine or some cruel, sadistic impostor out to seek pleasure in the pain of us mere mortals? One can never be sure about someone’s true intentions just from their appearance even if they are humans – much less, a creature of magic.
I was yet to settle the debate raging in my mind when he replied,
“Nothing wrong about making a wish – No…”
“Why do I feel you have something more to say?”
“Me? Oh… I have a lot of things to say. The question is…”, leaning closer and blowing his face up so that those snooker balls were right in front of my now bulging eyes, he whispered ever so slightly, “Do you wish to listen to me?”
(….. to be continued)
You can read what happens next here:My Wish… His Command? (Part 2)
Tarkash 