The magic pen

Ashrafi Antia writes about a young girl’s journey to creative confidence.

Tapping her pen against the table, Asha sighed despondently. She was stuck on her creative writing assignment. “Perhaps your Maasi, who is an author and poet, can give you some tips,” her mother suggested.

So Asha went to her Maasi and told her she needed help to write an essay or poem titled ‘My Favourite Place’.

“Hmm,” said Maasi. “Which is your favourite place?” 

“Our garden,” replied Asha, smiling.

“Visualise it. What do you see? What do you like about it?” asked Maasi.

“The colourful flowers and shady trees,” replied Asha promptly.

“Now let’s play a game. I’ll give you a word, and you have to find words that rhyme with it. Let’s start with ‘flower’,” said Maasi.

“Umm… hour, power and shower,” replied Asha.

“Now, make a two-line rhyme with ‘flowers’,” Maasi urged.

“In the early morning hours, I stared at the garden flowers,” Asha replied.

“Good,” encouraged Maasi. “Now think of a colour and find rhyming words for it.”

“Red: bed, head, shed,” Asha chimed.

“How about trees?” asked Maasi. “Breeze… ease,” Asha responded.

“Now make a rhyme with trees,” said Maasi.

Asha thought and said, “The fruit trees  Swayed in the breeze.”

“What’s your favourite flower?” Maasi asked.

“Rose, which rhymes with nose,” Asha quipped chirpily.

“The scent of the rose, tickled my nose,” she rhymed, more confidently now.

“How does the garden make you feel?” Maasi enquired.

“I have to say, it brightened my day,” replied Asha, smiling.

“There, you’ve got the hang of it. Now put all your thoughts and ideas together in sequence, and your poem will fall into place,” advised Maasi.

So Asha wrote: In the early morning hours,
I stared at the garden flowers.
The fruit trees
Swayed in the breeze.
The scent of the rose
Tickled my nose.
I saw marigolds growing neatly in their bed,
In varying shades of yellow, orange and red.
I truly have to say,
They brightened my day!

“Voila!” Maasi exclaimed. “But what if you’re not there to help?” Asha whispered diffidently.

“Well then, I’ll give you my magic pen. It was given to me by my mother, the original storyteller in our family. When I write with it, the ideas just flow along with the ink onto paper. Here, it’s yours now. But be warned, if you don’t make the effort or put in the hard work, the magic pen won’t work,” declared Maasi.

Asha stared at the beautiful bottle-green fountain pen with a gold cap and nib in awe.

“Let’s try a different exercise now. Choose a picture from this old National Geographic magazine and describe it. Remember to use descriptive adjectives and phrases so that the reader can visualise what you’re describing. When you’re done, read what you’ve written to me. I shall close my eyes and see it in my mind’s eye through your words. Then, show me the picture, and if it’s very similar to what I imagined, you’ll have succeeded in painting the picture in my mind,” instructed Maasi.

Asha chose a picture of a caravan of camels walking across the desert, framed in the light of the setting sun. She thought about it and touched the magic pen to paper. The words flowed out of her, and the pen flew furiously, her thoughts spilling onto the sheet of paper. When she was satisfied, she read it out.

“The caravan of tired camels trudged through the desert’s stark terrain, broken only by the undulating sand dunes. Their soft, padded feet sank into the sand, but their footprints were soon swept over by the shifting sands. The orange orb of the setting sun brought a little relief from the scorching heat, as evening edged in with a faint breeze. The white robes of the old Bedouin leading the camels flapped gently as he wiped a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead with the back of his wrinkled hand. The bells on the camels’ necks tinkled, breaking the silence of the desert sands. Soon they would rest for the night and recoup.”

“Brilliant,” said Maasi. “I could see it all through your description. Show me the picture now. Full marks for your description,” she cheered, clapping in delight. “See, creative writing is not so difficult after all, and you’re really good at it too.”

“Thanks, Maasi. You made it really fun. Now I know I can do it,” beamed Asha.

Asha approached her assignments with a newfound zest and confidence. With the magic pen in her hand, she was never at a loss for words. She always took her magic pen to her exams. If she found she was stuck, she twirled her pen between her fingers, closed her eyes and focused on what she had read, and voila, she would recall the page in her mind and the answer would come to her. Her grades started improving too. Her English teacher was so impressed with her essays and assignments that she was made the editor of the school magazine.

When people praised her penmanship, Asha smiled, thinking of her magic pen, the secret to her success. Many years later, she thanked her Maasi, “Your magic pen worked wonders and truly helped me.”

Maasi confided, “The magic was within; the pen just helped bring it out. It was only a crutch to boost your confidence. I always believed in you, but the pen helped you believe in yourself. When you see someone else struggling, pass the magic pen on to them and watch it work its magic.”