There's a genie in my room
PAVITHRA SRINIVASAN
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All Manoj wanted was a magic pen. A pen that would help him write his exams well.
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There was a genie in his room. At first, Manoj didn't know about it. It never appeared when he was at his computer or play-station. Never when he did his homework. But books began to get misplaced. A glass was smashed. His watercolours went dry. And one day, he even found dried leaves in his room!
Then his favourite pen broke. The pen was an unconnected issue, but he knew he had to trap whoever was up to mischief. But right now he had to face his exams! He really had no time for anything else.
Maths and history were particularly worrisome. He wasn't a bad student — but he always grew panicky before exams. He would certainly fail. What would his parents say? What if he was forced to stay in the sixth standard? What if ...
"There's no point in just worrying yourself sick, you know."
Manoj jumped. There, on the top of his cupboard sat a small, brownish ball with two large horns and a single eye. He shrank back, terrified. "Who - what are you?"
"Your tenant. I've been living in your room for weeks."
"So you're the one who's been messing up stuff in my room!"
"I was just trying to adjust. I had no place to go to, you see. Stupid magician released me from a bottle; I gave him three wishes and then what did he do? Broke the bottle! Naturally, I left him. I saw your room."
Manoj had an idea. "Can you give me a ... a magic pen? A pen that will write me all the right answers in the exams. That way, I'll never fail!"
Striking a bargain
The genie eyed him warily.
"You did say you're my tenant. And I've lost my pen," Manoj continued. "You owe me, right?"
"Quite the businessman, aren't you? If only you gave as much attention to your studies ... "
Manoj flushed. "Just give me what I ask, ok?" "And do you help others out when they ask you?"
Manoj shrugged. "Nope. I have better things to do."
"To earn your magic pen, you'll have to ignore those `better things'." The genie shrugged. "My tenancy is subject to certain terms and conditions."
The next week saw a sea change in Manoj. He walked his polio-stricken classmate home from school every day. He gave his mother a beautiful greeting card. He did all his chores without a complaint. He was the picture of politeness and courtesy. The whole class and his family spoke about him. That evening, when he held out his hand for his magic pen, the genie turned away. "You did all this just for the pen. Sorry, it doesn't count."
Sunk in despair Manoj lay on the bed. What a waste!
Downstairs, the phone rang. His classmate wanted to come over — she needed help with her Algebra. Would he help? Please?
He wouldn't get the magic pen now. What was the point? Still, Manoj had got into the habit of helping — he may as well do it. Just this once.
As he struggled with her homework, he felt a spark of satisfaction. This wasn't bad. He actually knew the sums, the formulae. And he liked working with someone else. It was fun. It made him feel good. When he went upstairs that night, he saw a gleaming pen on his table. With a note: "Now ... you've earned this pen. Good luck. - G." Manoj smiled. The pen gleamed — sleek and gold. He took up a Geometry theorem. It wrote the perfect answer. Yes!
He placed the pen carefully in his drawer and locked it.
He never did use the pen. Ever.
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