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Finding magic at Hogwarts: How a wand rekindled my writer’s spirit

DR. MANJIRI PRABHU*

“Don’t buy it,” my good friend Sarita admonished me. “It’s just a stick and it’s all a marketing gimmick.”

I agreed with her even as I moved a fond hand over the smooth, wooden wands, embedded royally on black velvet. The names in embossed gold on the long, rectangular boxes were all too familiar and appealing – Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and many more.

Sarita was right, of course. It was childish and silly wanting to possess a wand, which was a planned marketing strategy of the franchise. Common sense prevailed…

Universal Studios, L.A.

It was a surreal world—The Wizarding World of Harry Potter—with the snow-topped grey slate spires of the street shops in Hogsmeade village, like pointed Wizard hats, and the magnificent Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry looming up ahead.

Having lived with Harry Potter through the novels, it was like stepping into a familiar world that had gripped my reader’s and author’s imagination for years. The village, Hogwarts school, the characters that zipped in and out of the stores, the replication of some of the scenes on the streets, the butterbeer, the sweet shops, and shops selling broomsticks amongst innumerable other items – all came startlingly alive. The wand shop, with wands lined from the ceiling to the floor, aptly illuminated in a surrealistic glow, went through an elaborate demonstration of how a wand chooses its owner. A life-like Dobby, the white owls, the sorting hats, and an array of magical items from the books and the films were all ever so fascinating!

The grand entrance of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry welcomed you into the depths of the castle. The dark, dingy passages led you to Dumbledore’s office, past the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and the Gryffindor common room, and I could even spot the Sorting Hat muttering on the wall. I got sucked into the darkness and began to experience Harry’s school life.

But it was the Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey ride inside the Hogwarts castle that made my day. It took us on a broomstick, zipping through the sky over the Hogwarts grounds with Harry, battling demons, fire-breathing dragons, death eaters, and magic spells, and finally emerging victorious in the fight for good against evil. Most importantly, being praised by Dumbledore as we exited the exhilarating ride brought a zing of victory.

For the last few months, I had been going through a ‘phase’ which almost every writer probably goes through at least once in their lifetime. I had just visited an annual exhibition in Pune, where books were sold by the kilo. Seeing all those books, in scattered piles, in varying states of neglect, had set a ball of thoughts rolling on an already fertile field of frustration! So many books, so few readers… and then began the inevitable self-questioning. The why and how… the ‘need I’? Why was I even writing when there were already hundreds of books being whipped out, year after year, ultimately ending up in a fateful pile of trash, to be sold for a pitiful sum per kilo? Questions that kept churning without any remarkably convincing answers.

And it was in this state of mind that we visited Universal Studios on a beautiful sunny morning. The moment I stepped into that magical world, sheer joy took over. It was an unforgettable day in my life. A day which showed me that pure, unadulterated happiness exists. That age is no bar for this wild pleasure. That belief and joy are two sides of the same coin if you only allow yourself to recognize it. As I moved from one adapted world to another, masterful creations of scenes and characters from books and films that established a credible, fairy-enchanted world, I got willfully and child-likely immersed in it all. I got in touch with ‘me’. As did everyone around me – living a slice of imagination in reality that lifted you off from the mundane and spirited you into a realm of dreams – except the dreams were more real than reality.

I looked around me with a sense of wonderment. Teams of people, all fans of the creative world, soaking in the recreation of their imagination. Either reliving their childhood or rejuvenating their energies in the most marvelous way possible. Forgetting their worries, rituals, jobs, commitments, and being reborn at various levels. And all this was possible because someone, somewhere had the inspiration, energy, and dedication to come up with an idea and write out a story. Writers wrote from their imagination, put in their sweat and life into creating an alternate world for readers and what I like to call a ‘temporary reality’. Whether the temporary reality was a story of sweet or tragic love, of socio-political awareness, of personal or spiritual transformation, or filled with atrocious audacities and suggestions – each story touches someone’s heart somewhere, one day – healing, inspiring, disturbing, prodding into thought, or offering hope.

It was a visit to Universal Studios where my troubling thoughts of the book exhibition were rewarded with some revelations, offering the one and only answer to my question – Why write books? Writers are important – because from their corner of imagination and isolation, they produce joy, thrills, and hope, and whether one person reads their book or many, the hope snowballs across hearts. Making a difference…

As we finally headed out of the Wizarding World, my steps were heavy. I felt something missing. We were almost by the Hogwarts Express stationed by the entrance when I halted. Sarita glanced at me exasperated. She knew. I wheeled around and bee-lined to the wand-selling store. Awaiting my turn in the long queue, I did my best to explain why I simply had to buy Hermione’s magic wand for myself. I knew it was just a wooden stick. It wasn’t really a ‘magical’ wand. But that wand, in a way, represented the author in me, represented everything I believed in and strived to achieve – a place in the hearts of readers. And in that sense, it was indeed magical.

Today when I see the wand in my house and my fingers curl around its wooden, intricately carved body, I feel its magic, but better still, I feel my own magic.


Cover photo: The author at Hogwarts Castle at Universal Studios, Los Angeles. Image designed on Canva.

*Dr. Manjiri Prabhu is an award-winning international author, short filmmaker, and the curator & founder/director of two international festivals. 

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