Skip to main content

Trapped in Pandora’s Shadows

Anjana Alphons George


I wanted this to be a guest post from a former student. However, getting this poem from Anjana Alphons George wasn’t quite easy. So this is going to be a hybrid of the guest and the host coming together like the waves and the intertidal zone in the ocean.

“I’ve become your fan,” I said to Anjana. She was in grade 10. I wasn’t teaching her since my classes were confined to grades 11 and 12. It was a few years back. Anjana had delivered a speech in the weekly morning assembly. Her speech was entirely different from all the speeches of students I had ever listened to. It sounded impromptu. It carried feelings from the heart. Convictions, rather. It was motivational. Inspiring. It moved goosebumps on my skin. “Your speech was splendid,” I told her when I met her on the corridor later in the day.

She became my student in grades 11 and 12 and I watched her grow up into intellectual and emotional maturity.

When I asked her to write a guest post on my blog, I had that speech of hers in mind. I wanted her to write a motivational piece based on her college experiences. Well, she gave me a poem. I bring to you, dear reader, that poem. You judge it and life (and what life does to people) for yourself.

I am moved to reflect on what life does to people who have immense potential, who had infinite positivity. I don’t know how much of the poem is personal and how much of it is imaginative or imaginary. I leave that to you, reader, to decipher.

I have decided to leave the profession of teaching at the end of the current academic session, for various reasons. But I want to get some of my old precious disciples to share with us all their experiences of growing up. My request to Anjana was motivated by that desire. Of an aging teacher who has fond memories of certain classrooms. I hope to bring more of my old students here in days ahead.

Though I requested Anjana to give me a brief self-introduction, she didn’t. So I have introduced her to you as I think it best. Now, over to her.

A moment more, please.

I was moved by the trauma and the emotional scars hinted at in Anjana’s lines. Do/Can we grow beyond the terrifying experiences of life or do they become an inseparable part of us? What made this young poet, who was a promising motivational guru, write such verse? I would like to probe more. Wouldn’t you, if you were in my place?

Over to Anjana… Her poem which was untitled… in spite of my reminder… So I titled it…

 

Trapped in Pandora’s Shadows

Does one grow out of all the terrifying
experiences, one had to survive?


Some that shatter people,
Rendering them into walking corpses,
Just waiting for the day of burial.


One sheds tears at birth,

Evidence of life, they say.

Then you grow up

And the world gifts its Pandora's box.
It swallows you to the depths of fears and tears.
And now those tears water the seeds of misery and fright.


Humans move on, they said,
Maybe from places to places I guess,
Is there any assurance,
That they can fall asleep in peace,
Without being terrified,
That they will be forever locked in the Pandora's box,
With no sense of expression,
As they are only familiar with apathy?

Comments

  1. Hari Om
    My word, the poet is still alive in Anjana... But life has stuck its spears in. That beautiful young lady in the photo smiles upon the world, swallowing the woes, then regurgitating them in this profound way. Thank you for sharing this talent! YAM xx

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. First of all, thank you Yamini for your insightful understanding of this post. I will bring Anjana in this space again with even more sparkle in her lines.

      Delete
  2. May the poems help her heal.Her words reflect the pain of surviving trauma.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. She tells me she's writing about the trauma of one of her teachers. Let all trauma be healed. And I love someone who has such empathy.

      Delete
  3. Yes... Anjana's, poem is a regurgitation. As I told you once,, humans are the only beings, perhaps, gifted with hindsight, as well as Apprehension and not really, Comprehension! Just the other day, a friend enlightened me during the Seminar on Hope that the Pandora's box contained not only a cluster of evils, but also Hope, who was pleading with Pandora, to let her out.... And she was let out... Let us unlessh Hope, like Anjana is doing in the poem... Both Tear-filled Scars and Hope-filled Healing...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Indeed, the last item in Pandora's Box was hope, as Camus said famously. I could sense that hope in Anjana as she spoke to me this evening. The motivational guru in her will emerge soon, I'm sure.

      Delete
  4. My niece -in-law's WhatsApp status reads something like those experiences which do not kill make you stronger. I am certain Anjana's experiences will make her more mature and hard to bend and crack.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Anjana will come back in this space sooner than later with one of her best motivational pieces.

      Delete
  5. ഓരോ വരികളിലും തുളുമ്പുന്ന ആ യുവതിയുടെ നിലവിളി ഏതൊരു വായനക്കാരന്റെനയും മനസ്സിൽ തറക്കുന്ന ഒന്നാണ്… മനുഷ്യൻ എക്കാലവും തന്റെ ഉള്ളിൽ അടക്കിവയ്ക്കുന്ന ദുഖത്തെ ഇത്ര മനോഹരമായി അവതരിപ്പിച്ച ഒരു കവിത ഇക്കാലയളവിൽ വായിക്കാൻ സാധിച്ചിട്ടില്ല… ഇനിയും വരികളുടെ ഈ ലോകത്തു ഉയർന്നു പറക്കാൻ അഞ്ജനക്കു സാധിക്കട്ടെ…

    ReplyDelete
  6. It was nice that she was able to write something for you. I think there's something about the college years that leads one to write a lot of poetry.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. College makes people particularly creative. A quantum leap from school.

      Delete
  7. Who can say that a person with such a gorgeous smile understands pain at this level ! I hope she conquers her demons with ease and may poetry help her in this endeavour.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. She was placing herself in another person's shoes, she told me later.

      Delete
  8. What a powerful introduction and poem! It’s incredible how Anjana has captured such profound emotions and reflections on the impact of life’s challenges. The imagery of Pandora’s box as a metaphor for our fears and experiences is striking. It really resonates with the idea that while we may move on physically, the emotional scars can linger. This hybrid piece of your voices beautifully illustrates the connection between teacher and student, showing how growth and maturity can emerge from shared experiences.

    Thank you for sharing Anjana’s poignant words with us. I look forward to more contributions from your former students!

    Read my new blog post: https://www.melodyjacob.com/2024/10/the-social-media-trap-of-judging-relationships-by-one-sided-narratives.html

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Glad to hear such words of appreciation, dear Melody.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

Florentino’s Many Loves

Florentino Ariza has had 622 serious relationships (combo pack with sex) apart from numerous fleeting liaisons before he is able to embrace the only woman whom he loved with all his heart and soul. And that embrace happens “after a long and troubled love affair” that lasted 51 years, 9 months, and 4 days. Florentino is in his late 70s when he is able to behold, and hold as well, the very body of his beloved Fermina, who is just a few years younger than him. She now stands before him with her wrinkled shoulders, sagged breasts, and flabby skin that is as pale and cold as a frog’s. It is the culmination of a long, very long, wait as far as Florentino is concerned, the end of his passionate quest for his holy grail. “I’ve remained a virgin for you,” he says. All those 622 and more women whose details filled the 25 diaries that he kept writing with meticulous devotion have now vanished into thin air. They mean nothing now that he has reached where he longed to reach all his life. The

Unromantic Men

Romance is a tenderness of the heart. That is disappearing even from the movies. Tenderness of heart is not a virtue anymore; it is a weakness. Who is an ideal man in today’s world? Shakespeare’s Romeo and Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay’s Devdas would be considered as fools in today’s world in which the wealthiest individuals appear on elite lists, ‘strong’ leaders are hailed as nationalist heroes, and success is equated with anything other than traditional virtues. The protagonist of Colleen McCullough’s 1977 novel, The Thorn Birds [which sold more than 33 million copies], is torn between his idealism and his natural weaknesses as a human being. Ralph de Bricassart is a young Catholic priest who is sent on a kind of punishment-appointment to a remote rural area of Australia where the Cleary family arrives from New Zealand in 1921 to take care of the enormous estate of Mary Carson who is Paddy Cleary’s own sister. Meggy Cleary is the only daughter of Paddy and Fiona who have eight so

Yesterday

With students of Carmel Margaret, are you grieving / Over Goldengrove unleaving…? It was one of my first days in the eleventh class of Carmel Public School in Kerala, the last school of my teaching career. One girl, whose name was not Margaret, was in the class looking extremely melancholy. I had noticed her for a few days. I didn’t know how to put the matter over to her. I had already told the students that a smiling face was a rule in the English class. Since Margaret didn’t comply, I chose to drag Hopkins in. I replaced the name of Margaret with the girl’s actual name, however, when I quoted the lines. Margaret is a little girl in the Hopkins poem. Looking at autumn’s falling leaves, Margaret is saddened by the fact of life’s inevitable degeneration. The leaves have to turn yellow and eventually fall. And decay. The poet tells her that she has no choice but accept certain inevitabilities of life. Sorrow is our legacy, Margaret , I said to Margaret’s alter ego in my class. Let

Octlantis

I was reading an essay on octopuses when friend John walked in. When he is bored of his usual activities – babysitting and gardening – he would come over. Politics was the favourite concern of our conversations. We discussed politics so earnestly that any observer might think that we were running the world through the politicians quite like the gods running it through their devotees. “Octopuses are quite queer creatures,” I said. The essay I was reading had got all my attention. Moreover, I was getting bored of politics which is irredeemable anyway. “They have too many brains and a lot of hearts.” “That’s queer indeed,” John agreed. “Each arm has a mind of its own. Two-thirds of an octopus’s neurons are found in their arms. The arms can taste, touch, feel and act on their own without any input from the brain.” “They are quite like our politicians,” John observed. Everything is linked to politics in John’s mind. I was impressed with his analogy, however. “Perhaps, you’re r