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Aneesa Azeez

@aneesara_murphy

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Inquilab Zindabad.
‘‘വിഷാദമധുരമായ മോഹനകാവ്യം’’

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മനുഷ്യർക്ക് ജീവിച്ചാൽ മാത്രം പോരാ. ആവുന്നതെല്ലാം അവരുടെ അധീനതയിൽ വരുത്തണം. എല്ലാത്തിന്റെയും അവകാശികൾ ആവണം. സാമ്രാജ്യങ്ങൾ വെട്ടിപിടിക്കുന്നത് മുതൽ ഒരു മേൽക്കൂരക്ക്‌ താഴെ ഒന്നിച്ചു ജീവിക്കുന്നവരുടെ മേൽ ഉടമസ്ഥാവകാശം വരെ വേണം.

എന്നാൽ എനിക്ക് ആരുടെയും പ്രോപ്പർട്ടി ആവണ്ടെങ്കിലോ? മറ്റൊരാളുടെ ജീവിതം കണ്ട്രോൾ ചെയ്യുന്നത്തിൽ സുഖം കണ്ടെത്തുന്നവരെ നമുക്ക് പറഞ്ഞു മനസിലാക്കാൻ ഒന്നും പറ്റൂലല്ലോ. അങ്ങനെ എങ്കിൽ ഈ സൊ കാൾഡ് ഉടമസ്ഥന്റെ ചങ്ങല പൊട്ടിക്കൽ അല്ലാതെ വേറെ മാർഗമൊന്നുമില്ല. ഇത് ഉടമസ്ഥനെ വല്ലാണ്ട് ആസ്വസ്ഥാനാക്കുന്നു. അയാൾ എന്റെ മേൽ കൂടുതൽ അധിപത്യം സ്ഥാപിക്കാൻ ശ്രമിക്കുന്നു. അപ്പോൾ സർവശക്തിയും ഇടുത്തു ആ ചങ്ങല പൊട്ടിക്കാൻ ഞാനും.

ഒരു ദിവസം ആ ചങ്ങല പൊട്ടും. പൊട്ടിയ ചങ്ങലയുടെ കണികളേണ്ടി ഞാൻ ഓടും. ദൂരേക്ക് ഓടും. ആ കരങ്ങൾക്ക് എന്നെ തേടിപിടിക്കാൻ ആവാത്ത വിധം ദൂരേക്ക്, ഒരിടത്തും നിൽക്കാതെ, തിരിഞ്ഞു നോക്കാതെ ഞാൻ ഓടും.

അന്ന് വര്ഷങ്ങളോളം ചങ്ങളായെന്തിയതിന്റെ വ്രണം എന്റെ മേൽ ഉണ്ടാകാം. ആ ചങ്ങലയുടെ അവശിഷ്ടം ഉപേക്ഷിച്ചാൽ ആ മുറിവ് ഉണങ്ങിയേക്കാം. പക്ഷെ ഞാനത് ഉപേക്ഷിക്കുമോ? ചങ്ങല ഉണ്ടെങ്കിലും ഇല്ലെങ്കിലും അവയുടെ കിലുക്കം എന്റെ ചെവിയിൽ എന്നും മുഴങ്ങും. ഓടുമ്പോഴും, നിൽക്കുമ്പോഴും, ഉറങ്ങുമ്പോഴും, എപ്പോളും...

എന്നാലും ഉടമസ്ഥൻ ഇല്ലാതെ ഒരുനാൾ ഞാൻ ജീവിക്കും. ഇത് വെറും സ്വപ്നമോ,
വരാനിരിക്കുന്ന ഒരു ദിവസത്തിന്റെ യഥാർഥ്യമോ?അറിയൂല...
എന്താണേലും ചങ്ങലയുടെ നീളം ഒന്ന് അളക്കാം,
പിന്നെ ഒന്നു വലിച്ചു നോക്കാം, പൊട്ടുമായിരിക്കും,
പൊട്ടുമ്പോൾ ഓടിയും നോക്കാം...
ഒപ്പം ഒരിക്കലും മറ്റാരെയും ചങ്ങലയിൽ ബന്ധിപിച്ച്‌
ഉടമസ്ഥൻ കളിക്കാത്തിരിക്കാനും നോക്കാം.
മനുഷ്യനല്ലേ, അത്യാഗ്രഹിയല്ലേ , നോക്കാനല്ലേ ആവൂ.
നോക്കാം... by @aneesara_murphy

Why do I feel so old, so worn out, at such a young age?
It feels as though I have lived a thousand lives. I didn't move through years collecting milestones. I didn't just read books. I inhabited them.

Once, I was a student at Hogwarts. At some other time I was Rose Hathaway, reckless, relentless, getting things done even when the world resisted. Then I reached for Scarlett O’Hara and held on to her stubborn survival. I finish my days only because Scarlett lives in me still, whispering,“After all, tomorrow is another day.”
Somewhere along the way, anger found me. Not the loud kind, but the slow-burning rage against systemic oppression and carefully preserved hierarchies. I poured that anger into the words of K. R. Meera. Each time patriarchy tried to weigh me down, I reminded myself, respect strength, never power.

With Madhavikutty, I stepped into a dressing room and began to undress, not just my body, but my self. Layer by layer, certainty by certainty, until looking at myself became unbearable. Beneath flesh, blood, and soul, there was only emptiness. I did not run from it. I accepted it. And from that emptiness, I began again,holding black and grey, white and red, blue and everything in between.
With Basheer, I learned how to love. I lived and relived, romanticised even the ordinary. I escaped into other worlds with Keshavan Nair and Saramma. I blushed easily, wrote love letters, dreamed without shame, and believed that at least once in a lifetime, every human being deserves to know love.

Then Anuragathinte Dinangal broke my heart open. Along with Basheer, I became a 'vishada madhura mohanakavyam'. I became Savithri Devi and Basheer at once, loving and losing, longing and enduring. Until then, heartbreak felt logical, like a problem waiting to be solved. I learned, instead, that some wounds are meant only to be carried.

And in the middle of all this, I found Arundhati Roy, who was not Christian enough, not Hindu enough, not communist enough, never enough of anything the world demands, and exactly enough of herself. I became her comrade. Through Estha and Rahel, I learned to look at the world with careful eyes. I was..

📸@_.althaffaisal_ by @aneesara_murphy

~goddess of small things

"That's what careless words do. They make people love you a little less."

-Arundhati Roy by @aneesara_murphy

कोई और दिन. by @aneesara_murphy

"ഹെഡാ... ഇതൊരു വിഷാദമധുരമായ മോഹന കാവ്യമാണല്ലോ..."

അനുരാഗത്തിന്റെ ദിനങ്ങൾ | ബഷീർ by @aneesara_murphy

Written on 29 August 2026. by @aneesara_murphy

Meet Aneesa, our new Lead Teacher in Manipur.

Aneesa often says that books have allowed her to live a thousand different lives. Stories have shaped her curiosity, helped her understand different perspectives and strengthened the empathy with which she approaches people and communities.

Among friends, she is also known as “Murphy,” a nickname inspired by her teenage fascination with Interstellar and Murphy’s Law.

As Aneesa steps into this journey with an open mind and a sincere desire to keep growing, we are delighted to welcome her to the Sunbird Trust family and look forward to the warmth, reflection and perspective she brings with her.

#SunbirdTrust #MeetAneesa #LeadTeacher #Manipur #Education #TeachersOfIndia #TeachingJourney #EducationForAll #GrassrootsEducation #CommunityDevelopment #Empathy #PowerOfBooks #LifelongLearning #TeacherLife #SocialImpact #LearningTogether #InclusiveEducation by @aneesara_murphy

கன்னத்தில் முத்தமிட்டால்🤍 by @aneesara_murphy

An Eulogy to My Previous Life

I, the daughter of my parents, the granddaughter of my grandparents, a member of the big family I was born into, the member of society I was supposed to be, the woman I was expected to become, am no more.

I had to kill her.

"Our strategy should be not only to confront empire, but to lay siege to it. To deprive it of oxygen. To shame it. To mock it. With our art, our music, our literature, our stubbornness, our joy, our brilliance, our sheer relentlessness – and our ability to tell our own stories. Stories that are different from the ones we're being brainwashed to believe."

I had to do it.

I had to burn in my own fire.

I had to endure the pain and mourn the losses.

I had to let the old self turn to ash.

Only then could I be reborn, carrying all my past within me, while making space for a new world to arrive.

"Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing."

So if anyone is worried about the little bindi on my forehead, the clothes I choose to wear, the work I choose to do, the words I speak, the way I smile, the opinions I hold, or the roads I choose to walk, let it be.

If my choices offend you, let that be too.

But don't dress your discomfort up as care.

Because I am no longer just my parents' daughter. I am no longer the person you think I should be. I was forced to leave that version behind because the real me cannot live inside the person you want me to be.

I had to kill her.

To break the tight chains you wrapped around me.

The marks of those chains will stay with me forever. I will remember all of you whenever I look at them.

But I will not stay chained.

I will soar high.

I had to endure losses.

I had to lose an identity and everything I was born into.

It could have been easier if I could gracefully embrace both the person I was born as and the person I had grown into.

But you made it impossible by insisting they could not exist together.

And this is not only for me.

This is for every woman trapped in... by @aneesara_murphy

Art is revolution.
I’ve always believed that the most powerful way to protest, to communicate, to show support - to raise our voice, is through art. Books, movies, theatre… they reach people in ways nothing else can.
And I’ve always been a little jealous of creators. Not just the ones I’ve seen on big screens, but also the ones who just sit with their stories for hours, letting them linger in the air, shaping worlds through half-finished sentences, pauses, and passing thoughts… like stories slowly taking form in smoke. The kind of people who can build entire worlds and make others feel something real.
Theatre always pulled me in. It’s loud with expression, strong with opinions, and it reaches people in a way that stays. But I never thought I could belong there. Acting wasn’t my thing, and directing felt like something meant for someone else.
Until my little kids changed everything, with “The Land of Hojoborolo.”
To others, it might have looked like a simple skit. But for me and for my 26 kids, it was so much more.
It was our first.
We wrote the script together.We argued, laughed, changed things, and wrote again.We choreographed.We improvised.We sat in circles, practicing dialogues, just like the behind-the-scenes moments I used to watch and quietly wish I was part of.
We made costumes from scratch.We did our own makeup.We figured things out as we went.
And most importantly, everyone showed up.
All 26 of them.
I don’t remember many schools where every single child gets to be part of something like this. It’s usually reserved for the “best,” the most confident, the ones who already know how to shine.
But in my class - everyone was an actor.
Every single one of them had a place, a voice, a moment.
Maybe I was just lucky to have such expressive, fearless little humans.So yes… I think I was a very lucky director.
Hojoborolo is a magical, slightly chaotic, beautifully weird land, just like our classroom.Everything is the opposite here. The conventional doesn’t exist.Crows love sweets. Tigers eat curd rice. The greatest scientist forgets what he discovered.
Flaws are magnified and somehow, celebrated.It might look strange from the outside.But inside… it make by @aneesara_murphy

A losing battle...
കീറിമുറിച്ചാൽ ലോകം സുന്ദരിയാണെങ്കിലും, കണ്ടിരിക്കാൻ ബുദ്ധിമുട്ടാണ്. by @aneesara_murphy

It’s not romanticizing or anything. Just something I’ve slowly come to notice.

I never liked wearing flower garlands growing up. But now, on some days, I actually look forward to wearing one that matches my saree. I even stop to buy them when I am in a rush or running late to school. Somewhere along the way, I realized I am now one among them.

When I first came to Chennai as a visitor, I remember being surprised to see so many women sitting at street corners in the evenings making garlands. One moment I clearly remember is seeing a grandmother on the metro quietly stringing jasmine, placing it on her granddaughter’s hair, and then starting another as the train moved. I just watched with curiosity.

Over time, as I became a Chennaite, this turned into a daily and comforting sight. It is simply part of life here.

Here, flowers are made for everything. For gods, for politicians, for functions, for braids, for homes, for small things and big things. Somewhere in between all this, the act has become so normal that we hardly notice it.

I see women making garlands on buses while heading home. Flower akkas sit on pavements with tables full of beautiful flowers, hands constantly moving even in the middle of all the traffic and noise. They are usually not looking at phones or distracting themselves, just quietly doing their work.

There is something very admirable about how many of these women have found their own way, being independent with so much grace. They are not waiting for opportunities. They create their own. And honestly, it feels like a beautiful way of living.

Sometimes I wonder if I enjoy wearing garlands now not just because the flowers are pretty, but because I have started loving this way of living and existing.

Many days, an akka will stop me and tuck a strand into my hair, do that small knuckle knock to ward off the evil eye, and say it matches my saree. Sometimes they do not even take the money, even if I insist. Maybe it is just their way of saying they think I look nice. Just a brief crossing of lives..

When I think of Chennai, I know I will remember these scenes without trying too hard. The women, the flowers and the calm in the chaos... by @aneesara_murphy