Shawshank Redemption

The Emperor's Grave

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They say that we should not envision our life in movies because they are fictitious. But what do you do when you use movies to cope with things? You accept them. You live in them and with them you grow and absorb all the messages in it like a sponge.

Shawshank redemption is a masterpiece for me for the same reason pizza is very popular in India. It is different and new. Now, I can write like a movie critic all day long but I want to write it in regards to the the images and the myths I related myself to.

The whole biblical myth of going to heaven for all the sins we have done, I mean in my case being re incarnated since I am Indian, is played on gigantic proportions. The prison is portrayed as being daily life, monogamy, and all things morally wrong with us…

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What Happened?

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The Emperor's Grave


In class we spoke about the difference between the eras when were talking about Beyonce. We spoke about one quote by two influential African American cultural icons.

The first icon is Malcolm X and his quote: “By any means necessary”. This quote represents the struggle of the African American people in the United States of America in the 20th century and how they have fought for ideals and values of racial justice and equality.

The second icon is Kanye West and his quote: “Buy any means necessary”. This quote represents the struggle of the African American people in the United States of America in the 21st century and how they cannot afford to buy material goods and the values that come with them.

As the professor said these two quotes in the heat of the discussion, he asked “what happened?” and this is my attempt at answering that seemingly rhetoric…

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The Musings of a Millennial

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The Emperor's Grave


This blog is dedicated to millennials. The fictional populous is supposedly the lazy generation and being a part of it makes this blog even more special. Spending a rather warm night overlooking the autumn Manhattan skyline with lights flickering in distant houses was quite an experience. But quite frankly it was also a little overwhelming. It felt like I was ten and lost without my mom holding my hand and carrying me. When you are ten you do not worry where your mom and for the matter of fact whichever relative is holding your hand will take you because you are ‘safe’. That is what I felt when I was gazing threw my millennial eyes at the old moon.

The moon is not old. I felt, I was looking at something which had been there all along, I just had to focus on it and leave my meditated attention span…

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In the train car,

I see faces,

I feel their loneliness,

Tiredness living in their souls,

Maybe it is not them who is lonely or tired,

Maybe it is me.

I am somebody,

Somebody made me,

Forged by perseverance,

I kept a low life,

Standing besides bus doors,

I begged for kindness,

Eyes drooped to estimate,

My low life,

I smiled at every passing,

Stranger because they all are in a hurry.

But where are you going?

My performance is waiting,

For you to make me feed,

As hope dangles in the hinges,

Of the bus door.

Am I poor for begging for money,

Or are they poor for not being kind? Where are you going?

You take and you take, try giving,

My richness dances in my surrender,

Beyond material grief, beyond monetary striving.

Vivid I sing for my stomach, but love is all I need,

Besides the bus doors,

I stand and beg for kindness, forget and forgive.

– Vrushank Nayak.



Riding on human waves, flow.

In and out,

Up and down,

Through the soul,

Through the heart,


I don’t have any lovers,

Only takers of the pieces,

Of myself I offer.

Weary looking feet stretch distance,

To the end but the journey is below,

Under the tar and above the lines,

Keep your face but tear your smile.

Revive the blows of your temple,

Feed on solace that lifts your worth.

But I need not utter much,

Lips crave the Indian,

But the weather shops cold,

Closed is the stomach,

For all the times that it snows.

Your thighs drip when I come near you,

Open your chest and let me breathe,

Keep your waist closer,

The markets are for the feast.

Open the air and let the pain in,

I have suffered from this,

Tomorrow is not the beginning.

Stuck in the frame of longing,

Leave your lovers dead,

We will meet on the street,

Of a city long gone to bed.

-Vrushank Nayak.

City Anxiety



Subway car seating,

Thinking of our past over and over,

Leaving with the bits and puzzling the freckles,

On the ground of the subway floor.

Stations kept going into the void, my thoughts sprang as I spoke to myself,

Ripping apart the sunshine, falling from the subway window.

Three lights kept reminding of a city,

I am no good with directions,

Which city do you live in?

The judge is coming,

Surrender in your subway car.

O, moving cart will you leave me,

At a place where I can find peace.

No failed suns and overbearing moons.

I keep these memories of you,

And your warm fingers sweep my hair, 50th street starings pass through my railings,

Why do you keep writing?




The summer heat was only cold for the schizophrenic.

Mouths kissing but souls sitting idle.

Leave me alone.

-Vrushank Nayak.

The Hills are listening.

Lately the skies are perishing under my optimism. The sun that once hid behind the planet now shines through the bedroom. The east, west, north and south are breaking down. The nostalgic greys are burning the blues and the softness of the piano is shouting more than the drums which are banging the walls of my mind. He has been trying to make a move, but days are spent in bodies which bare no resemblance to you and the ecstasy you brought. Every chord hits this longing that has made him yours and distance only makes it louder. I do not get it. He is losing his face in the mirror and questions his feelings because he has started finding truth in suffering. Hopeless, he has been finding recluse under the umbrella of your lies that you so well created with those kisses. Yet, he wants you over and over again as a drug as he falls asleep with another woman who’s body aches for his longing.

But, I am getting ahead of myself. He was not meant to be in these walls thinking about you. He was meant to be with random women listening to him talk about you. But instead you were seen in their faces, mocking every inch of his soul. I am losing my mind and the hills have ears, because they are listening.

-Vrushank Nayak.

The Father.

This confession is about my observations of a father. A father is such a different creature. The birth of social roles gave this creature its purpose. The male species of the human animal automatically assumes this position as soon as he moves into procreation. He fulfills the task at hand wonderfully because it is his purpose and calling but yet the other day I made a different discovery. He lacks emotional expression. Social roles have provided so less of tools to this father that they are almost walls. I do not mean this in the way the rhetoric of feminism functions, but I mean it on a human level. He struggles, he works, he sacrifices and he loves. Yet somehow he should not be uncertain and weak. But are those really a father weakness? or a human weakness? now, I understand that in a family dynamic depending on the culture and the part of the world you are born in factors this emotional expression of the father but there is a general pattern in the countries I have lived in. Heroism is the name of it. The father is this manifestation of that cultural hero. He is not only taught how to live in that philosophy but also taught how to teach it to his sons and his sons. Now, the reader reading this will certainly have an argument ready because of their well grounded ideas of macho-ism, and how this emotional garbage does apply to the male of the species . But the concept of macho-ism is a biological and behavioral trait. We need to run past those ways and arrive at the human. Because in the end emotional expression is a human trait, not male or female. Why reserve it for the female of the species? when we can all as humans move towards it as a collective.

-Vrushank Nayak.

Modern Times.

We live in world where our consciousness is driven by time and money has become god. The only fallacy with this is that there is an upsurge of fundamental greediness in human which has made survival the norm and animosity dictating that norm. We are as primitive as ever before but we just do not realize it. The concepts of time and standardization of education are killing human creativity, above all our ability to think for ourselves. Intelligence is becoming rare and mass produced degrees are seen as something useful. The petulant thing though is that these people keep saying that you should deviate from the norm, only then you will be creative. But the norms of society have become such shackles for ourselves that we cannot break from them and dogma, banality and boredom has taken its place. It is getting dark, though we have sunlight. We need a conscience revolution. Now.

-Vrushank Nayak.

The Night.

The night was young. Lights were flowing through the corners of the city. The wind was floating around, with notes of music piercing through the air. He put his head on her lap and closed his eyes which saw nothing but chaos. However, right in that moment, when her lips touched his forehead he experienced peace. He was in love. Felt like the chaos which he felt everyday was disintegrating into fragments and vaporizing into the thickness of the young night. He finally slept that night under the shimmer of the metropolis. Momentarily though. With her by his side and love embracing his intellect, he felt sure of himself.

She was just like the darkness he held inside of him, but she was warm. The gut experienced it with every treble of music as he lay his mind on her thighs, laying on that park bench. She was like a childhood river lost in all the living, paradoxical yet subtle, gentle in its presence. That moment was all that he needed, to remind him that the world indeed was a wonderful place to live in, even though melancholy surrounded it. He had fallen into the mighty.

-Vrushank Nayak.