Georgia Tech's Hullabaloo
I rarely look at the local newspaper, Atlanta Journal Constitution. But today, when I did so, an article on a federal civil rights lawsuit against "speech codes" at Georgia Tech (the university I attend) caught by attention. The lawsuit was filed by Alliance Defense Fund on the behalf of two "conservative" (i.e., College Republican) students, and claims that "Tech actively censors disfavored expression on campus and that the Tech environment squelches First Amendment freedoms through policies outlined in the Student Code of Conduct and the Housing Community Guide"*.
In other words, these noble crusaders for free speech want to express, freely without censure, their contempt for gays, feminists, and other ideological enemies. And this week a Federal judge ruled that Tech has to get rid of these pesky housing codes, which prevent these "Godly" students from, for example, outlining in graphic detail the horrors their imagined version of Hell that await "sodomites". I for one think the judge is right; any kind of speech should be allowed even if it is driven by prejudice and malice**. Let the mudslinging games begin. These folks (by the way, I wonder, why are they hiding out at Tech battling "sodomites" instead of fighting in the Chosen One's Mess-o-potamian "Crusade"? Do they want me point them to the Tech ROTC?) should be made welcome, so that they can bring their "crosses" to burn in the university. And to counter this, I would suggest to their opponents that they screen or enact scenes from Monty Python's "Life of Brian".
*Ref: Technique’s article **I am an Edward Abbey type libertarian when it comes to free speech issues; no pussyfooting for me. Meanwhile will you upright citizens on the behalf of an alien (yours truely) let FCC know that it shouldn't regulate/ fine wardrobe malfunctions, and bleeped words like "fuck" over as illogical Flawell-ian rants?!
My Daily Notes
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A Meeting By The River
We meet by the river, your hair dripping wet
Because of the rain which has been falling all day.
The river’s rippled skin splits Your face when you lean over And shake your head to and fro, A happy puppy with your easy smile.
How have you arrived here? Is it because of gravity that propels Everything fluid to a river? You flow ceaselessly now.
Half submerged in the water, You are the river Carving its name on the rocks. And I am one of the edged pebbles You gently smoothen.
The grass on the bank bends Towards your body in the rain. My head has woven a nest Out of that grass which laps Your curved lap. It is raining, As you bend over my head Obliterating the world.
I wonder: Where do you end? Where does the river begin?
Note The music playing in my head as I was scribbiling the lines above was the lovely Vishwa Mohan Bhatt & Ry Cooder's album, with the same title as this poem.
My Poems
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August 15th
I almost forgot what day it was today, until I read this really lovely post by K on her Indian Independence Day memories. She writes:
"The best year was the one where I got to be Jhansi ki Rani. I got my own green sari, heaps of fake pearl necklaces, a sword (!!!), a baby doll, and my very own chorus. The chorus was amazing, I on the other hand wasn't. I forgot to do the sword swinging thing at the right time and the song was almost over when I finally understood what my teachers were hissing about. I decided to swing the sword during the sad bit of the song. And no, it wasn't as dramatic as one would have hoped."
Since such dramatic possibilities have been too few in my childhood and youth (I suppose this early drama deprivation partly explains why I blindly plow into red flag waving, skull & bones painted tragik drama filled relationships now?), the only Independence Day memory I have is one from third grade. On that glorious morning, I went to school carrying armloads of white roses (my parents had this prolific rose vine; it was later destroyed at my father's orders, thus turning me into an incurable memoirist) to put inside the Tricolor. Subsequent to the ceremony, as I was waiting for my father to pick me and my sister up on his (Bajaj) Chetak, I took to leaping between desks in my classroom, playing an unruly boyish game of rubberband war* with my mates.
As fate would have it, I tripped and fell in such a fabulous fashion that my mouth hit against the edge of a desk, turning me into an instant Hanuman. Luckily neither of my badly bruised lips required stitches. But on second thought, maybe be I was unlucky for had I had a few lip stitches, I could have turned into that brooding hottie Joaquin Phoenix. No luck either, O Bajarang Bali! So this explains why I forget what it is today until K's post reminded me of it. Anyway, Happy Swatantra Diwas mere bhaiyon aur behanon (except all those ladies whom I can still potentially "plow" into).
*Rubberband War: To play this exciting game, you need a couple of strong rubberbands; lots of paper that you roll into fat little V-shaped pellets; the rubberband is wrapped around your index and middle finger; the paper pellet is hooked onto the rubberband; the gunsight-like V formed by the fingers is aimed at the foe; the rubberband is distended as far back as possible and fired; the pellet, usually aimed at the head and neck area, makes contact and causes a welt to be formed. This is paintball for real boys.
My Daily Notes
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