So, it has been ascertained again. Our neighbor has become an incorrigible ‘fartist’: one that excels in farting at will. Didn’t happen overnight; took years of gastric anxiety to customize its congenital malfunctioning of rectum in order to wreck havoc on us. Something horribly went wrong when our neighbor was born. While the earth arguably came into existence with big bang our neighbor carved one for itself with what can be termed as ‘big bane’, as the curse of irritable bowel syndrome fell upon it.
Experiencing so much of rot in your gut at the time of birth can do quite a pathological damage. It takes a lot of conviction to overcome such damage and repair your body but our neighbor chose to live with the damage rather than confront it. It in fact went a step further by embracing the rot assuming it to be the gift of its genesis; its ‘existential gas’. With passing time the rot got settled in the
system, layer upon ruthless layer in its underbelly, its farts now getting loud and clear.
As we, in the vicinity, were the natural victims, with our neighbor’s unruly buttocks staring us all the time, so we complained. But our unrepentant neighbor – the host of farts, directed upon us- acted to be indifferent and instead muffled up the noises of its farts by releasing them with precision. The idea was to shift the blame for the source of fart on the aggrieved itself by means of deception thereby escaping the ramification of farting in the form of embarrassment and rebuke.
Here, I would like to elucidate upon some of the interesting rhyming phrases in the context:
1. The one who smelled is the one who expelled.
2. The one who articulated it particulated it.
3. The one who eulogized it aerosolized it.
4. The one who accuses blew the fuses.
As more time elapses the body gets so accustomed of its rotting gut that our neighbor begins to derive hedonistic pleasure from its farts. It’s not the jinx as the entire conspiring world would like the host to believe. It becomes its vital force, its purpose of identity, the very idea upon which it had come into existence. There is absolutely nothing wrong with her rot. On the contrary it must teach hard lesson to those ‘others’ who out of malice would call it a rot at first place. The farts become its strategic assets that would seek vengeance on the malicious ‘others’.
Our neighbor knew very well how to exploit its farts by employing them as weaponry against us. It was extremely difficult for us to identify them forthwith that made them perfect agents of subterfuge. The farts would sneak in the form of poisonous gas into our terrain, do the damage and expunge. The host would over the years achieve such a sophistry for its ‘fartistry’ churning killer farts one behind the other on an assembly line. We, the recipient, even with all our capabilities, would find failing to create impenetrable defense and will have no choice but to swallow the poison of the agonizing farts.
An incidence of flatulence humor from a 14th century English Literature ‘The Miller’s Tale’ comes to mind where a character Nicholas sticks his buttocks out of a window every night andhumiliates his rival Absolom by farting in his face. Then, one night, Absolom gets his revenge by thrusting a red hot plough blade between Nicholas’s cheeks. But this is no 14th century and the complexities of the modern day don’t permit us to take our revenge the Absolom’s way. We can only make preparation to minimize the damage against the easy permeability and humongous number of farts coming our way all the time and wish the host realizes that its farts are the outcome of itsillness rather than the cure.
And then one fine day the host gets the taste of its own medicine when one of its farts, in its course of delivery, menstruates in a way that it poops the pants of the host itself. The accidental bowel leakage due to this imploding fart acts as an eye opener to the host who comes to realize that it cannot have absolute control over its rotten gut and its farts can even go haywire. Such incontinence of its bowel comes as a rude shock.
But by this time the host has become so obsessed with farting that it cannot simply do away with them by closing its buttocks. So, the host, in love with its farts, now takes its ‘fartology’ a step further
by categorizing them into ‘good farts’ and the ‘bad farts’ where its dependable revenge seeking farts would be deemed to be good farts while those boomeranging to soil its own backyard would be the bad farts. The real problem is that the gut knows no mechanism to identify the bad farts from the good ones. The rot just keeps churning them outon the trot.
In order to protect its own house it’s now incumbent upon the host to be extremely vigilant and perform selective surgery of its gut to wardoff the bad ones. But alas! There is no method known that would selectively repair the rot that suits its wicked purpose. A surgery can only be done successfully if it is performed on the absolute rot which would take the host back to its birth with the big bane and its primal question – the existential gas. Would it dare to admit that it was wrong on its part to assume its curse to be its gift at the time of its genesis? Would it be strong enough to let go its ‘first love’.
In the meantime both the host and the recipient, on their respective turn, must suffer the reek of the farts, good and bad, as per the convenience of the host. The recipient, renowned for its patience,
rests its hope upon the host that the good sense would prevail and it would perform the much needed surgery. But resting hope in a ‘vindictive for no reason’ ‘fartographer’ is an eternal quest. Besides, one cannot be sure of the present status of the rot. Who knows if the rot in all these years has turned into an incurable cancer? And if that be the case then the recipient would be destined to take the curse of the farts as long as the cancer doesn’t eat away the host, perishing it eventually. It would only be then that the scent of peace would prevail.
By: Atul Kapoor