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The human body is a veritable microbiome. It plays host to numerous ecosystems of microbes. In a sense we hold within us tiny, vast forests filled with amazingly colourful and versatile creatures, unimaginable terrain and climates.
Grossly speaking (maybe pun intended), we are more microbe (90%) than human (10%). Each cell in our body houses a happy microbial family or community depending on the size of the cell.
Bacteria in our gut are especially special. Without them, humans cannot digest most things. Specifically Dal.
Also, the world would have been a much quieter place, without all the farts, some of which, as many surgical gastroenterologists will attest to, are extremely flammable.
Farts have been a part of the history and culture of every civilisation the world over. There are references in Dante’s Inferno, visual representations in murals and ancient illuminated manuscripts (wonder why Dan Brown left them out), manuals for defensive usage against Japanese water demons and fart songs, specifically about the types of farts in almost all Indian languages, including one in Sanskrit (which my grandfather taught me).
But like the rest of us living in our own, often coinciding flatulent world (what goes around comes around), I carried within me (and sometimes in a small radius around me) a growing realisation; I didn’t mind farts, as long as they were my own.
I found the answer to ‘why’ after 30 years of existence, simply because I couldn’t ask the question. I mean, come on. The microbiomes in our gut signal the brain that selfie-farts are okay. Farts from other microbiomes (other humans) are not.
This information came so late in life, and so unexpectedly that I was winded (!). First, I was not alone in this silent acceptance. Second, this seems to have a direct connection to something more subtle; at many levels, we are quite comfortable with our own inconsistencies, but cannot tolerate those of others. I wondered what to do with this newfound understanding.
It is beyond my biology to accept another’s fart. The best I can do is promise to be more considerate about my fellowman’s failings.
So whoever you are, if you are reading this; I know. I understand. You’re not alone. Just, don’t do it in the elevator.
(Vikram Venkateswaran is a freelance writer, TV producer and media consultant. Headings, titles and captions are his kryptonite. He lives in Madurai and is occasionally struck by the feeling that the city likes him back.)
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