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He was gripped with fear, lest he be discovered as the perpetrator of this act. It was a packed audience of people who could sniff in an instant that something was fishy.
With each passing moment his comfort levels got sorted in the descending order.
It was as if he had been cornered into a position of great discomfort. His fears of being discovered tended to go beyond infinity. It was evident to every onlooker that he was fidgety and very restless. He kept moving his head here and there, catching the glances of others around him. It was as if he was plotting something sinister. Their naturally neutral glances now took to a naturally suspicious gaze. The human instinct can sense that things are misaligned and are not natural. He could sense others around him also get wind of his actions and this made the situation further weird.
In his head he went on,
"What if they find out ?
It was not my mistake. I did not intend that to happen in the first place. This is so embarrassing for me. It is not such big a crime.
From when had they known? Why were they giving him such a stare ?
Was it that obvious? "
His stomach had already squirming. His face was a mixture of worry and embarrassment, with embarrassing colours dominating the canvas.
It was the effect of so many events that had led to this moment, he could no longer contain himself. A train of farts left his body in quick succession. His stomach growled in some ancient tongue that no one understood. It was as of he had been hit by a thunderbolt from Indra himself, he sat bolt upright. He stood like a statue which was completely aware that the crow was sitting on his head and about to do something adventurous.
The train of passing gas hit the audience in the packed bus with a force of thousand Hiroshimas or Chernobyl - whichever the audience knew of. For a second they were stunned at the audacity of the blast that hit them.
For an instant everything was still and then he could sense the crowd around him take their hands off whatever they were upto and close their nostrils, the reflex action of pure survival taking over. The image of sniffing noses nosing around to find the real culprit caught the imagination of his. In his head he was being hunted by blood hounds.
The others around him, forgot after a few seconds, they had been jarred but like the Indian middle class always found their way to survive trauma and move on soon. His farts had been like the momentary breaking news that diffused into nothingness . It was not the first time that these men around him had been bombed out. This was an everyday occurrence for them, sometimes they too having been the serial farters. As long as it did not make too big of a sound and there were more than two people they were always safe.
But all this reflected far too differently in the head of our protagonist. He was anticipating a verbal volley from others around him but nothing came. Not even a smirk or a frown stayed in their faces. It was as if they did not even acknowledge this event. Just then the uncle next to him moved slightly, the molecules in his body slightly disturbed, the tipping point reached, let go. Almost mocking his thought process, the audacity of the man was unparalleled. And the best part was it came with all the sound effects of a orchestra. The man was least bothered, he did not look here or there, he was busy playing a game on his mobile phone. As if on cue, the game declared "you are on a wonderful streak ".
