We are like ducklings, imprinted with the terms and conditions for life as laid down (or not) by our families. I suppose mine was relatively decorous, given that it began in India, in a military environment, with an Edwardian father who had a keen sense of what was socially acceptable at the time. As I grew up (until college days) I was the lucky recipient of Indian curries made by my mother, from recipes she had learnt in Dehra Dun. We had to display good table manners, which included how food was put into the mouth, as well as ensuring no post-prandial escapes could be heard or smelled, as a consequence of ingesting this exotic foodstuff.
It was a bit of an eye-opener, or nostril flarer to visit friends’ homes in my teens and discover that very different rules applied. Indeed, my peers often made a virtue of the length, loudness and suffocating poison of escapee gases.
When I got to college it was to meet with an exponential increase in the competitiveness of young bucks with regard to their skills in such matters. This was particularly so when they had been for a cheap curry and had had a few beers. It was the time of lighting the methane jet.
In general I did not join in, being imprinted as I was. Imagine my surprise yesterday when I read the latest research on anti-cancer agents. Top of the list comes turmeric, that yellow ingredient of curries. All those student emissions turn out to have been unconscious ritualistic behaviour for cleansing the body of its toxic waste, cancer cells and all.