Barbecues – the quintessential symbol of summer. The sizzle of sausages, the wafting aroma of charred burgers, the joyful cacophony of backyard laughter. But for Bangalore resident Mukesh Sharma, the first barbecue of 2024 was a symphony of stomach groans and olfactory warfare, orchestrated by his neighbor, Mr. Chandrasekhar.
Mukesh, a man who meticulously plans his barbecues with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker, had envisioned a picture-perfect afternoon. Marinated chicken tikka masala, succulent kebabs, and the gentle accompaniment of Bollywood classics on low volume – a celebration of both summer and Indian culinary prowess. However, the universe, it seems, had a different menu in mind.
As the first batch of kebabs emerged, a pungent aroma, vaguely reminiscent of a forgotten gym sock left to fester in a forgotten corner, began to permeate the air. Mukesh, ever the optimist, initially dismissed it as a rogue curry leaf taking a particularly offensive turn. But the odor intensified, transforming from a background note to a lead singer belting out a particularly unpleasant tune.
The culprit, it turned out, resided next door. Mr. Chandrasekhar, a man known for his eccentricities and penchant for gardening in the nude (a source of much amusement, and perhaps a touch of horror, for the neighborhood children), had chosen this inopportune moment to stage a rather vigorous performance on his porcelain throne. The open window, a seemingly innocuous choice in Bangalore's sweltering heat, became a bioweapon, unleashing a noxious gas attack that could rival a particularly potent durian fruit.
Guests began to cough and splutter, delicately dabbing at their watering eyes. The perfectly marinated chicken, once a thing of beauty, now seemed to glisten with a sheen of despair. Conversation, once lively, sputtered and died, replaced by a chorus of polite sniffs and strategic coughs. Mukesh, his dream barbecue reduced to a culinary warzone, could only stare in disbelief.
The incident has sparked outrage in the quiet Bangalore neighborhood. A petition demanding the mandatory closure of windows during bowel movements has garnered a surprising number of signatures. Local social media groups are abuzz with calls for stricter "bathroom etiquette" bylaws. Mr. Chandrasekhar, for his part, remains unrepentant, claiming his "constitutional right to fresh air" extends to all bodily functions.
The "Great Olfactory Assault of 2024, " as it's being dubbed, serves as a cautionary tale. It reminds us that even the most meticulously planned social gatherings are at the mercy of the unpredictable winds of fate, or, in this case, the intestinal machinations of our neighbors. As Mukesh contemplates his next barbecue, one thing is certain:the guest list will henceforth include a thorough vetting process, not just for culinary preferences, but also for a commitment to proper bathroom etiquette, windows firmly shut.