Snakes, School, and Supper: Just Another Day

Some days start slow. Today didn’t even pretend.

It was just the second day of school after the holidays, and the alarm clock crowed at 4:55 am. From there, it was the usual weekday whirlwind—rushing into a cold shower, quick gulps of smoothie,  brisk walk to the bus stop, navigating traffic. The morning air had that slight tension of a day that had ideas of its own.

By the time I returned home, the skies had opened up and poured their hearts out. I walked into the house soaked and ready to put my feet up when Kumara, our driver, came in with a face that meant drama.

“Madam! There was a snake in the garden!”

He described it as big, brown, and fast. It had turned and vanished when it saw him.

And just like that, calm left the building. I had to take charge. I thought about Pappa walking in the garden to water the plants, Cub 5 running around, Sundaresha and Sundermurthy of the opposite house..

Even as part of me was leaping with excitement—I mean, a snake! A real one!—the more practical side kicked in. We called the snake catcher. Calls were made. 

The snake catcher came. We narrowed down the possible hiding spot and sprayed a pungent liquid that I can still smell if I close my eyes. (Is this even safe for the snake)

I was settling into my counseling session when Pappa yelled from the other room, “They’ve spotted the snake!”

I leaped out of my chair and ran.

In the garden, all I could first smell was the pungent liquid repellent. Arrgh!  (I’d never even heard of snake repellent before. I wonder: is it safe for the snake? Please let it not be harmful to the snake, I prayed) 

A tense few minutes later, a green vine snake slowly emerged, clearly terrified and defensive, striking out blindly. It had no idea we were trying to help.

Poor thing. My heart ached.

It was gently placed into an old pillowcase, and then driven to Uttarahalli lake and released in a safer, quieter space. Far from noisy humans and scared drivers and mid-afternoon rescue missions.

I sent the rescue video to Kumara, proud of what we’d done.

“That’s not the one I saw,” he said. “The one I saw was brown. Big. I think it was a cobra.”

And just like that, the story changed again. The catcher nodded, saying the cobra could’ve been hunting the green vine. Nature, in motion. Predators and prey, crossing our little garden by chance.

I’ve always loved snakes. I write to them—“I love you, snakie,” I say in my head when I see one in books or on screens. But today was different. The presence of a snake wasn’t an idea—it was real, alive, close.

And as much as I love them, my heart did jump. I realised I was helpless in its presence. No matter how soft my affection, we both live with very different strengths. I am human—curious, clumsy, noisy. The snake is agile, instinctive, silent. And I am not trained to meet it in its world.

So yes, best to call for help. Even if I wasn’t sure about the method—repellents and sprays and pillowcases—I have to trust that the intent was rescue, not harm.

We locked up the house. Life returned to pace. IPL buzzed in the background. Dinner was reheated. I called Devika and told her, half-laughing, half-worried, “Come in daylight tomorrow, okay? Just in case our friend is still visiting.”

And now, here I am. Wondering about the brown one. Wondering about the green one. Sending them silent love.

May all snakes be safe.
May we never meet too suddenly.
And may the next time I say “I love you, snakie,” I do it from a safe, respectful distance.

Because love doesn’t mean control.
Sometimes it means letting go, letting wild things be wild.