Never trust a snake

I'm walking through the flat. It seems largely inhabitable - no strange smells or stains or anything of that sort. It's unremarkably grey - ashen carpets, stainless steel appliances and a painted grey television.1

"Oh, you're not allergic to cats are you?" Mark asks as we walk into the living room.2

"Not at all," I say.3

"Good, good." He turns back to the living room. "Oh, and a snake."4

"Fuck! What?"5

There was no need to ask. I'd heard him correctly. My eyes search the room and within microseconds hone in on the aquarium holding Mark's no-legged friend.6

It's not moving, waiting as its kind was prone to do for prey to come to it. Lazy bastard.7

Someone had once told me about some of the most dangerous snakes on earth that lived in the Arabian Sea. They lie on the sea floor, looking like food, and actually let fish nibble them before they strike back with devastating force.8

"Oh damn, you hate snakes," Mark comemnts.9

"Ah, man. Snakes. Yeah, snakes."10

My fear of snakes can very well be blamed on Bollywood and a number of other woods that exist in India. At the tender age of four I became exposed to a number of films that featured the hooded variety that are so abundant in India - the cobra.11

The first time it affected me was, as I remember, in the form of a dream in which a cobra stood in my path in a hallway. That was it. It didn't strike me or do anything of the sort. But this was enough for me to wake up screaming and refuse to go back to sleep in case the hooded dream-bandit came back.12

These dreams, despite my insistence that I would not go to sleep without the lights on - not a night-light, but every light in my bedroom and adjacent hallway - grew more sinister. The snake eventually bit me. And then he/she was joined by a friend who also bit me. Soon there was a gang of them, of all types, biting me until I awoke every night clasping at my legs, which seemed to be their favourite spot.13

"Umm, so how old is it?" I ask, sitting on the very edge of the armchair furthest from the snake.14

Two balls of fur tumble down from their perch on a coffee brown armchair, and meow hesitantly, as if awaiting my verdict. One is a perfect mix of black and white patches all over; the other, a mass of golden brown fur.15

"Oh, it's just a baby," Mark - a very thin fellow my age wearing a maroon bathrobe and holding an enormous green mug of strong black coffee - says. "Three years. He's umm, four feet long right now and it'll take about two more years for it to get to six feet or so."16

I gulped.17

The snake was noncommittal. Its light brown body and dark brown patches did not move. It was obviously trying to appear nonchalant.18

"Uh, look. I just. I just fucking hate snakes. I-"19

"Dude, yeah, I get it," Mark tries to reassure. "But there's no reason to worry. I keep the cage locked always. Never take it out to show people or anything. And there's no way that thing can open up. See?"20

He shakes the aquarium using its black metal frame. With each shake, a new sliver of something electric shoots down my neck and into my shoulders.21

"Yeah, yeah that's great. Umm, when do you feed it?" I ask. I'm not even thinking about what I'm saying at this point.22

"Like, every other day."23

"With?"24

"A live rat."25

"Through?"26

"There's a little trap door kinda thing at the top of the aquarium."27

"Right."28

The cage is not only made of glass; it also has a hole in it.29

I ask a few more cursory questions, though my attention is fully on the character in the cage. I tell Mark I''ll give him a call soon about the place.30

The dreams soon became abundant, though not as effective in waking me up. By the time I was twelve the onslaught of snakes rarely woke me up, even if I got bitten in particularly sensitive regions.31

But real life became an issue. Snakes were everywhere. In the movies, on TV, in books and websites and in society. With their fangs and unpredictable characters, they were deadlier to me than anything else.32

On the beach once, a friend came across the old, dried skin that a snake had left behind. She decided to chase me with it. I ran for a full hour in a straight line to get away from her. She stopped chasing me after five. In Nairobi, a couple of friends got me to go to the snake zoo there, where they have one massive 180-degree aquarium full of spitting cobras. Things came to a head when my uncle returned from Cambodia and gave me a vial of cobra venom to drink. It was an experience, though for the entire night I feared that the venom contained eggs that would hatch into little cobras that would devour me from inside-out.33

So a week later Mark calls me.34

"So, what do you think?"35

"Umm, I went with another place."36

"Oh, that's cool," he says.37

"Yeah, so how are the cats and the...uh..."38

"Oh the cats are great," he says. "But I had to get rid of the snake."39

"Why?"40

"Well, it wasn't eating for two weeks. And I kept waking up with him stretched out next to me instead of coiled."41

"You slept with the snake?"42

"Um, yeah. Well, the vet told me to get rid of him. See, he wasn't eating any more 'cos he was fasting."43

"Uh, okay."44

"And he was lying stretched out next to me because he was measuring me."45

And that, is why I don't trust snakes.46