The drama unfolded like every other day in Kanneli: someone in C Block complained about low water pressure, someone else was mad about kids skateboarding near the temple area, and the “Gated Living with Nature” tagline on the apartment website manifested itself in the form of a 4.5-foot serpent slithering past a parked Activa like it owned the place.
Eyewitnesses confirmed that the snake was initially minding its own business, before being “politely yet firmly” redirected by maintenance staff wielding brooms, torches, and exactly one plastic Swiggy tray, which has since been retired from active duty and honoured in a small candlelight ceremony.
“We tried everything—whistling, clapping, gentle coaxing with a rolled-up Mid-Day paper,” said Suresh, Head of Maintenance Operations and Emergency Samosa Procurement. “Eventually, it left. We felt like heroes. We even considered uploading a Reels video with motivational music. But then... they came.”
He was referring, of course, to the local pair of myna birds known unofficially as *Pinky* and *Commissioner Rajan*, who are known in avian circles for their high-pitched vocal debates and general lack of chill. According to birdwatchers , the duo spotted the now homeless snake loitering near the periphery of the compound and decided to enforce their version of the Wildlife Protection Act: screeching hysterically while dive-bombing its tail until it reversed course.
The snake, understandably traumatised, slithered right back into the apartment complex like someone who forgot their Aadhaar card at the bank and is just too tired to argue. As FD Staff on the scene observed, “It looked like the poor reptile was mumbling something about ‘bad karma’ and ‘wrong turn at the banyan tree’.”
Once the mynas successfully escorted the intruder back into the premises, they posted themselves on a nearby clothesline to oversee its reintegration into Kanneli society, chirping judgmentally every time it moved more than four feet. “The birds were doing surveillance better than most RWA security guards,” observed a resident who requested anonymity due to ongoing disputes over intercom ringing volumes.
Panic swiftly followed. Children were herded indoors, cats were fitted with anxiety collars, and one enterprising uncle tried to sell “Snake Darshan” tickets for ₹20 before being overruled by his wife and public decency.
Maintenance swung back into action, armed this time with improved strategies, including:
- Using Google Maps to locate “Snake Exits Near Me”
- Playing Lata Mangeshkar songs to “soothe the vibes”
- Creating a designated “Snake Exit Zone” demarcated by lime, turmeric, and expired mosquito repellent coils
And of course, launching the *Apna Complex Wildlife Tracker*, a new feature in the apartment app that allows residents to:
- Track the snake’s last seen location
- Submit suggestions such as “Install CCTV in bush area” or “Adopt snake, train it to chase Amazon delivery guy”
- Vote on the naming of the snake, with current frontrunners including “Slytherin Bhai”, “Nagappa”, and “Uncle Reptile”
The RWA responded with its usual efficiency: a series of circulars in Comic Sans, one emergency Zoom meeting that ran 93 minutes over time, and a recommendation to all residents to “walk only on tiptoe and carry a stick, a bell, and a sense of inner peace.”
One circular, marked “URGENT,” read:
“SNAKE SIGHTING AT 9:47 AM. Please avoid Area Between C Block Parking and Shruthi Aunty’s Tulsi Plant. Do Not Engage In Eye Contact With Serpent. May God Be With You.”
Meanwhile, Pinky and Commissioner Rajan continued their aerial patrolling with the dedication of Air Force pilots, albeit with more gossip. The pair has been credited with successfully preventing the snake from venturing anywhere beyond the apartment garden, forcing it to reevaluate its life choices and settle temporarily behind the transformer shed.
“We suspect the snake is trying to claim tenancy,” said Mala from Flat G-102, who has taken it upon herself to be the unofficial snake correspondent for her floor. “It has not left the premises for over three days. Some believe it has applied for a Khata certificate.”
Children, ever enterprising, have started calling the snake “Serpy Bhai” and included it as an honorary member of their cricket team, although its fielding is still under review. A tentative plan was also floated to teach it to fetch the ball, but this was quickly abandoned after a rubber ball was accidentally eaten.
Residents were divided on how to proceed.
“I say we let nature take its course,” said Hari uncle, aged 71, who is also trying to start a YouTube channel called *Cobra Connect*. “The snake is part of our ecosystem. Much like that rat who lives in the gym treadmill and does more cardio than most of us.”
Others were less philosophical. “I didn’t move to a gated community to be in *Kantara 3*,” said one furious IT engineer who demanded snake insurance coverage be included in his maintenance bill. His wife added, “It’s affecting our Vastu. I checked. It slithered anti-clockwise.”
After multiple failed attempts involving mirrors, claps, herbal oils, and an amateur flute player named Venkatesh who dropped out halfway citing artistic differences with the snake, the Forest Department was finally called.
A team arrived, dressed in khaki and carrying large canvas bags, bamboo poles, and the weariness of people who know exactly what they’re walking into. They surveyed the scene, interviewed Pinky and Rajan through interpretive squawking, and finally located Serpy Bhai snoozing under a mop bucket near the common toilet block.
The extraction was swift and quiet, with one official luring the snake with the promise of open grassland and no Wi-Fi, and another gently placing it in a box labelled “Not for Food Delivery.” As the van pulled away, Pinky squawked one last time, perhaps warning the snake never to come back, or maybe just complaining about how nobody cleans the solar panels anymore.