Early morning, the sun barely stretching its rays across the horizon, I found myself behind the wheel of my gleaming new Volkswagen Polo just before the 2011 Christmas eve. It was 5 am, and the air was crisp with the promise of a new day. My mission? To pick up a volunteer for a unique journey into the heart of Guduvancherry, where the Irula community thrived with their ancient traditions and unparalleled skills as snake catchers.

As I navigated the roads with excitement bubbling within me, fate had other plans. A sudden jolt, the sickening sound of metal against concrete, and I found myself staring at a damaged fender and bumper, courtesy of an unexpected encounter with the median. But as luck would have it, a group of early morning walkers surrounded me, ensuring my safety and offering assistance in my moment of distress.

Determined not to let this setback deter me, I improvised, using a rag to tie together the broken parts of my car. After all, I couldn’t disappoint the Irula community, nor my eager volunteer awaiting our adventure.

Speaking of the volunteer, he was no ordinary companion. A World Bank employee, his fascination with the Irula way of life was palpable. He expressed a fervent desire to witness their famed snake-catching skills first-hand, a prospect that sent shivers down my spine, for I harboured an irrational fear of serpents.

Setting foot into the Irular hamlet, we were greeted with warmth and curiosity. The next four hours were a whirlwind of storytelling, laughter, and games with the local children. Despite my apprehensions, I found myself completely engrossed in the tales of the Irula people, their resilience, and their deep connection with nature.

But as the day wore on, exhaustion began to weigh heavy on my shoulders. Spotting a nearby cycle, I seized the opportunity to rest while my volunteer indulged in his passion for photography. Little did I know, this moment of respite would soon take a dramatic turn.

A seemingly innocuous yellow bag caught my attention, hanging from the cycle’s handlebar. Assuming it to be a simple provision left for someone in need, I paid it little mind. That is until the volunteer, ever curious, questioned the absence of snakes in our encounter thus far.

Before I could conjure a response, my Irula contact pointed to the very bag I had dismissed, revealing its slithering inhabitant. Panic seized me like a vice as I sprinted away, putting considerable distance between myself and the unexpected guest.

Amidst the chaos, the children remained unfazed, handling the snake with ease and amusement. But for me, the fear lingered, etched into my memory long after we bid farewell to the Irula community and embarked on our journey home.

As the miles stretched behind us and the events of the day faded into the rear-view mirror, a new concern crept into my mind—the fate of my beloved Polo, marred by the morning’s mishap. Yet, for a brief moment, the fear of a damaged car paled in comparison to the exhilarating adventure and the unforgettable encounter with the Irula people and their elusive serpent companion.