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On the serpent's trail: What it is like to be a female snake rescuer

Animal rescuers are a rare breed, and women snake rescuers even more so. Roshni Nair talks to a few ladies slithering down this path

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It's four past nine on a Wednesday night when Siddhi Ghadigaonkar returns to her Lalbaug home after rescuing a dhaman (rat snake) from BPT Colony. It was an early call: the south Mumbai volunteer for Spreading Awareness on Reptiles and Rehabilitation Programme (SARRP) usually tends to embattled serpents at the oddest of hours – mostly round Delisle Road, an area where snake sightings are so common, she says, locals are as accustomed to the reptiles as to Ghadigaonkar herself.

A full-time HR professional, Ghadigaonkar is one of Mumbai's (very) few women snake rescuers. Four years into the profession which she believes has given her a sense of purpose, she has rescued 100-plus snakes from the fangs of urbanisation.

"People would be surprised when I'd reach the spot, not expecting a woman to handle the snake in their midst. Especially men," she says, recalling initial months on the field. "Other than the pressure to drop everything in life for marriage and kids, there's an unwritten rule that you shouldn't take to perceivably 'dangerous' jobs."

Ghadigaonkar's love of snakes has its roots in childhood: the reptiles appeared regularly in her dreams – to the point where her father wondered if she had naag dosha. "But that was in passing," she chuckles. "My family supported me from the outset."

It wasn't as smooth sailing for Dr Madhurita Gupta. When the president of Snake Conservation Trust India (SCTI) — part of her MyVets Charitable Trust & Research Centre — returned to her calling a month after delivering son Arnav, she was the recipient of many a disapproving shake of the head. From her base in Kharghar, she embarks on rescue missions to the outskirt's hills and villages, tending to six-seven calls daily during the monsoon.

Panicky people add as much to a rescuer's frustration as to a snake's, she explains.

"Men in the crowd think it's their duty to tell women rescuers how to do their jobs," Dr Gupta tuts. "There's also more pressure on a woman to 'prove herself' in this field, lest people go 'See, women can't handle snakes'."

There's also a lack of women in herpetology, she adds – and Dr Sunetra Wadke Rane agrees. Her Borivali clinic is around 54km away from Dr Gupta's, but both tread common ground. The Indian rock python, a common sighting in Navi Mumbai, is also alienated in its habitat from Goregaon-Dahisar, unwittingly scaring people with its size and unfounded reputation. Rane has rescued several of these snakes, as she has dhamans and India's 'big four' (the spectacled cobra, common krait, Russell's viper and saw-scaled viper).

"As veterinary students, our knowledge of snake species was limited to zoo visits. Handling was never taught," she bemoans. But as a self-taught collegian, she'd find herself being asked to rescue trapped snakes — a job she enjoyed. When tools like snake sticks/hooks, bags and anti-venom kits became the norm, Rane polished her skills with SARRP, for whom she is now the go-to vet.

That organisations like Reptile Rescue and Study Center (RRSC), Resqink Association for Wildlife Welfare (RAWW), SCTI and SARRP have many volunteers associated with the Forest Department has helped long-term interests of reptiles, although self-professed, untrained rescuers are cause for concern. Poor awareness about and cruelty towards snakes, and a profession that isn't monetarily rewarding are other thorns. But these ladies don't bat an eyelid. Dr Gupta, for one, is training foot soldiers for her Women Herpetologists Group, who will rescue snakes in distress outside Mumbai city limits too. Because, as she says, "No profession should be gender-based."

Before responding to another SOS in Delisle Road, five-foot tall Siddhi Ghadigaonkar looks back on the first lot of snakes she handled: a 10ft long Indian rock python, a bellicose Russell's viper in Borivali and a dhaman in Gorai that refused to surface from building wreckage for hours. "You know, physicality is nothing to do it," she smiles. "Avad aahe toh savad aahe (If you have a passion for it, you can do it)."

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