Life in a zoo!!

Hi.. apologise for being away for sooo long. I have recently shifted to a place that, for a pucca Mumbaikar like me, can be mildly termed as eye-popping.
The place is actually a huge thicket in the middle of which some unlikely structures have cropped up and people like us appear to have encroached, just the way slums have the city. Except that ours is a legit encroachment. We were much-sought-after inhabitants of this tree-festooned marshland.
On declaring my intention to move here, I received commiserating calls from the outside world asking me if it was indeed necessary, to beware of snakes and tiger and whatever else is at large here. The inside world--people who live here-- had lots of practical advice such as keep a light on at the porch, dont walk in the dark; many offered gems of experential wisdom such as snakes can be smelt and poisonous snakes have different-looking hoods. All I had to do was to first figure what is a normal-looking hood, and when said snake materialises, request him to please bare his fangs and hoods for me to get a measure of his poison levels.
The first two weeks were spent amiably but soon enough, I came to imbibe the true meaning of community living. Hubby and I were on a walk with friend when he said casually, ``Ah, there is a snake nearby.'' Nobody seemed to have heard. When I asked him how he knew, he said, ``They emit a peculiar smell.'' Next, the birds fluttered restlessly and raised a din. Said knowledgeable H, ``That's a surefire sign. The birds always do this when a snake is around.'' The friends nodded and walked on. I seemed to be the only one blessed with the insight that snakes could bite and the bite could kill. A thin, small branch-like thing emerged on a side street just then. It was an apology of a snake and was actually being harassed by all the birds who kept hovering over him to get him out of their reach, probably to protect their nests.
I was rooted at my first sighting of a free snake. And not impressed. No self-respecting snake would be so tiny and allow himself to be dominated like this. Thereafter, having snakes for company became a fortnightly affair.
There is this clan of huge-looking cows and her brood in our multi-species community. The cows refuse to budge when you ask. I am positive they have been indoctrinated by animal rights activists that they have the priority in this jungle at least, if not in the urban jungle.
One fine morning, my domestic help screamed for me outside the balcony. A huge cow parked right outside my front door was blocking her path. She heckled the Thing from about half a km away while I peeped through the peep-hole, gingerly opened the door a bit, gently booed her tail (the part I could see). When I got no response (ditto maid), I got brave, pushed the door wider and addressed the face. Thing kept her eyes firmly ahead, refusing to so much as blink in my direction. Clearly someone with a huge sense of self-worth, she must have been told to sock it to 'em humans when she got the chance. The maid had to be told to go home. Needless to say, I swept and swabbed and washed.
My door has served as resting place for many a deprived soul. While coming home lost in thought one day, reality struck in the form of raucous barking outside my home. A she-dog (`bitches' has acquired a terrible connotation) and her litter of six pups had sealed all entry points in case I thought I could squeeze in through half-an-inch at the porch. As I stood transfixed, the mother took that as a challenge and stepped forward threateningly, scaling up the barks. I retracted, took refuge at a friend's place and came back only when she agreed to escort me and play martyr by going first.
The windows are not spared either. One morning, Hubby jumped out of bed, began shutting all windows frantically. The hurricane speed got me foxed. ``A family of monkeys is frolicking outside. Stay in,'' he ordered grandly. I scoffed and grumbled about paranoia being the bane of good sleep. As I rubbed my eyes and wobbled towards the balcony, he yelled, `Don't open it, they are right there.'' What! Monkeys in my balcony! Get real, I said. At the same time, I knew better than to test the waters. Anyway, a peep through the glass bore out the truth. Three tiny fellas with mom and dad were on their daily outing, hopping from branch to branch, tree to tree and occasionally landing in my neighbour's balcony two floors above so that they don't feel left out. All the while, they communicated their joy loudly to one another, my palpitations providing the perfect beat to every shrill shriek.
The mother of all lessons in community living happened last week. A security guy banged on the door, and, darting sharp looks at someone 90 degrees away, told me to keep the door open. ``There is a snake on the stairway. In case he comes near me, I need a place to escape.'' Huh? A snake right in the building? Sure, have a look, he said. I did. It was a big, grey-brown beauty, sprawled leisurely across all steps.
How can I keep the door open when a snake is around, I hollered. Rather, you should tell me NOT to keep the door open, I said indignantly. A friend who had come visiting, dutifully jumped on the divan and stayed put. The security guy assured me the snake wont come in. ``I'll make sure,'' he said. He got into action with a bucket of phenyl and water which he threw at the fellow. The scales lazily uncoiled, the guy ran and I did not wait to watch. It landed right outside my hall, climbed up a tree and dangled precariously close to my balcony, which has slats for it to come in uninivited. Content at having got him out of the stairway, the security man left. ``There is no point removing him from the tree; where will I put him? The place is full of snakes anyway,'' he shrugged philosophically and walked off.
The friend, who could not stop raving about the beauty of my place of residence, diplomatically kept mum, and fled at first opportunity.
A week later, my neighbour who leaves home at 5.30 am everyday, told me the snake has been residing in the meter room and comes out for a morning and evening stroll. She is also sure it's poisonous.
My sister has one sweet remark to make about my community living programme: ``Congrats! You're finally living where you belong: the zoo.'' And I still havent told her about the baby lizards, rats and squirrels who live off my kitchen. They're nothing to complain about.