Bangaluru techie bit by a snake : a life lesson to all

The Shoe Was Empty. But Not Really.

It was 7:53 PM on a Sunday in Bengaluru. Monsoon air — thick, wet, heavy — clung to everything. The kind of evening where even your thoughts feel damp.

Mr. Prakash, 41, was getting ready to step out. Maybe to meet a friend. Maybe just to grab milk from the corner store. The kind of ordinary moment we never remember — until we have to.

He reached for his chappal. The one by the door. The one he’s worn for months. The one that’s seen better days — sole peeling, strap loose, but comfortable. Familiar.

He didn’t check.

And why would he? You don’t check your own slippers. That’s like checking your toothbrush for spiders. It’s your stuff. Your space. Your home.

But the monsoon had been kind to more than just the trees. It had been kind to snakes too.

A small, venomous one — probably just looking for shelter from the flood of rain — had curled itself into the warm, dark cavity of that chappal. Safe. Hidden. Silent.

And when Prakash slipped his foot in?

It struck.

But here’s the thing that makes this story break me in half:

He didn’t feel it.

Not the bite. Not the fangs. Not the burn of venom.

Because years ago, he’d been in an accident. A bad one. Lost some movement. Some sensation in his leg. Doctors said he was lucky to walk. And he was. He rebuilt his life. Got a job. Took care of his family. Learned to live with the numbness.

But that numbness? That blessing of survival? It became the silence before the end.

He walked. He moved. Maybe he even felt a strange pressure — not pain, just… something. But nothing screamed danger. So he didn’t scream either.

By the time his wife noticed his face — pale, sweating, lips tinged blue — it was too late.

They rushed him to the hospital. But the venom had already danced through his blood. The doctors tried. They really did.

But Prakash didn’t make it.

He died not from recklessness. Not from living in the wild. But in his own home. In his own footwear. In a city that pulses with tech, traffic, and dreams.

And here’s what no one wants to say out loud:

Bangalore is changing. And not just in the way the maps show.

We’re paving over lakes. Cutting trees for malls. Filling wetlands for apartments. And the creatures who lived here first? They’re not gone. They’re just… hiding. In drains. In construction debris. In the shadows of our fast lives.

Snakes aren’t villains. They’re survivors too.

But when a man can’t feel a bite on his own foot — because his body already carries the scars of another fight — the world suddenly feels so unfair.

This isn’t just a “snake bite case.”
This is about disability.
About how invisible wounds can become deadly.
About how urban life forgets the wild beneath its concrete skin.
About how a simple act — like putting on a slipper — can become a gamble.

And yeah, maybe the lesson is: Check your shoes.
But also? Maybe the lesson is bigger.

Maybe it’s:
Slow down.
Look closer.
Remember that not all pain is felt — and not all dangers are seen.

And maybe, just maybe — we need to make space. Not just for progress. But for life. All of it.

Even the slithering kind.