When I reached the eighth grade, we started having our biology class in the laboratory. The lane that led us to the laboratory was hedged on either side with croutons (??) that were pruned to look like lollipops, which, like soldiers, guarded the lane with sombre resignation. The first time I walked past these soldiers and entered the laboratory, I went weak at my knees. There were at least sixty snakes sleeping peacefully in tall glass jars filled to the brim with preservatives. Their flesh, stiff and ossified, made a lasting impression on me. I watched the gentle wave-like contours on their skin, their stiffness, and shuddered. I couldn’t put my finger at what exactly disturbed me so much. In retrospect, I can see that it was my first encounter with flesh that wasn’t anointed by soul.

But once the class commenced, these snakes gradually faded to oblivion. Mendel had made some astounding discoveries about the genetic evolution and Pradeep sir, our biology teacher, insisted we plant our own peas to make the first-hand report on the Mendel’s Law of Inheritance. We were soon occupied with Mendel and his laws. But even as Mendel rose gloriously, like the pea vine in the fore of my mind, the snakes always stood in the background, breathing thick fumes that filled my lungs with dread. Eventually the day came when Pradeep sir decided to officially introduce us to these strange creatures; creatures that were neither dead nor alive.

“This is Diadophis Punctuates Dipsadidae,” he said reading out its scientific name, which was ascribed on the jar. The note further read:

Kingdom: Animalia

Phylum: Chordata

Subphylum: Vertebrata

Class: Reptilia

He then told us of their habitat, their mating habits, about the ring on their necks and things that are considered worthy of knowing to ‘know’ an animal. And I remember after that class I suddenly felt a sense of ease, as if by knowing a few superficial details about their nomenclature, I had conquered them. I knew who they were. The snakes.

Recently, when a man whom I rather adore and who is old enough to be my grandfather told me I could address him as an uncle or grandfather or anything really, I remembered those snakes again. I saw that he felt threatened by the lack of a label to define our relationship. He was being ridiculous; an uncle or grandfather was the furthest from what I felt for him. I liked him. I enjoyed being with him, talking to him about writers we admired, hearing him talk about ragas and politics. But I didn’t know what it was that I felt for him. It wasn’t a love of a young woman for a man, or maybe, it was, in its own way. If there was a jar where my emotions had to be contained and classified, I wouldn’t know what to name it. I just knew it wasn’t uncle, or grandfather. It wasn’t a lover, either. A friend, perhaps.

But the older I grow, the more I see how we don’t have a concept of friendship at all. A man and a woman are a means to procreation, mostly. Any relationship that doesn’t immediately serve the purpose of reproduction is seen mistrustfully. We are comfortable with a young man and a young woman marrying each other simply because they make an ideal pair for reproduction. Of course, there is more to it (hopefully).

They might really love each other. But so might two men. Freud talks of perversion and inversion. Either all love is perversion or none is. Either all searches for love or fulfilment outside are misguided or none is. Either every relationship is condemnable or none is. How can we judge certain relationships to be more ‘normal’ than others? What is the parameter?

As I struggled to find the right label for what I felt for this man, I remembered the snakes again. What I have with the old man isn’t guided by any sexual urges. It is simply companionship that we sought, and shared. But do we even have a name for such a relationship? Rather still, why do we need to define it at all?

I think those fermented snakes speak of our habit of compartmentalising everything. When we label something, we feel assured. The unknown, the undefined, is what threatens us. Anything not defined is like a self-willed serpent. You cannot recoil it neatly in glass jars and examine it with scientific precision. Such undefined relationships demand a certain intuitive alertness, which the fermented snakes don’t. When you tell someone you love them—a brother or a mother, or a father or a lover—you immediately build an invisible compartment around it. You know the rules and your boundaries. You know what a father is and what he is not. You know what an uncle can do and what he cannot. But relationships that are undefined open up boundless possibilities that threaten us and force us to immediately find a label. It is a prominent human trait. We did that when we tried to discover the truth about our existence. When the truth seemed unfathomable, we created myths and fables, gods and demons, nymphs and gargoyles. Now, we fear the very demon we created out of thin air. Morality, for one, is one such demon.

What I feel for this man is multifarious—I feel a paternal obedience, but at the same time it’s more than that. I also love him in a way a daughter is not allowed to.  

As I reflected upon the snakes, I realise that nothing ever remains more unknown than when we superciliously assume to ‘know’. The moment we give name to anything, we assure ourselves that we ‘know’ and stop delving further. But love is but made of many delicate shades, with many layers that we uncover as time unfolds. How can we ascribe a set of shades to a relationship and pretend not to traverse beyond?

Carl Jung said, “Psychology marks the end of an era and the beginning of a new one because for the first time, our scriptures tell us what human do and not what they ought to do.” I wished that was true. But with the advent of psychopathology, our romantic relationships have been confined to a different kind of compartment. This man I adore jestingly referred to my adoration of him as an Electra-Complex. He is old, intelligent and rather lonely. He feels that every human emotion can be put under a litmus paper and classified into conclusive decisive categories. In my young and inexperienced opinion, he is simply trying to put all the snakes inside the jar and label them. But no snake that is alive can be classified thus. No matter how prepared we are life baffles us. So, why live in a galore of classified emotions, when life is full of snakes that beckon to uncharted gardens of Eden?