Wildlife Tv Puts Snake Charmers on Endangered List

India's snake charmers, who once captivated generations of small children by coaxing dopey cobras out of baskets, admitted yesterday that they had fallen on hard times - and blamed the decline of their profession on the increasing popularity of TV nature documentaries.

The sapera - India's hereditary snake-charming caste - no longer manages to attract big crowds and finds it almost impossible to make ends meet, said their chief, Babu Sri Ram Nath. He fears that his community could disappear completely.

"I blame the rise of nature documentaries," Mr Nath said. "The problem is the people have watched too much TV. They are no longer afraid of wild animals. Kids and their parents are always watching it or playing with computers. They don't bother looking at us any more."

Most of India's snake charmers come from one small north Indian village, Salenagar, about an hour's drive from the ancient city of Lucknow. The villagers have been in the snake-charming business ever since their ancestors migrated there from Bengal two centuries ago.

But now their livelihood is threatened not only by wildlife documentaries but also by Bollywood, Mr Nath said. The villagers' act involves playing a traditional wailing tune on a bean - a gourd-like instrument that sounds a bit like a bagpipe.

"The new generation don't listen to the old melodies and songs. They only want Bollywood songs, not bean music. The kids are just interested in pop. And now they have drums and sophisticated instruments," he lamented.

While snake charmers may seem exotic to the western imagination, the reality is that they are now having a thoroughly miserable time, earning as little as 50 rupees (70p) a day.

The villagers' main demand is that they are recognised as a scheduled caste.

Under India's constitution this would entitle them to government jobs and other privileges. Unfortunately, the Bengali sapera have so far failed to qualify.

Many snake charmers, meanwhile, admit that they do not even like snakes.

"I can't stand them," admitted one villager, Sadhu Nath, sitting on a string bed under a tree in Salenagar's square. "I just do this to make ends meet."