The reasons seem pretty silly now, as I look back. But back then, for an 18-year-old, they were very strong reasons to have lost hope forever. My parents were not very educated. They were, as we call them in India, ‘middle-class’, working to earn a living, without the cushion of any great legacy of wealth or power. But none of that stopped them from giving me a good education in a premium institution where I studied with children who boasted of a much more illustrious lineage than mine. What my parents also did was to let me follow my dream to study English literature. However, what they did not do, was choose to tell me the truth. The truth that pricked my subconscious every once in a while, but one which I brushed aside always.
But it got unbearable after a point — the differences of culture, thinking, behaviour. I was so different from all of them around me, my own family. The contrast kept gnawing at me all the time and eventually one day I screamed at my parents.
Sobbing, trembling, my mother told me, “Yes, you are right, you are adopted.” I had known all this while, of course, but now it was no longer unsaid. I was not prepared for this part of my life to come out in the open like this and didn’t know how to react. I didn’t know how to reconcile with the naked truth.
So here I was, 18 years old, rebellious, not wanting to live, tired, let down, cheated… and most importantly, unwanted by someone as soon as I was born. It killed me inside each day. I lost my zest for life.
I used to be the first bencher in my class, eyes shining and catching every word from the teacher’s mouth as they fell. But all that changed. Tears now rolled down uncontrollably without stopping. I didn’t know how to stop them. One of my teachers noticed, and called me to his room. I told him. I shared my misery, my sense of failure, about being cheated. He listened carefully and finally, he said, “Think of what you have now. Forget about what you lost.” Was it easy for him to say it? Yes. But was it as simple as that? Perhaps, it was. I decided to try living my life by forgetting the losses of the past and concentrating on what I did have at the moment. Then I realised my debt to the people who chose me over the other baby born with me — a boy. They were not educated enough perhaps, but they knew they wanted a girl. I knew I had to repay the debt. Though it was silly of me to even try I guess.
Life moved on after that. I studied hard, and stopped thinking too much about it. But I still had to go far — distance myself from the emotional turmoil that engulfed my nights. I left my hometown on the pretext of studying further, which I fully intended to, as well. I knew I had to stay away — be myself, and carve out my own identity. What I did not realise was, how I would look at elderly women in buses, trains, on streets and search for an identity that echoes my own in someway. That search continues still… but now I am comfortable being me. I am comfortable sharing a bond with the people who chose me. I am able to neutrally think of adoption as an act of want, rather than an act of rejection.
It bothers me at times still. But I am much more courageous. Which is why it was so important to address this niggling question of self-identity. At my lowest, I cry out aloud for the biggest rejection in my life. But then I coax myself soon after — I have done myself proud. Another year to being 30, and I know the truth which has made me grounded. I know deep within — I am me. I can finally feel the sense of relief I have craved for, the desire to come out of the shroud of self-doubt that enveloped my childhood has been satiated at last. I once stood on the crossroads of life wondering which would be the best way forward. Now I know.
LINK TO TEHELKA ARTICLE
But it got unbearable after a point — the differences of culture, thinking, behaviour. I was so different from all of them around me, my own family. The contrast kept gnawing at me all the time and eventually one day I screamed at my parents.
Sobbing, trembling, my mother told me, “Yes, you are right, you are adopted.” I had known all this while, of course, but now it was no longer unsaid. I was not prepared for this part of my life to come out in the open like this and didn’t know how to react. I didn’t know how to reconcile with the naked truth.
So here I was, 18 years old, rebellious, not wanting to live, tired, let down, cheated… and most importantly, unwanted by someone as soon as I was born. It killed me inside each day. I lost my zest for life.
I used to be the first bencher in my class, eyes shining and catching every word from the teacher’s mouth as they fell. But all that changed. Tears now rolled down uncontrollably without stopping. I didn’t know how to stop them. One of my teachers noticed, and called me to his room. I told him. I shared my misery, my sense of failure, about being cheated. He listened carefully and finally, he said, “Think of what you have now. Forget about what you lost.” Was it easy for him to say it? Yes. But was it as simple as that? Perhaps, it was. I decided to try living my life by forgetting the losses of the past and concentrating on what I did have at the moment. Then I realised my debt to the people who chose me over the other baby born with me — a boy. They were not educated enough perhaps, but they knew they wanted a girl. I knew I had to repay the debt. Though it was silly of me to even try I guess.
Life moved on after that. I studied hard, and stopped thinking too much about it. But I still had to go far — distance myself from the emotional turmoil that engulfed my nights. I left my hometown on the pretext of studying further, which I fully intended to, as well. I knew I had to stay away — be myself, and carve out my own identity. What I did not realise was, how I would look at elderly women in buses, trains, on streets and search for an identity that echoes my own in someway. That search continues still… but now I am comfortable being me. I am comfortable sharing a bond with the people who chose me. I am able to neutrally think of adoption as an act of want, rather than an act of rejection.
It bothers me at times still. But I am much more courageous. Which is why it was so important to address this niggling question of self-identity. At my lowest, I cry out aloud for the biggest rejection in my life. But then I coax myself soon after — I have done myself proud. Another year to being 30, and I know the truth which has made me grounded. I know deep within — I am me. I can finally feel the sense of relief I have craved for, the desire to come out of the shroud of self-doubt that enveloped my childhood has been satiated at last. I once stood on the crossroads of life wondering which would be the best way forward. Now I know.
LINK TO TEHELKA ARTICLE
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