It was June 2009, shortly after we had been married nine years, that I keyed “desis adopting non Indian babies” into the Google search bar. We had signed a contract with a local agency, ponied up the money, and were in the process of getting a home study done. That first search turned up nothing. There were a lot of links to American-Indians, adoption in Native communities, but nothing that pointed to someone like me, desi, who had adopted across race and culture. I did not give up. Facebook groups next. Again, I drew a blank. There were plenty of groups discussing white parents raising children of color. The most discussed topic was hair. Next came the white couples adopting internationally. The discussions centered on culture camps and finding the nearest ethnic restaurants.
Then, on adoption forums, I found one woman who had adopted a Hispanic child. I reached out. In her words:
One fine day i caught myself staring at this cute Hispanic baby at Walmart who i thought looked so much like an Indian baby. Our dreams for India adoption had failed as we were then on H1B visa. I rushed home to tell my husband i wanted to pursue Domestic adoption and we could specify a Latino or Hispanic origin baby. Often we’d been stopped at public places and people would think we were Mexicans and say Holla and chatter with us in Spanish!!
We chatted over email, swapping notes on the process and on what it was like to be the only desi in every room we walked into. She moved to India. I went on to adopt our daughters. We have been Facebook friends since.
After my children came home in February 2010, I shared our story openly on my blog in the hope that others like me would find a story they could relate to. Over the years, I have fielded many calls, emails, messages on Facebook, and the occasional Instagram DM. On one such email thread I wrote:
It was not much too long ago that I was scouring the forums, yahoogroups and such… I know I struggled trying to find other Indian…
Some of them went on to adopt biracial children. We briefly had a Facebook group called Bonded by Love. Then, parenting twins and a new baby took my life over, and I disbanded it. Lately, Vinu from that OG group messaged me on Instagram for cdrama recommendations. Padma brings her kids over for Navarathri. Maha comments religiously on most things I post on Facebook. I visit Shankari when I fly to the other coast. We may not chat about our children anymore, but the bonds we built have morphed to accommodate the evolved us.
Those women are my safety net. They are the ones I can talk to without setting up context. They know, they relate, because they have walked the same path. We talk about neurodivergence in the context of adoption, which is a separate flavor of neurodivergence that other parenting groups I am in cannot understand. We commiserate on the questions we field when we visit India. We talk about being the visible family that inverts the trope. The brown mother at the playground, the children who do not match.
One of the earliest moments that gave me pause as an adoptive mother was when I was strolling the aisles of Kohl’s, pushing a twin stroller, looking for summer clothes for the girls who had just turned one. As I stood debating between red and purple pjs, I heard a lady’s voice over my shoulder. “Are you their nanny?” I whipped around, startled by the question. It was another desi. I shook my head no, refused to answer her, and walked away. It was my first reckoning on what people saw when they saw me, a brown woman pushing twin white babies in a stroller. The children were too young to realize it. This was a pattern we would see play out over and over. Turned heads, stares that lingered, the occasional “they are so beautiful,” and the unasked question. Initially, I let it stew in my head. After a few years, I stopped letting it register.
In the years immediately following our adoption, I responded to messages with alacrity. These days I am measured. I ask more than I share. I have them talk through their parenting philosophy. I ask them how much reading and preparation they have done. I point them to resources that I and my group of fellow adoptive moms have vetted. Mostly, I caution them that the act of adoption is not the finalization. It is not the end of the process. It is the beginning of a lifelong change.
If the 2009 me was all about pattu pavadais and rava kesari, the current me is all about letting our children be. If, as a new mom, I was smothering them with love and affection, these days it is a curated dance of holding gently and letting go before they ask. There is parenting and there is adoptive parenting and the two often intertwine.
One book I keep recommending: Mira Jacob’s Good Talk, a graphic memoir about race conversations with her son that I read in two hours and have been sitting with ever since.
So, if like me you are keying in these words “desis adopting non desis in the US”, here is what I will tell you. Pause, take a step back, lose the labels. Focus instead on why you want to adopt. Sit down with your partner, if adopting as a couple, and see if your parenting philosophies align. If adopting as a single parent, figure out if you have your village gathered and cheering for you. Most of all, ask yourself if you are willing to go to war for this child that will upend your life.
If this moved you, send a tip.
Leave a Reply