When educationist Geet Oberoi decided to adopt her first child, Indya, 14 years ago, procedural delays were the first stumbling block. She was single and had to wait for three years before she could adopt a child. In 2010, Priya Ramanathan, also single, ran into the same wall. She wanted to adopt a seven-month-old baby, but was told that it would take more than two years as single parents were not the preferred choice. Many agencies wouldn’t even accept applications from them. She was lucky, though—the child had health issues and was therefore not preferred by others looking to adopt. In Calcutta, Nibedita Sen, who was looking after the two daughters of her househelp, reached out to Childline for formally adopting the kids. She had not imagined what this could lead to. She and the biological mother were taken to court, which decided to take custody of the children until they turned adults. The kids thus ended up being separated from both the mothers.
Complex Laws, Bureaucratic Tangles Make Adoption A Long, Painful Journey For Indians
Covid-19 pandemic compounds woes as disruptions lead to further delay in the entire process of adopting a child. But beautiful stories of love and compassion still abound.
“I was 31 when I applied for adoption. At that time, even some judges were opposed to the idea of a single woman becoming an adoptive parent,” says Oberoi. Adopting her second daughter, Maya, turned out to be less arduous, adds Oberoi, who feels there is an urgent need to streamline the process. “There is no proper system in place to ensure a secure future for orphaned children. It takes at least three years to clear a child for adoption, but, by that time, the children are older and there would be no takers. Instead of strict rules, there should be child protection services to follow up on adopted kids,” she says.
Oberoi feels the ‘red tape’ poses more obstacles for adoptive parents than emotional challenges. She recounts how she had to run from pillar to post to get passports issued to her daughters even after submitting the documents, including the court order.
So, have things really changed in recent years? Has it become easier to adopt children? It’s one step forward, three steps back, say many. The seemingly unending wait has propelled a group of over 300 ‘prospective adoptive parents’—the Adoption Action Group—to approach the Ministry of Women and Child Development and the Central Adoption Resource Authority (CARA), seeking various reforms in the existing system.
Under the Juvenile Justice (Care and Protection of Children) Act (JJ Act), 2015, adoption cases can be heard by a district court, a family court or a city civil court. With disruptions caused by the pandemic, many attribute to it the inordinate delays in courts issuing final adoption orders. “We have been counselling prospective parents who are distressed over the break in the adoption process because of Covid,” says Gayatri Abraham, founder of the Karnataka-based Padme Foundation, which focuses on counselling prospective parents. “We conduct workshops and panel discussions across India, and it’s more like a therapeutic process in terms of fear, apprehensions, anxiety and legal changes. It helps in understanding the self and how to then navigate the adoption system.”
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With 26,000 prospective parents in the waiting list, the central government has proposed a solution in the form of the Juvenile Justice (Amendment) Bill, 2021, which seeks to amend the 2015 JJ Act. To ensure speedy disposal of adoption cases, the draft amendment entrusts the district magistrate (DM), instead of the court, with the power to issue adoption orders. This is expected to provide orphaned, abandoned and surrendered children with familial care and protection. The DMs will also oversee the functioning of Child Welfare Committees, Juvenile Justice Boards, District Child Protection Units and Special Juvenile Protection Units in every district.
Geet Oberoi adopted Indya and Maya
The amendment was introduced on the basis of a social audit conducted in 2018 by the National Commission for Protection of Child Rights (NCPCR) in more than 7,000 child care institutions (CCIs). The report found serious anomalies in the functioning of the shelter homes. As a remedial measure, the draft amendment entrusts the DM to make sure that CCIs comply with provisions of the JJ Act.
Veerendra Mishra, former CEO of CARA, says the transition from courts to DMs will significantly hasten the adoption process and disposal of cases. On whether DMs are equipped enough to handle the responsibility, Mishra says, “A DM can always depute officers for the inspection of CCIs. It is important to conduct random and surprise inspections. A DM can fix accountability in a better way than courts, which are burdened with workload.”
However, some are wary of the proposed change. Supreme Court lawyer Aparna Bhat prefers the judiciary over the executive when it comes to scrutinising the adoption process. “At least the judge can see if there have been any omissions and errors. Handing over a child to another family involves a lifelong responsibility. It’s true, though, that there are tremendous delays in the court process,” says Bhat.
Avinash Kumar, founder-director of voluntary organisation Families of Joy, has a different take. He feels replacing one entity with another wouldn’t solve the underlying problem. “CARA is sitting in an ivory tower. It is not monitoring if there are lapses. It’s not involved in enforcement of guidelines, and it’s not penalising any agency. The entire procedure is laid out and we just have to make sure everybody is doing their part. We have a large number of family courts. Without considering this, they deem the DM fit to handle the adoption process. But how would you ensure the DM is sensitised and trained for this?” asks Kumar, a former CARA member.
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Bangalore-based entrepreneur Malini Parmar, who adopted two sisters, found the adoption process unusually less tedious as the kids were somewhat older. “Most people wish to adopt children less than three years old, but I wanted kids in the 6-8 age group. Also, the court wanted siblings to be adopted by the same family, but most people adopt a single kid. So, if somebody wants to adopt siblings, the process automatically becomes faster,” says Malini, who wasn’t keen on getting married, but wished to be a mother. Pointing out that she is “only technically” a single mother, Malini says her mother, sister, friends and members of ‘Status Single’—a group she is part of—have always supported her in raising the kids. “It takes a village to raise a child. And I always felt I had a village to support me,” she says.
Malini Parmar adopted two sisters
Not just single women, but also single men have turned to adoption as a means to build a family without necessarily settling down with a partner. Indore-based software engineer Aditya Tiwari is probably the youngest among single fathers in India. In 2016, a year after changes in adoption law had brought down the minimum age for prospective adoptive single parents from 30 to 25, Aditya, then 27, adopted Avnish, a child with Down syndrome. “I met him at an orphanage. Nobody was willing to adopt him. My life has totally changed since Avnish became a part of it. It is he who teaches me lessons in parenting,” says Aditya.
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Sometimes it is not the desire to be adoptive parents, but the sheer force of circumstance that brings a newborn into somebody’s life. Take the case of Noida-based journalist Sunanya Chatterjee (name changed). One night a source told her that a baby was being sold off in a hospital. It was the fourth girl child in an impoverished family that could barely put food on the plate. Sunanya and her friends managed to persuade the parents to not sell the baby, but they could see that the family was in no position to take care of her. Seeing the newborn’s life hanging by a thread, Sunanya was so touched that she and her husband decided to bring her home, no matter how difficult negotiating the adoption process would turn out to be. Sunanya’s daughter is now three-and-a-half years old.
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The issue of children orphaned during the Covid pandemic has triggered a debate over discrepancies in available data. According to the NCPCR, 3,621 children were orphaned during the pandemic, while the Ministry of Women and Child Development pegs the number at 600.
Kumar says the discrepancy is glaring as the number of children in the CARA pool hasn’t gone up during the pandemic. “Going by the data, the CARA pool has had around 2,200 children available for adoption in the past five years since the JJ Act came into effect. The numbers should have gone up, but there is actually a dip. Some children are missing even after taking the procedural delay in legal adoption into consideration. They may have been trafficked,” he says.
Kasturika adopted Mihika 15 years ago
According to government data for 2015-21, there are 18,415 children in the 0-2 years age group. While 1,782 children are up for adoption in the age group of 2-4 years, the numbers are 1,398 in the 4-6 years group and 797 in the 6-8 years group.
Enakshi Ganguly, a rights activist, feels that a narrative is being spun against CARA. “This bogey that so many children are available and so many parents want to adopt, and that CARA is making it all very difficult, is the narrative that has been floated. Because of this, the law has been changed and DMs have been made responsible for giving away children in adoption,” she says.
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Advocacy groups point out that the limited number of government bodies to bring children into the adoption pool has an adverse impact on their families and those who choose to create a family via adoption. Currently, there are 486 Specialised Adoption Agencies, 642 District Child Protection Units and 5,810 CCIs. Gaps in the system make it difficult for the parents to sustain their adoption journey. Ultimately, the system is not only discouraging those keen to adopt, but also adding to the danger of illegal adoptions. Data shows that just over 3,000 children in the 0-5 years age group were adopted last year.
This is how the system works: After an abandoned child is rescued by the police, it is handed over to the Child Welfare Committee (CWC) in the district. The CWC decides whether the child has been orphaned, abandoned or surrendered by their families, and if they can be adopted. “Though it appears to be a fairly simple process, every step is a challenge,” says Kasturika Misra, a single mother and writer, who adopted her daughter Mihika 15 years ago. “I had to wait for five years to get her. I think the scenario has changed for the better now.” Mihika was brought up by Kasturika and her childhood friend Minati. “It’s better to be with two mothers than with a mother and a father,” says Mihika, now 16.
A recent row in Kerala has sparked another debate on adoption laws. The Kerala High Court had to intervene when 21-year-old Anupama Chandran alleged that her parents gave away her child, born out of wedlock, for adoption to the CWC without her consent. The case assumed political significance as the woman’s father belonged to the CPI(M), the ruling party in Kerala. After the court’s intervention, the child was traced to a teacher couple in Andhra Pradesh.
Supreme Court lawyer Neela Gokhale says adoption is illegal if done without the mother’s consent. “Under the Hindu law (Hindu Adoptions and Maintenance Act, 1956), a mother is the guardian of an illegitimate child. The child can be placed for adoption only if she surrenders the child and submits an affidavit to the CWC,” says Gokhale, who describes the JJ Act as a progressive law that has opened a lot of avenues for all sections of society. However, she feels it is high time CARA shed its “rigid” nature. “Because of CARA’s rigid actions, one of my clients, an Australian citizen, is distraught as the adoption process is trailing on,” she says.
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While the Hindu Adoptions and Maintenance Act (HAMA) gives the adopted children of Hindus, Buddhists, Jains and Sikhs the same inheritance rights as biological children, in other communities like Muslims, Christians, Parsis and Jews, only “guardianship” until the “ward” turns 18 was allowed under the Guardians and Wards Act (1890). After the JJ Act was amended in 2006 to give adopted children “all rights, privileges and responsibilites” of biological children, the Supreme Court in 2014 interpreted it as being applicable to all communities. This meant children adopted under the JJ Act by parents from any religious background would have all the rights that biological children have. In effect, the apex court’s judgment clarified that people from the Muslim, Christian, Parsi and Jewish communities too could be legal parents of the children they adopt. “Under JJ Act, the process of adoption for minority communities is smooth. That was my experience,” says Aparna Bhat.
The JJ Act, however, did not replace HAMA and the Guardians and Wards Act. In fact, in its petition to the women and child development ministry, the Adoption Action Group has flagged the persistent pressure to adopt under HAMA rather than the JJ Act. “Most of the domestic and international adoptions are taking place under HAMA. It’s high time we brought checks and balances into the system,” says Avinash Kumar.
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Another worry for activists working on the field is the growing number of children who have been returned to the agencies. An RTI query showed that 275 children had been returned between April 2017 and March 2019. “We need to understand why parents are opting for adoption,” says Gayatri Abraham. “Some couples succumb to social or family pressure. When they can’t have a biological child, they go for adoption without understanding the nuances. Then they find it challenging and return the kids. That’s why preparedness is of utmost importance.”
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Kavita Baluni adopted Veda in 2017
At first glance, the story of Kavita Baluni and Himanshu Kaktwan seems like that of any other adoptive parents, except that they adopted a child with Down syndrome. “Kids with disabilities do not get adopted in our country because of the stigma attached to it. But, before diagnosis, they are just children. Someone has to think about the babies instead of the diagnosis,” says Kavita, who was always sure she didn’t want to bring another life into this world with its limited resources, growing population and worsening quality of air. The Noida-based couple knew they would rather adopt a kid, and in 2017 they brought 16-month-old Veda home from an agency in Bhopal.
The adoption process was swift in their case—after all, very few people want to adopt children with disabilities. “Within 45 days of registration, our child was at home. Later we came to know that if you adopt a child with special needs or disability, there is no waiting period. No one wants to have them. They’re just in queue, while people wait for so-called healthy and normal children,” Kavita says.
Usually, after the prospective parents get approved, the Central Adoption Resource Authority provides them with referrals for children according to availability. As Veda was in the disability section, that was not required in her case. “People usually don’t look there, so the disability and special needs section is already open for prospective parents. We did not have to wait for referrals. I just checked into the disability section and found there were two-three profiles under Down syndrome. One was Veda’s,” Kavita says.
It’s been four years since Veda came into Kavita and Himanshu’s lives, and the journey has been both “amazing and hard”. Besides dealing with social biases, the couple also had a lot to unlearn and learn about parenting a child with Down syndrome. “Even if the parents are happy with their child, others will not let you feel happy,” Kavita says. “Veda is very strong. She does all her activities, but her pace is slow. It seems people find it hard to understand that every child has his/her own pace, and that we have to respect it. There is a stigma attached to why she looks different, why she wears glasses or why she is so tiny. So I tell them that’s what she is and you have to acknowledge and love her for the differences.”
Paucity of medical facilities for children with disabilities also adds to the parents’ troubles.
Children with Down syndrome need different kinds of therapies for several years, and these are often not covered by medical insurance, says Kavita. But there is nothing in the world that could diminish the couple’s love for their daughter. “If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing,” Kavita says. “We are not saviours, we are just parents.”
(As told to Trisha Mukherjee)
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Norbu Tshering adopted his friend’s son Lovith
Norbu Tshering’s story of adoption is like no other. He did not set out to adopt a child; instead a child, quite literally, fell into his lap, and he became a single dad. Norbu’s son Lovith, now three years old, is the biological son of his friend of 15 years, Dev. Once flatmates, Norbu and Dev’s friendship continued long after.
Meanwhile, Dev got married and had a daughter and then a son. Norbu’s consistent presence in their lives brought him and Lovith closer, and thanks to his affection, the child developed an attachment with Norbu that was deeper than the one with his biological father. So much so that Dev suggested Norbu adopt Lovith, an offer he could not refuse.
They took baby steps to ensure the transition would suit the child in the long run. “So Lovith and I stayed by ourselves for a month. We also took vacations together. And we realised he was not missing his parents or even asking for them. Rather he would miss me when he was away from me,” says Norbu, who is a schoolteacher.
The process to formalise the adoption began when Lovith turned two. It turned out that there were a lot of hurdles for a single father who wants to adopt a child. “I had all my documents ready, but my lawyer recommended that we do it under the Hindu law, which is also accepted legally. It req- uired me and Lovith’s biological parents to do a havan in a temple. Dev’s mother was the witness. The photographs from the ceremony were used to complete the process of adoption,” Norbu says. Lovith is enrolled in pre-nursery in Norbu’s school, and the two have been living together since February this year. Thankfully, there was minimum resistance from the extended family, except for Norbu’s mother. “She did not understand what was happening. But now she is slowly coming around,” he says.
Lovith is in touch with his biological parents and uses their surname. “I don’t want him to forget them. We keep visiting each other. And I have decided to let him decide about his last name when he turns 18,” Norbu says.
(As told to Trisha Mukherjee)
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Nikita Raje was adopted, wants to adopt
Nikita Raje was around five and watching a film with her mother when she found out she was adopted. The film was themed around adoption, and Nikita bombarded her mother with questions about the issue, including “was I adopted?” Her mother did not lie, and two decades later, she is thankful for her decision.
Nikita learnt that she was adopted from Mumbai. She was four months old at the time, and her biological mother had given her up as she was born out of wedlock. Going by the familiar narratives of Hindi films, this information could have set her up for a lifetime of resentment and anger. Nikita’s story, however, is quite the contrary. A successful advocate now, she says learning that information at an early age “saved her a lot of identity crisis” later in life.
“I have met a lot of people who found out they were adopted in their teenage years. They often felt confused and had questions like ‘where do I belong’. But the topic of adoption was not taboo for me. I was really lucky that my parents told me early,” she says.
However, once she became open about her situation, people around her started treating her differently. “Some friends stopped talking to me after finding out that I was adopted. I don’t know what went on in their minds…that I am tainted. They probably wondered if I came from a good home. They failed to understand that my family was my (adoptive) parents. While I told my mother about this, she used to advise me against telling people. But I used to tell her that there was nothing to hide. There is no shame in adopting,” she says.
In fact, Nikita also hates being pitied over the fact that she was adopted. “When I tell people that I am adopted, they feel sad for me. But it’s the best thing that has happened to me, because I got to have this amazing life that otherwise would not have been possible, and if anything my parents have pampered me more,” she says.
Her parents’ decision and the life they have given her have encouraged her to take the adoption route when she decides to have a family of her own. “If you ask me what long-lasting impression my adoption has had on me, it is that I want to adopt a child. That’s something my partner and I have also discussed. Why bring a new life into this world when you can actually help someone?” she asks.
(As told to Trisha Mukherjee)
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Priya Ramanathan adopted a son in 2010
The process of adopting a child in India has its hassles despite the centralised system that was put in place with the setting up of the Central Adoption Resource Authority (CARA) in 2015. The challenges in pre-CARA times were conspicuously worse, especially for single parents looking to adopt children. Priya Ramanathan, who adopted her son in 2010, is among those who were at the receiving end of a poorly managed adoption system.
“I adopted my son 11 years ago. That was an offline system and obviously there were biases…single parents were not the preferred choice,” Priya says. “A few agencies wouldn’t even accept applications from single parents.”
Priya was told she would have to wait for more than two years due to her single status, but she got her good news sooner than she expected. “It happened for me much faster because the child at that point needed a surgery, which he did not need eventually, but because of that other adoptive parents must have gone for a ‘healthy’ child,” she says.
Priya adopted her son when he was seven months old. “My family resisted initially, but once they were on board, there was absolutely no looking back. I know a lot of adopted kids being discriminated against, but largely my son and I have received a lot of inclusion and love,” she says.
Even though Priya is a single parent by choice, she admits having had moments when she hoped for a partner to share her child’s life with. “When you are thinking of adopting, you don’t think of the future at that moment. I was ready physically and financially then. But as he grew up, started going to school, and exhibiting his talents, I felt the need for a life partner to share his journeys with. I also felt that he needed a male presence. My father was there for the first few years, but then he passed away. I missed not having enough male role models around the house for my child…there was that phase. But now, as his vocabulary got better and I was able to introduce ideas to him, I think we have found our own balance,” she says.
(As told to Trisha Mukherjee)
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Shruti Haksar adopted Zoya from Mizoram
Shruti Haksar and her husband Rahul Rajpal had always wanted to adopt a kid, but their busy professional lives that required them to move states every few years held them back. Their desire to adopt continued even after Shruti gave birth to a child in 2012. Once they knew they were stable in terms of their location, they filed for adoption in 2016.
The process was not easy. As they lived in Gurgaon, they filled in forms seeking adoption opportunities in surrounding states like Delhi, Punjab and Uttar Pradesh. They assumed proximity would make it easier, but ended up waiting for 20 months without any luck. “Then, on a whim, my husband changed our preferences to random states, including several in the Northeast, and within two months we got the call,” says Shruti. When they eventually adopted Zoya from Mizoram, she was barely three months old. Today she is three years old.
“All we knew was that we’re getting a baby, it doesn’t matter what the baby looks like. She is our child,” says Shruti. Anticipating the questions they might face as Zoya looked different due to her northeastern background, Shruti and Rahul have ensured that their children are aware of the adoption. Pointing out that many have said Zoya is “Chinese”, Shruti says, “As parents, you get to hear a lot about your biological children too. You just need to know how to shut up people. We are teaching our kids about the need to talk about adoption in a very open way…that families are made in several ways, and adoption is one of those ways.”
As Shruti is a Kashmiri and Rahul a Punjabi, it made it easier for the couple to make their children appreciate their differences. “The older child doesn’t look like me at all. She is often told that she doesn’t look like her mother. She looks like my husband. And the younger one sort of looks like me…so we’re a mixed bag. If you see the four of us, you’ll probably wonder who belongs to whom. So I tell Zara, my elder daughter, to just say, ‘She’s adopted, so what? She’s my sister in any case’,” Shruti says.
(As told to Trisha Mukherjee)
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Nibedita Sen wasn’t allowed to adopt her househelp’s kids
Nibedita Sen took on the responsibility of her househelp Tuli’s two daughters after the latter was abused by her alcoholic husband. For months, Nibedita and her family took care of the girls while Tuli was out working through the day. What started off as a favour for Tuli, whom Nibedita had known all her life, soon turned into a bond of unconditional love for the two girls—Suhana and Billu—much like a mother’s.
The arrangement was working perfectly for Nibedita, Tuli and the daughters, until an unforeseen incident that led to Tuli’s disappearance from their lives. “After Tuli left her husband, she started seeing another man. One day, when she was meeting him in a park, the two were caught by some members of the Bajrang Dal. They were taken to the police station and forcibly married. After spending seven days in jail, she went with her second husband. As she did not know the man very well, she did not want to risk taking her daughters with her, and left them in my care. That way she knew they would be safe and taken care of, and that she could come and meet them,” Nibedita says.
While it was understood that Nibedita was now the adoptive mother of Tuli’s daughters, the adoption was not formalised. To do so, Nibedita reached out to Childline.
“A week later a woman from Childline came home to meet the kids. She asked if I had any documents. I could provide them with all the information she required, but little did I know that I was going to lose the kids. They took me and Tuli to court. We fought till the end, but the court decided to take custody of the children until they became adults. Tuli and I were told that they would be provided with education and other basic needs,” she says.
Suhana and Billu, now at Sukanya home in Calcutta, are allowed to meet only their biological mother for 10 minutes every other week. Nibedita communicates with them through voice messages via Tuli. “There are so many people waiting to be provided with food and shelter, but the government turns a blind eye towards them. Instead they decided to disrupt the lives of two children who were safe and had a promising future,” Nibedita says.
(As told to Trisha Mukherjee)
(This appeared in the print edition as "Waiting For Family")