I inherited life itself: A tale of coming to terms with being an adopted child

On January 1, 1995, a baby girl was born to an unwed Indian woman, who shortly after, opted to be free of responsibility towards her child. The pregnancy had undoubtedly drawn unwanted attention and was kept under wraps with the child being delivered at home. This baby was proof of an act often detested by many when it happens outside the confines of marriage, with disownment becoming the only quick solution.

Embarking on a mission to clear her name, the mother of the child came to Mumbai to hand over the 19-day-old package. She reached the doorstep of the Sisters of the Missionaries of Charity, a Roman Catholic religious congregation established in 1950 by Mother Teresa. The home caters to orphan children. The nuns, both young and old, devote their lives to the care of these abandoned babies till they have been found a home.

The story of the baby girl is, in fact, my story.

Here, I see how separation from my biological mother opened up a new world for me as life took an unexpected turn. While children inherit gold, land, money and fame, I inherited life. Simple as it may sound, I see my biological mother as one who dared to have me instead of opting for abortion. She believed in a love that was sacrificial to separate herself from me, so that I got a chance at life itself.

"Mother Teresa gave me a medal"

At the orphanage, they called me Ruchi out of love. Each of us had a blue crib, all aligned one after another with one toy in each. The screams, cries, laughs and giggles resounded, as sisters bathed, fed, rocked and baby-talked to each of us. Three months now, and there was no sign of my mother coming back to claim me. So, following the procedure, I was eligible to be adopted at four months. Treading carefully, wide-smiling young couples looking for a child, yearning for their family to be made whole, would visit.

One fine day, a young lady in her late thirties came to say hello. Her husband was not far behind, smiling shyly at the many nuns around the room. To their surprise, after prayer and discernment, I was shown to them by the nuns. The young couple took a little while and then felt drawn to say yes to me.

Satish and Cressie Konatt, my new parents, welcomed me into their home. They were thrilled to have their family now complete and I was soon christened Ranjana Maria Konatt. Introduced to my new home at four months, I faced difficulty sleeping at nights and cried continuously, demanding that I be rocked or carried. My mother would sit up whole nights. She giving up her job to adopt me and became a full-time homemaker.

After a month in my new home, my mother took me to meet Mother Teresa who had come to the Vile Parle orphanage. I was still crying when Mother Teresa took me in her arms and blessed me. Giving me back to my mother she said, "You have a happy baby". Something you would never say to a child screaming her wits out. Mother Teresa gave me a medal, which in the years to come proved to be miraculous, saving me from many accidents.

We soon shifted to Gujarat, as my father was transferred as a bank manager. I integrated well in Gujarat. As the years passed, my bond with my parents grew, and I became increasingly close and fond of my mother. While she scrubbed collars of shirts in the semi-automatic washing machine that we had, I would stand beside her, watching and telling her stories like a 'wannabe' storyteller. She listened and asked me questions as if what I told her was very interesting. Every night after a quick prayer, I was sure to be sung these lines in a melodious tune, "Jesus has carved you on the palm of his hand and he will never forget you, even though a mother forgets her baby, he will not forget you." It was the most soothing song, one that I still remember vividly. Prayer was an important part of my life, as my parents were active in the life of our parish in Junagadh, Gujarat.

"Mama has no milk to give"

While interacting with parents who have adopted children, I found that the most common and dreaded move is telling their child that s/he is adopted. In my case, while I was still learning to love, I was cautious by nature and never went easily to relatives and neighbours. When I reached age three, I began to understand who are my people and who are not.

At this time, my parents thought it imperative that they tell me. I often looked at mothers feed their child at the breast and went to my mother asking for milk. She would deal with the situation by telling me the truth: "Baby, mama has no milk to give you. Mama could not have babies. It's dried up". When asked whether I came from her stomach, she again told me the truth, "No. You are a gift to us from God. You have your birth mother whom we pray and thank God for. Because of her, we are parents. We took you from an ashram, and we love you." These statements stayed. Though I never understood the literal meaning, I was aware of its powerful mix of bitter and sweet emotions.

Each year, we would visit the Missionaries of Charity, where I would play with the other babies, donate biscuits and meet nuns who were overwhelmed when my mother told them I'm their child. Their response would be toothy smiles, huge never-ending hugs, and kisses, followed by cheek pulling and screams calling out to the others saying, "Sister, she's one of ours."

I appreciate my parents' honesty in telling me that I am adopted. This made me strong as I faced reality, assisted by prayer and an assurance that they loved me. I am happy that my trust has never been betrayed. But every child rejected at a young age has a void that runs deep – like a dark hole of sorrow, insecurity and hurt which needs to be addressed.

"My mother figured, unforgiveness was my problem"

I never scored well in school. In primary school, I would often cry, so much so that I had to be sent home. My insecurity peaked in the 4th standard when I would constantly complain that I didn't have friends. However, my mother would always see a bunch of friends around me during open house and realised that it was all in my head. I had developed a deep attachment to my mother and could not sleep at night without her at my side, let alone going for holidays to my cousin's place. When I was in the 4th standard, some of my classmates learned that I was adopted. The news spread like wildfire. Often, I would be mocked at or given unwanted sympathy: "Oh no, she's adopted", "Good thing your mother left you, you deserve it". Often, I would transfer this feeling of being unwanted onto my family by threatening to leave home.

I often held my birth mother responsible for the way I felt and hated it when I was rejected by friends. I was often received by long stares, a little sympathy and questioning eyes when people were told I was adopted. Just like an alien who is not expected to be normal, people would often say, "But you're normal". My mother, however, saw this and often protected me. She was quick to understand that my problem was un-forgiveness and reassured me that the act of being orphaned by my biological mother was not to be considered a negative act but one of bravery in giving me life.

"But I let go"

After years of constant prayer and love from both my parents, I had a deep experience of God's love in 12th standard. At a three-day retreat during an inner-healing session, I was asked to imagine my birth parents before me and asked to forgive them and let go. It was a time of grace and breaking free, a time of healing and self-discovery. It was a time filled with tears and cries to God to help me let go of the situation.

Until that day, I constantly questioned God – why me and why couldn't I be kept close to my biological mother. Thoughts like "Oh, now she may be married and may have a family of her own" or "She hates me, I was a problem, maybe even a result of an attempted abortion, pain and anguish" ran through my head.

But to let go I had to forgive. I spent that whole night sobbing and letting go. I came out a changed person. The experience taught me that no matter who you are and where you come from, life is a struggle, but having the grace to forgive helps you carry on.

Now in my 22nd year of life, I have experienced fullness, a feeling where the void of hurt and rejection is filled with love and acceptance. However, this void needs to be looked into time and again and be made whole through the support of prayer, knowing that God has his own way of meeting supply with demand.

I believe that adopted children are special. We are not like the rest, we are sensitive and vulnerable, but if we let go we are strong and unbreakable. We were never made to be like a feather, merely tossed with the wind, but designed to be that beautiful stroke in the bird's wing, when it soars to new heights.