It is the year 2019 and I will be turning 43. For the past 40 years I have been living here in Denmark. You may be thinking, isn’t there some time missing between my birth and my life in Denmark? Stay with me and I will explain.
Let’s start with the basics. In 1979 I was adopted at the age of 3 from India. Ever since then, to my friends and family, I have been known as Casper. I have been aware of my adoption since a very early age as my brown skin ahas set me apart in a predominantly white culture.
Growing up I had always been curious about my past and where I came from. For a long time though, I knew very little about my birth country. As time passed I began to visit the library more frequently and would pick up anything that was remotely linked to India. I buried myself in books, eventually leading me to pursue a university degree in Indian Studies.
Surprisingly, I managed to secure a spot in university, an achievement I find astonishing to this day as I was never particularly fond of school or studying, and I certainly wasn’t an overachiever in terms of grades. But at that time, I was filled with determination an 2005, I briefly embarked on an Indian study tour, not returning until a decade later.
During my second visit, I visited Coimbatore – the place of ny origin whereI had not returned to since my adoption. After my visit to my home town, my urge to know about my birth family grew stronger and 4 years later, in January 2019, I returned to Coimbatore.
I went there with Against Child Trafficking (ACT), a child rights organization based in the Netherlands who has helped many adoptees, especially from India, to reconnect with their root families. This time I visited my village and discovered about the circumstances of my adoption.
I was born in Linganur a small village near Coimbatore. My father apparently suffered some form of paralytic attack and my mother had left him for unknown reasons. After that I was handed over to the Blue Mountain Children’s Home around 1978. I was able to meet people from my village who remembered my father. I was told that while he was living in Linganur he would have been staying with my grandmother and they were working as coolies., but after 1986 he had disappeared, and no one really knew where he went or what happened to him.
I returned from my trip to India without finding any of my relatives, however, I still have a glimpse of hope. Maybe it is naive on my part, but it is all I have.
If you by any chance have reached here, I want to thank you for listening to my story.