Krish
“You can relax. You will feel nothing more than a tiny prick.”
The words flow effortlessly as I establish the intravenous line and place the oxygen mask.
“Take slow, deep breaths and picture yourself in a happy place.”
I go through the familiar steps of my protocol, guiding the patient towards sleep with the calm assurance that comes from years of practice. Propofol administered - check. Patient relaxed - check. No blink reflex - check. Vital signs on the monitors - all stable. Satisfied, I slide in the endotracheal tube, nod to the surgeon, and lean back in my seat.
My thoughts drift to Kara,,,and our first date. She had looked almost ethereal that day. We met online - she, a writer, and me, a man of science. I used to think that reason and imagination rarely crossed paths, but as cliché as it sounds, opposites do attract. At least enough to say yes to that first date.
No distractions please - my mind rebukes, shepherding my thoughts to what has been bothering me off late.
“I would like to adopt a child, Kara.”
I remember that day quite vividly. We had been seeing each other for a while and I felt comfortable enough to share this possibly quirky desire of mine. I hadn’t rehearsed it. And I wasn’t exactly sure of the response I was expecting. All I knew was that I needed to tell her, and see how she felt.
Her expression didn’t change, but I did notice the surprise in her eyes. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but it stretched just long enough to make me second-guess myself. Maybe I should’ve waited?
“Wow,” she finally said, her voice thoughtful. “You really caught me off guard with that. Honestly, I haven’t even thought about kids yet, let alone adoption. I don’t know what to say right now, Krish. I think I need some time to sit with it.”
Of course, I hadn’t expected her to agree right away. Still, her response left me unsettled. We kept dating, but I couldn’t stop dissecting her every move. Was she pulling away, or was I just imagining it? Those days of waiting for her to respond felt agonizing - full of self-doubt and regret. Had I pushed her away before we even had the chance to truly know each other? Looking back now, it’s almost amusing. Is it that we are always unjustifiably serious in the past?
I have often reflected on why I wanted to adopt, and ironically, I still do not have a neatly packaged answer. It’s a lot like when I pivoted from engineering to medicine; no clear-cut reasons, just a pull I couldn’t ignore. I’ve never been able to give anyone, or even myself, a completely satisfying explanation. I guess it all comes down to a gut feel. I’ve tried countless times to organize my thoughts to make sense of it all. Was it about giving back, or helping someone? Maybe. But those answers felt too sentimental and embarrassing. ‘Gut feel’ seems much better.
“I want to have a biological child,” she said one evening a few months later. The words caught me off guard, and I couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease that was starting to creep in. But then, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Let’s adopt our second one.”
I had been elated. Years have passed and we now have a lovely daughter, Arnavi. Life has been a whirlwind of busyness, and the subject of adoption hasn’t come up again, in my mind for sure. That is, until now. Should I bring this up with Kara again? I feel we are ready, but it has been so many years. Does she still feel the same way? It was much easier bringing this up during our dating days, but now, I am afraid it might disrupt our cozy family of three.
“Dr. Krish, we are closing up the incision.”
I spring into action, initiating the post-surgical procedure to reverse paralysis and gradually wean off the anaesthesia. After injecting the anti-nausea medication, I turn off the anaesthesia gas and gently guide the patient from machine-assisted breaths to spontaneous breathing. I look for signs of awakening --- lifting of the head, squeezing of fingers, swallowing, and opening of eyes. Once I am confident that the patient is sufficiently alert, I smoothly pull out the endotracheal tube, deflate the balloon and perform necessary suctioning. Placing a mask over the patient to aid respiratory recovery, I check once again to ensure everything is stable. As I walk out of the operating room towards the changing station, I feel a surge of nervous anticipation, the kind that follows a significant decision. Tonight, I will talk to Kara.
#
Arnavi
Dear Diary,
I have BIG news for you!!! I was playing with my dolls in the hallway when I heard mom and dad talking in the kitchen. I know I shouldn’t listen in, but I couldn’t help it. They said something about a new baby coming home. A BABY!!! Could it be the little sister I’ve been secretly wishing for? Yay!!! Now, when Aisha and I have a fight, I will have my own sister to play with. That will be nice.
I am happy, but why does my tummy feel funny? Maybe it’s something I ate at dinner? No…. I think I am just a teeny bit worried if mom and dad would love me as much. Maybe they will be busy with the baby and won’t have the time to read me bedtime stories? That’s ok. I am the big sister and I can manage to go to bed by myself. I won’t be sad about it.
In fact, you know what? I will surprise mom and dad by being such a good big sis. I will play with her and share all my toys and books…. except for Betty. I don’t want her to break Betty. And my Paper Bag Princess book. She may tear it. Oh no, I am not so sure I want to share ALL my stuff with her. Am I a bad sister?
Diary – I forgot..what if it’s a BOY? I don’t like boys – they are no fun. I don’t want a kid brother. And what if the baby doesn’t like me? What about my friends?
I know I shouldn’t have listened in. Mom says it’s wrong to listen to grown-ups talking, and now I’m afraid to ask her about the baby. Will she get mad at me? Or maybe I heard it wrong and there’s no baby at all? Then I’ll feel silly.
I’m so confused, Diary. I don’t know what to think. I hope mom and dad will still love me.
Good night, Diary. I hope I can sleep. I still feel all weird.
#
Kara
“Darling, can you please sit still, dear? It will take just a few minutes to set up the call.” I nervously double-click on the Zoom icon, while stealing a quick glance at Arnavi who is sitting on the edge of her chair, her cute legs swinging back and forth. She looks a tad anxious - her fingers are fidgeting with the button on her dress. I hope she doesn’t sense how jittery I am.
I look at Krish, who is standing by the window, lost in thought. Sensing my gaze, he turns and our eyes meet. He gives me a small, reassuring smile and moves closer to Arnavi wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a gentle hug. “Let’s wait till mummy sets it up, darling,” he says softly. “By the way, a new movie, Inside Out 2, has come to the theatres. Would you like to watch it next Saturday?”
Arnavi’s eyes light up at the mention of Inside Out - her favorite movie. I feel a wave of calm wash over me; Krish always knows just what to say to salvage a situation. I catch his eye, giving him a grateful look.
As I click “Join” on Zoom, I can feel my heart beating faster. We've seen pictures and videos of Jaanu, but this will be our first time truly meeting her, though still virtual. I am reminded of the day we all chose Jaanu as a nickname for Janki, and how it felt perfect right from the moment we said it. Janki --- such a beautiful name, full of grace and so Indian. And Jaanu sounds so warm and familiar, like she is already a part of us.
The screen fills with the face of Mrs. Yashoda, the caretaker from the orphanage. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Krish, and Arnavi! I hope you’re doing well! I’m sure you’re eager to meet Janki, so I won’t keep you waiting. Janki beti, look at Mama, Papa, and Didi,” she says, her voice kind and encouraging. She turns the camera towards a small figure sitting quietly in a chair.
My heart skips a beat as I lean closer to the laptop. We're about to see her for the first time! Janki. Jaanu. I picture her small face and large eyes. A kid of just three - does she even understand she’s about to join our family? And how her world is going to change? Will she like us? Will she feel safe and at home with us? And will we be able to create the loving space she needs?
I glance at Arnavi beside me, her body tense with anticipation, eyes fixed intently on the screen, waiting to see her new sister for the first time. Will Arnavi embrace her role as the big sister she’s always wished to be? I am confident Krish will be a good dad. He's always been so gentle and patient with children. But what about me? Will I be a good mom to her? Can I love her the same way I love Arnavi? The questions swirl in my mind, each one heavier than the last.
I think back to when Krish first brought up adoption, about a year into our dating. It was so unexpected that I was taken aback, caught off guard by the suddenness of it. At that time, I wasn’t sure. I’d never really thought about adoption. I hadn’t even fully thought about having children yet. Marriage itself was only just beginning to occupy my mind. So, I asked for time.
When I thought about adoption, I realized it was more than just bringing a child into your home. It’s opening up to someone new, someone not bound by blood but who still becomes family. It means accepting them, quirks and all, with the same love we’d give our own. I wondered if I had that kind of openness, that kind of strength. Could I meet them where they were, and love them fully, no matter what? I wasn’t sure.
But over time, I started to see that even if I didn’t feel entirely ready, I could learn. And that ability to embrace someone unconditionally - that’s something I wanted to teach my child. So, when I went back to Krish with my decision, I told him, we’d adopt our second.
The laptop screen suddenly brightens, and Jaanu’s face comes into focus. She has the sweetest, most innocent expression, her big brown eyes looking directly at us. She seems unsure, maybe even a little scared. I can’t blame her. It’s probably her first time seeing a family through a screen like this. Her eyes dart around, taking in our faces. Arnavi jumps up from her chair and rushes to the laptop, her excitement bubbling over. “Hello, Jaanu!” she says brightly, her voice full of joy. She waves enthusiastically, her whole face smiling.
For a moment, Jaanu just stares, and I hold my breath. Then, slowly, her lips curl into a small, shy smile. Her eyes soften, and a tiny giggle escapes her lips. She’s smiling! My heart wells up and all my worries recede into oblivion, at least for the moment. I reach out and take Krish’s hand.
Everything feels as it should. I don’t know what the future holds, but at this moment, I feel confident that we’re going to be okay. We’re ready for this … ready for her.
“Hi, Jaanu,” I say softly, waving at the screen. “We can’t wait to meet you, sweetie.”
#
Jaanu
I am scared. I want to cry. Bhaiya said go with mama papa. But I don’t know them. I know bhaiya. I know daadi. I don't want to go. I want to stay here. I like here. I like bhaiya. I like daadi. I don’t like mama papa.
Bhaiya takes me outside. I see mama papa. Mama has big eyes. She’s smiling. Papa has black hair. He looks nice. They talk to me. Mama talks like rhymes. But with new words I don’t know. I go behind bhaiya. Papa talks in Hindi. I am afraid. But slowly I answer.
Mama gives a blue dress. It has lots of flowers. I like it. And a doll with hair like me. I want to play with it. But I don’t want mama papa. I want only doll.
I have seen mama and papa on TV. I like them on TV. But I don’t want to go with them. Where is didi? She was nice. She smiled at me from TV. I want to see her. She is small like me.
Bhaiya walks outside to a car. It is a nice, red car. I hold bhaiya’s hand. I hold tight. Bhaiya says I have to go. I feel scared. I cry. I don’t want to go. I hide my face on bhaiya’s leg. I really don’t want to go. Papa talks softly. It is nice. He tells me to get in. I cry a lot. But daadi has told me. I have to go. I am getting a new mama papa and didi. My new family. They will be nice. I will get new toys. New frocks. I will be happy, daadi said.
I sit quietly in car close to papa. Mama gives me chocolate. I want to eat. But I am angry. I don’t want to go with them. But I have to. I will not take chocolate.
Mama papa take me to a new room. Is this my new house? It’s biiiiiiiiig. Everything is big. The bed also. It is so soft. When I put my leg, it goes in. I jump. This is fun. My tummy is paining. Should I have that chocolate? Mama put it back in her bag. I don’t want to ask her. I see apple on table. I take it and eat. It is sweet. I like it.
Mama keeps talking. It is like rhymes. Like songs. She touches my hand, but I take it back. I don’t like it. I don’t like mama. She is not like bhaiya or daadi. I like papa. He talks in Hindi. I want to stay close to papa. I go to papa. I hold his hand tight.
Papa picks me up. I hide my face in his chest. I feel safe. Mama comes to sit near, but I cry. I don’t want her. I move closer to papa. I close my eyes. I am feeling sleepy.
Papa rocks me. Just like daadi. I put my head down. I feel little happy. But only a little.
#
Krish
I lean back against the pillow with a sigh. Jaanu finally drifts off on my chest, her little body giving in to exhaustion. These last few days have been a blur; airports, layovers, chaotic drives, endless paperwork and most importantly meeting Jaanu. I glance at her and feel the familiar weight of responsibility. One more under my wing. But first, all four of us need to recalibrate what “family” means and slowly shape ourselves into this new version - a family of four. I’m not sure how long it’ll take, but we’ll get there.
In hindsight, it’s almost ironic how much I overthought bringing up adoption with Kara again. It’s like a déjà vu from our dating days; except, back then, I was worried about bringing it up too soon, and now I was debating whether to bring it up at all. And when I did, it was such an anticlimax. She just looked at me and said, “I’ve already started researching.” She’d been calling agencies, mapping out timelines, all the while waiting for me to catch up.
Jaanu stirs in her sleep. I run my hand through her soft, messy hair. Poor kid. She has been withdrawn all day, looking miserable and eating almost nothing. But then, kids are resilient. I’ve seen that time and again at my work. They adapt, they heal. Faster than most adults. I am sure that will be the case with Jaanu too.
I glance at Kara, standing by the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The light from outside catches the curve of her profile, but it’s the rigid line of her shoulders that holds my attention. She’s staring out, not really seeing anything, her fingers tapping a restless rhythm against her arm. I hate seeing her like this. She hasn’t said anything, but I can feel it -the frustration and disappointment beneath her calm. I give her a reassuring smile as she turns to look at me, but I can feel the weight in the air between us. I rest my hand on Jaanu’s back, the steady rhythm of her breathing calming me.
My thoughts flit to Arnavi. Maybe she can help bridge this gap. Kids have a way of making things better, of softening the sharp edges we adults struggle with. I close my eyes, the fatigue finally settling in. It might take time, but we’ll figure it out.
#
Kara: The flight from Delhi to Ranchi feels both endless and too short. I stare out of the plane window, watching the clouds drift closer as the city below shrinks into a distant blur. My mind is a swirl of emotions. Leaving Arnavi back in the US with her grandparents is something I’m still struggling to come to terms with. Krish and I weren’t sure about the full itinerary in India with all the adoption paperwork, and Arnavi had school to think about. It just made sense to leave her behind. But this is the first time my little baby has been away from me for more than a few days. I miss her already.
Once you start worrying, it’s like opening a floodgate. You find a million things to worry about. Kind of like Murphy’s law. My thoughts shift to my uncertainties about Jaanu. Will I be able to care for a three-year-old at this stage in my life? I’m in my early forties now, and I can feel the signs of age creeping in, more than I like to admit. The energy I once had doesn’t come as easily anymore. It’s daunting to think about starting again, with diapers, tantrums, and sleepless nights. I can’t help but wonder if I’m really ready for all of this.
As we step out of the airport, the scorching heat of Ranchi wraps around us like a heavy blanket. The dry air is thick with the scent of dust and parched earth. The streets outside are alive with honking cars, scooters zipping by, and people weaving through the traffic, all creating a blur of movement and sound. Ironically, the city feels smaller and more intimate than the wide, sprawling streets I’m used to in the States, yet somehow larger too, with its dense crowds and loudness - a place where you could easily get lost.
I pull my dupatta tighter around my shoulders, the lightweight fabric a practical choice for the heat, though it does little to ward off the unfamiliarity. I glance at Krish. He’s completely at ease, moving through it all like he belongs. And of course, he does. He was born here. It feels almost prophetic that Jaanu is from his hometown. For me, though, everything feels new - the rhythm of the streets, the language I don’t understand, the subtle nuances in the way people interact. It’s like stepping into another world.
We’ve packed several small suitcases - one entirely for Jaanu and another one for the other kids at the orphanage. Simple, comfortable clothes and toys. What would she like? Would she even want any of it? I’ve made careful selections: brightly colored dresses, soft dolls, picture books. I want her to feel welcome, but I worry it will all feel foreign to her. Can these small gestures make a difference?
Arriving at the orphanage feels surreal. I’ve seen Jaanu’s face many times on the screen, but nothing prepares me for the moment I finally meet her in person. My heart pounds as we step inside. The orphanage is modest but warm - simple rooms with pale walls, children’s voices echoing in the corridors. There’s a quiet hum of life here; the kind that somehow exists within the chaos of children’s laughter, chatter, and hurried footsteps. It’s not silence, far from it. But beneath the noise, there’s a steady rhythm. A comfort in their routine, in their shared world. The kind of calm that comes not from stillness, but from belonging.
And then, there she is, standing in the doorway, clutching her caretaker’s hand. Her eyes are wide, searching, unsure. I try to smile, to make her feel safe, but as I step forward, she pulls back, retreating behind her caretaker. Krish speaks to her in Hindi, his voice gentle, coaxing, but she barely moves. Slowly, she begins to relax, nodding and answering him in short, quiet replies. She seems to feel more at ease with him. I feel an odd tightness in my chest. I expected this to be difficult, but watching her gravitate toward him so naturally, while I stand just outside her little world, cuts deeper than I thought it would.
That language would be such a big barrier, is something I hadn’t fully anticipated. I knew it in theory, of course, but now, standing in front of Jaanu, it is so much more. She responds to Krish’s familiar words, but my English feels foreign. I try to reach out, but her face says it all: she doesn’t understand me. She doesn’t trust me.
As we walk toward the car, I hand her a bright, flowery dress and a soft toy with long, silky hair - my favorites. I hope she’ll like them. She grabs both quickly, clutching them close, then steps back, away from me. Krish bends down to pick her up, but she clings desperately to her caretaker, her small hands gripping his pants with an iron grip, her eyes wide with fear. She shakes her head violently, refusing to go. The caretaker tries to reassure her, speaking in gentle tones, but Jaanu only tightens her hold, tears brimming in her eyes. Krish crouches next to her, speaking softly in Hindi, trying to coax her. But she resists even him, looking at him with uncertainty, her body tense as if ready to bolt.
Eventually, her caretaker gently pries her fingers away, one by one, and hands her over to Krish. Jaanu doesn’t cry out, but she trembles as Krish lifts her into his arms, her little fists clenched tightly into the fabric of his shirt, more out of fear than acceptance. She turns her face away, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, refusing to look at him or anyone else.
I sit beside them in the car, watching as the city rushes by in a blur outside the window. I want to reach out to comfort her, but I know she’s not ready for me. Jaanu remains silent, nudging closer to Krish. When he softly asks if she’s hungry, she just shakes her head without a word, burying her face in her hand, as if trying to hide from this new, overwhelming reality. I give her a chocolate, but she refuses.
When we arrive at the hotel, the soft bed and air conditioning are a welcome contrast to the intensity of the day. Jaanu seems more at ease in the quiet of the room, though she still won’t leave Krish’s side. I set out some toys and the new clothes we brought for her, hoping they might serve as a small olive branch. She glances at them, curious, but won’t move from her spot next to him. After a while, she reaches for an apple from the table, nibbling on it cautiously. I’m relieved.
The day has been draining, physically and mentally. I sit on the edge of the bed, watching as Jaanu, now resting on Krish’s lap, slowly drifts off. She has found some comfort with him, and for now, that’s enough. But what about me? Will I ever bridge this gap? The language between us feels like an unscalable wall, and the cultural differences are no easier.
She’s going to have to learn so much about the world Krish and I live in, just as I’m here, trying to learn about hers. I remind myself of my favorite line from Gone with the Wind: "Tomorrow is another day." For now, I’ll just be here, ready and waiting whenever she’s ready for me.
#
Jaanu:
The car goes bump-bump. I hold Papa’s shirt tight. It’s loud outside. Big cars. Big buses. So many people. My tummy feels funny. Where are we going? I don’t like it.
We stop. It’s a big place. Papa says, “airport.” I don’t like it here. Too many people. All walking fast. I look around. No bhaiya, no daadi. My eyes feel hot.
I hide behind Papa. Mama holds my hand, but I pull back. I don’t want her to hold my hand. She talks. It sounds like a rhyme I don’t know.
We stand in a long line. Papa talks to a lady. She is sitting behind a table. She smiles at me. I don’t smile. I look at the floor.
Then, we walk a long long way. I hold Papa’s hand tight. I look up and see it—a big aeroplane! Just like in bhaiya’s book! Are we going in?
Papa keeps walking. We go through a big door – I think we got into the aeroplane! A didi in a blue dress smiles at me. She says something. I hide behind Papa. She keeps smiling.
The aeroplane is so big. So many seats. Papa tells me to sit on a seat. I sit. He puts a belt around me. It is tight on my tummy. Not nice.
There is a loud noise. Like in the car. But louder. I don’t like the noise. The plane moves. I feel scared. My tummy feels funny. I try not to cry. But I cry. I cry quietly so no one hears.
The aeroplane goes faster and faster. I grab Papa’s hand. The noise is louder. My ears hurt. I am scared. The aeroplane goes up. Everything outside looks small. I shut my eyes. When I open them will I see bhaiya and daadi?
#
Arnavi:
I am lying on my bed, looking at the ceiling. I don’t feel sleepy at all. Am I excited? YES! Mom and dad are coming home tomorrow with JAANU! I can’t wait to meet her!
But, I am angry with my parents. Why didn’t they take me to Ranchi? Mom said I was going to get a little sister soon, and now it’s happening! I am so excited! But I’m stuck here, and they went to get her all by themselves. That’s not fair. No.
I turn over and hug my teddy bear close. I miss mom and dad, especially mom. Every night I think about her tucking me in, telling me stories. Being with Grandma and Grandpa is fun of course, but I miss my mom.
What would Jaanu be like? Grandma tells me Jaanu is an orphan. When I asked her what that meant, she said it means Jaanu didn’t have a mom or dad to look after her. No one to read her bedtime stories or hug her when she’s sad. That must be very lonely. Poor Jaanu.
I would like to see an orphanage. Grandma says that an orphanage is a big, big home where orphans like Jaanu live together. That must be fun…living with a lot of kids. So many friends to play with. But who would buy them toys, give them food, take care of them? Grandma says there would be caretakers to do all this. I wish I could have gone to see Jaanu’s home in India.
I bet it must be hard for her, leaving everything behind. And she didn’t even know she was getting a new family until now. That is something! I wonder how she feels about having her own mom and dad? And of course, me, a sister. I am so excited about meeting her tomorrow. But, will she be scared of me? Maybe she’ll be shy at first, or maybe she won’t like me at all. I hope she does though. I’ve always wanted a little sister to play with, but what if she just cries all the time?
I roll over again. I wish mom had taken me along. I could’ve helped. I could’ve told Jaanu she doesn’t need to be scared; we’re her family now. Maybe she’s worried we won’t love her. Kinda like how I’m worried that Mom and Dad won’t love me as much now that Jaanu is here.
I feel a bit sleepy. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to make the thoughts go away.
---
I wake up super early the next morning, my tummy feeling a bit weird. Grandma and grandpa help me get ready, and we leave for the airport to meet mom, dad, and Jaanu. The whole drive there, I keep thinking about what Jaanu might be like. And how nice it would have been, if I had gone along to bring her home. I could’ve gotten out of school for a few days! Why didn’t mom and dad let me go? Do they think I’m not ready to be a big sister?
When we get to the airport, I spot them right away - mom, dad, and a little girl in dad’s arms. That’s Jaanu. For a second, my stomach feels kind of funny, not in a good way. I don’t know why. I run over to them, and mom gives me the biggest smile. I throw my arms around her and squeeze tight. I missed her so much, and I don’t want to let go.
I look over at Jaanu. She’s just staring at me. She looks... nervous. If I were her, I’d probably feel the same way. She doesn’t know me yet. I want to give her a hug, but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t like that. She’s holding onto dad like he’s the only person in the world she trusts.
I smile at her and give a little wave. “Hi, Jaanu.” She doesn’t say anything, just looks at me with her big, wide eyes. I wonder what she’s thinking. Does she even get what’s going on? I mean, one day she didn’t have a family, and now she does. That’s gotta be really scary. I wish I could make her feel better, but I don’t know how.
We get in the car to go home. Mom’s driving, and I am sitting next to Jaanu. I keep looking at her. She’s still holding onto dad, like she’s not ready to let go. But then, something amazing happens. She looks at me for a long time and then slips her hand into mine. Her hand is tiny and warm, and she doesn’t say anything, but it feels like maybe, just maybe, we’re going to be okay. I give her hand a little squeeze, and she doesn’t let go. I feel happy.
#
Kara:
It's a typical weekday morning, but it feels anything but typical. I stand by the kitchen counter, watching the steam rise from my coffee, my mind already drifting anxiously through the day’s journey. Today will be the first time I’m alone with Jaanu. No Krish. No parents. Just me. The thought both thrills and terrifies me. I know I need this time with her, to bond, to figure out where I stand in her little world. But then again, she still prefers Krish; always clinging to him; and of course, she adored my mother. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt a little.
Krish moves around the kitchen with his usual morning efficiency, already dressed for the hospital. He pauses next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, sensing the unease I try to hide.
“You’ll be fine,” he says softly, kissing the top of my head. “You’ve got this.” His hug is brief, but it helps. Still, I can’t shake the nerves.
Arnavi’s sitting at the table, finishing her breakfast, a bit sleepy-eyed but ready for school. Jaanu, on the other hand, is in her chair, staring down at her untouched plate of idli, as if it has personally offended her. She has been quiet all morning, but I can tell from the way her bottom lip quivers that something’s brewing. Krish had told her last night that he would need to go to work and Arnavi would be at school from the next day.
And then it comes. Arnavi stands up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder, and suddenly Jaanu’s little face crumples. “No, no!” she cries, scrambling out of her chair and running to Arnavi, wrapping her arms around her legs. "No school!" Her words are muddled, but the panic in her voice is clear. She clings to Arnavi like her life depends on it.
Arnavi crouches down, smoothing Jaanu’s hair. “Jaanu, I have to go. But I’ll be back, okay? Just a few hours.”
“No!” Jaanu’s tears come faster, making her face wet and red. “No leave! No go!”
Krish, halfway to the door, looks back. His face tightens just a bit before he walks over and kneels next to Jaanu, trying to pry her gently from Arnavi. “Jaanu, baby, Arnavi has to go to school. She’ll come back later. You’ll stay with mummy today.”
The mention of me does nothing to soothe her. In fact, it seems to make it worse. She looks at me, then buries her face deeper into Arnavi’s shirt. I feel a sharp sting. Rejected again.
Krish stands up and sighs. "Alright, I’ll drop Arnavi at school this week." He glances at me, a touch of apology in his eyes. “Bye, Kara.”
I muster a smile. “I’ll be fine. Thanks.”
He quickly scoops up Arnavi and heads for the door, but not without a fight from Jaanu. She screams, her little fists pounding against his chest. My mother had warned me about this. The clinginess, the tantrums. But still, seeing it in action leaves me rattled.
After Krish and Arnavi leave, Jaanu stands by the door, sniffling quietly, her little shoulders shaking. I kneel down next to her, trying to think of something—anything—that might cheer her up.
“Jaanu... beta,” I say, patting her back awkwardly. “It’s just you and me today, okay? Hum... hum dono,” I continue, feeling proud of my attempt at Hindi – I had been diligently trying to learn spoken Hindi through an app since the last week. She gives me a look but doesn’t stop crying. “Hum dono …play…ok?... umm... coloring book?”
I hold up an imaginary crayon and wave it around, feeling a little foolish. Jaanu just blinks at me, still sniffling. “Coloring... achha hai, no?” I grin, hoping my very broken Hindi will do the trick. She looks at me like I’ve just spoken Martian. She doesn’t respond. Instead, sulking, she drags herself back to her chair. I place her plate of food in front of her again, hoping she’ll at least eat something, but she just pushes it away, crossing her arms in defiance. “Jaanu, little khao,” I try, pointing to the idli on her plate. She gives me a look that’s all too familiar—Arnavi's perfected it over the years—the one that says, “I know what I’m doing, and I don’t need to listen to you.”
I switch to gestures, picking up a chocolate from the refrigerator, miming chewing like we’re in some weird breakfast charades. “Tumm khao this…chocolate, ok?” Jaanu watches with her big eyes. Nothing works.
The silence is thick, punctuated by her little huffs of breath, until suddenly, without warning, she lets out an ear-piercing scream. Her tiny hands swipe across the table, knocking over her plate, spilling food everywhere. Before I can react, she throws her cup of water, sending it splashing across the floor.
“Jaanu!” I stand up quickly, shocked by the sudden outburst, but she’s already in a full tantrum, hurling anything within her reach. Her little face is red and streaked with tears, and there’s a wildness in her eyes I’ve never seen before. I try to approach her, speaking gently, but she won’t have it. She starts kicking and screaming, her voice hoarse with frustration.
I feel a knot forming in my throat. What am I supposed to do? How do I calm her down? I’ve read all the books, all the advice, but none of it seems to apply now. I reach out to touch her, but she flinches and throws herself on the floor, kicking and crying.
For what feels like hours, I try everything. Distraction. Consoling words. Even offering to take her outside for a walk. But nothing works. She’s lost in her own storm of emotions, and I’m just helplessly watching. I slump down on the sofa, exhausted and defeated, as she eventually tires herself out, curling up on the floor, still sniffling but quieter now.
The day drags on, tense and slow. I try again to offer her food, but she just shakes her head and looks away. She spends most of the afternoon sulking by the window, occasionally glancing at the door, waiting for Krish and Arnavi to come back.
When they finally do, the house is a mess. Toys scattered, food splattered, and I must look as worn out as the house feels. Krish gives me a concerned look as soon as he steps inside, Arnavi following close behind.
“What happened here?” he asks, looking around at the disaster.
Before I can answer, Jaanu sees him and immediately erupts into another tantrum. She runs to him, grabbing at his legs, wailing all over again. Krish picks her up, holding her close, but she’s thrashing about, inconsolable. He looks at me, a mix of exhaustion and sympathy in his eyes.
“I think she needs a timeout,” he says quietly. We take her to the bathroom for a break, but Jaanu grabs anything she can reach—a toothbrush, a soap dispenser, anything—and hurls them to the floor. I lean against the wall, exhausted, while Krish tries to reason with her, his calm voice completely lost in the storm of Jaanu’s screams.
I sit down on the couch, rubbing my temples. Arnavi comes over and sits beside me, resting her head on my shoulder. “It’s okay, mom,” she says softly. “She’s just scared, I think.” I nod, but I can’t shake the feeling of helplessness. My daughter is trying to comfort me, but all I can think about is how little control I have over this situation. How hard it’s going to be to help Jaanu feel safe, to help her feel loved. And right now, I’m not even sure where to begin.
#
Arnavi:
I can’t wait to get home today! Jaanu is going to meet my best friends – Aisha and Mia after school! I’ve already told them all about her—how she came from this place in India called Ranchi, and how she’s my new little sister. They’ve been asking a zillion questions, like, “Does she speak English?” and “Is she fun?” and “Does she miss India?” I didn’t really know what to say to some of them. Jaanu’s... different. She’s fun and sweet, but she cries a lot too and sometimes gets mad, like, out of nowhere.
When we get home, mom opens the door, looking kind of tired, but she smiles when she sees Aisha and Mia. Jaanu is sitting on the living room floor, clutching her teddy bear. She looks up at us, her eyes going big, like she wasn’t expecting anyone new. My stomach feels all twisty. What if she doesn’t like my friends? Or what if THEY don’t like her?
“Hi, Jaanu,” I say. “These are my friends, Aisha and Mia.”
Jaanu just stares at them, clutching her teddy even tighter. I can tell she’s a bit scared. Mia kneels down beside her, holding out a small toy bunny she brought over. “Hi, Jaanu. This is for you.”
Jaanu doesn’t take it. She looks at me, then back at the bunny, like she’s not sure what to do. “It’s okay, Jaanu,” I say softly. “It’s for you. You can take it.”
Jaanu’s fingers reach out slowly, then stop. She looks at Mia, then at Aisha, who’s watching her with this big grin on her face. Finally, Jaanu grabs the bunny and holds it to her chest, not saying a word.
Aisha and Mia sit down on the floor beside her. I sit too. Maybe this will help. Mia starts to talk about school, and I see Jaanu’s face is all serious, like she’s trying to understand. Aisha takes out some crayons from her bag and lays them on the floor. “Do you want to color, Jaanu?” she asks, speaking slowly like mom does when she talks to Jaanu.
Jaanu looks at the crayons, then at me. I nod, smiling at her. “It’s okay, Jaanu. You can color.”
She picks up a crayon and starts to draw on a piece of paper. For a while, everything’s fine. We’re all coloring together, and I feel this warm, happy feeling inside. But then Mia tries to take a crayon from Jaanu's pile.
“Nahi!” Jaanu shouts, pulling the crayons close to her. She looks really mad, her eyes getting all watery. Mia freezes, her hand halfway to the crayons.
“It’s okay, Mia,” I say quickly. “She doesn’t like sharing much yet.” I turn to Jaanu. “Jaanu, it’s okay. She just wants to use one crayon.”
Jaanu looks at me, her lips shaking. I think she is ready to throw one of her famous tantrums. But then she pushes one crayon toward Mia, very slowly. Mia takes it and starts coloring again. For the rest of the time, Jaanu doesn’t look at anyone. She just colors quietly.
I wish she’d talk or smile or something. I want my friends to like her. Aisha gives me a look, like she’s not sure what to do. I shrug. This isn’t how I imagined it at all. Actually, I guess I didn’t imagine anything at all.
When it’s time for Aisha and Mia to leave, they wave goodbye. Jaanu just watches them go, clutching her new bunny and not saying a word.
“She’s... different,” Mia says as I walk them to the door.
“Yeah,” Aisha adds, “but she’s kinda cute.”
I just nod. Jaanu is different.
#
Kara:
The front door swings open with a bang. I barely have time to register the sound before the voices hit me - loud, overlapping, charged with energy.
"Mom! Do you know what Jaanu did today?"
Arnavi rushes in, her eyes teary, yet sparkling with a tinge of pride. Jaanu trails behind, a little bruised and haggard, but looking nothing short of triumphant.
I set aside the dish towel and step toward them. "What happened?"
Arnavi wipes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and looks at Jaanu like she’s seeing her in a whole new light. "Beth was being nasty to me after school." Her voice wavers. "She…she’s been saying mean things for a while now. About me. My skin. My clothes. My hair. The things I do." She swallows. "She calls me a fake American."
A sharp, cold anger rises in me, but I push it down, focusing on her.
"I don’t like it," she continues, "but I’ve just... put up with it. And sometimes I feel like crying." She lets out a small, shaky laugh. "Okay, a lot of times I feel like crying."
Jaanu shifts beside her, restless.
"But today," Arnavi continues, her voice thick with emotion, "Jaanu saw me in tears. She saw Beth being horrible to me, and before I could even react, she just …" Arnavi shakes her head, almost in disbelief. "She marched up to Beth, who, by the way, is five years older than her, and started yelling at her!"
I glance at Jaanu, who looks up at me with a defiant little grin.
"Beth got mad and punched her," Arnavi blurts out, gesturing to the faint bruise forming on Jaanu’s cheek. "But Jaanu didn’t back down! She kept going at her until I had to drag her away."
I kneel in front of Jaanu, brushing a thumb gently over the bruise. "That must’ve hurt."
Jaanu shrugs. "A little."
I sigh, half exasperated, half in awe, and pull out the first-aid kit. As I dab antiseptic onto her cheek, she barely flinches, as if it’s nothing more than a mild inconvenience.Arnavi is watching me, and there’s something else in her eyes now - guilt.
"I should’ve done it," she says quietly. "I should’ve stood up for myself."
I pause, looking between my daughters—so different. "There’s no right way to handle things like this, Avi," I tell her. "You’ve been dealing with it in your own way. And today, Jaanu dealt with it in hers." I ruffle her hair. "You’re both strong."
Arnavi gives me a watery smile, but her gaze lingers on Jaanu with unmistakable admiration.
As I put back the first-aid kit, my thoughts drift. She’s so different from me, from Krish, from Arnavi. The three of us - we’re the kind of people who step back, who avoid conflict when we can. Jaanu? She charges straight in. She’s resilient in a way that seems almost effortless.
I think back to that concert a few months ago; how she’d slipped out of the restroom while I was washing my hands. For those agonizing moments when I couldn’t find her, I was in absolute panic. But when I finally did, there she was, sitting calmly with Krish and Arnavi, as if it had been the easiest thing in the world to find her way back. She just knew. Arnavi, even now, would struggle with that.
And yet, just last week, Krish and I had been called to her school. Her teacher had been gentle but firm. Jaanu was struggling with letters, words. She would need extra help to catch up. Krish had been a little thrown off by it. Coming from a long line of ‘smart genes,’ this was uncharted territory for him and it took time to accept.
I think back to when we chose adoption, knowing it would come with its share of unknowns – some pleasant surprises …and some challenges.
I smile at Jaanu. Her shoulders are squared, her grin still intact despite the bruise darkening on her cheek. I can’t wait to uncover the different sides of her, and of all of us, as we grow and find our way together.
THE END