She was named Aria because she brought music, song and rhythm into my life.

My uterus was no more; it was sacrificed at the altar of cancer. Minus my womb, I was looked down upon as somewhat of a lesser woman. Luckily for me, (after a long, sad and lonely phase of time) when my husband proposed the idea of adoption, both families welcomed it with joy.

I truly celebrated my freedom from misery when we brought Aria home on the 15th of August. She not only brought our families closer but more importantly, reinstated my position on the pedestal called 'woman' or more correctly 'mother'. I discovered the therapeutic joy of a contented baby sleeping in my arms. I discovered the all time ego hype one felt when baby chuckled with delight every time she set eyes on me. I discovered the warm and wanted feeling that swept through me every time my baby zeroed in on me to pick her up, in a room full of people. The taunts and jeers receded and was replaced by tons and tons of advice, suggestions and sure-fire theories of how to bring up baby.

Years went by and my little 'melody' soon blossomed into a full-fledged 'song'. Aria was now a state-level swimming champ. An honours graduate with a passion for designing jewelry, one of her designs had just been selected for an international award. Our cup of joy was full.

As I look at my daughter with pride, my mind goes back to the many hurdles and potholes I had to negotiate in order to get this far.

The first obstacle I had to face was in the very choice I had made. My chiffon-clad globe trotting neighbour was the first to voice the thought that was writ large on most of their faces "Why a girl and not a boy, if you had to go in for adoption?"

The next hurdle was a little more difficult to handle. I had to explain the term 'adoption' to my daughter in such a way, that it found acceptance and did not cloud her mind with the trauma of having been rejected by her biological mother. Both my husband and I were proud of our Aria and wanted to bring her up facing the truth, however unpalatable.

I also had to protect her at every stage from taunts and ostracism at the hands of so called educated, broad-minded people who questioned her bloodline, ancestry, caste and religion. I still remember the look of horror on my neighbour's face when I disclosed that Aria was adopted. Her first remark was, "I hope she is a Hindu." Another one had remarked, "She is from a Brahmin family of course. I am sure you took that into account when you selected the baby." I only took into account that she was a little human being in dire need of care, love and affection, just as I was in desperate need of a little baby to love and cherish as my very own. Religion, gender and caste have nothing to do with love and never will.

As I stand on the threshold of the fifty-fifth year of our independence, I sadly discover that we still have a long way to truly free our minds of prejudices and gain independence in our way of thinking.

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