HOPE IS THE COLOUR BLUE
Humans cling to hope, and hope takes us through all thick and thin.
Yug scrolled through the CARA (Central Adoption Resource Authority) website for the hundredth time that night. The process looked long and complicated—background checks, counselling, home studies. He exhaled deeply and looked at Shekhar, who was chopping vegetables in the kitchen.
“Are we really ready for this?” Yug asked. His voice betrayed the fear he’d been trying to hide.
Shekhar didn’t look up. “We’ve been ready for years. We just didn’t allow ourselves to dream this big.
Yug walked over and leaned against the counter. “It’s not just about us. What about the child? What if they’re bullied because of us? What if—
The what-ifs had become a nightmare to both of them lately. Yug would delve into the dilemmas, and Shekhar would be the calm one. Both dealt with the nightmares differently, but the worries remained the same.
10 years back, when they decided to marry and live together, the two families briefly boycotted them, as if they never belonged in their respective families. It was cumbersome to have hard talks with parents, who seemed to care more about society, rather than caring for their only sons and their happiness. On the other hand, siblings were the easier subjects who supported. Then, it was the turn of uncles and forgotten aunts. “This isnt’t America!” Revolted an uncle who might have been in exile for marrying a divorced woman. After uncountable yeses and nos, “What will Mr X or Mr Y say?” or “It’s better to die!”, the parents agreed. Yug and Shekhar got married in a close-knit wedding ceremony. It was the happiest day of their lives, and surrounded by people they loved and those who had accepted them happily despite their long-held stereotypes, only felt as a relief.
But this time, things were going to be different. This time, it was not about people who knew them beforehand; it was about a child whose future depended on them. And so again, there was a society standing against them, with all its questions and prejudices.
“Stop.” Shekhar set the knife down and held his hand. “We’ll give that child more love than most so-called normal families. Isn’t that what matters?”
Yug wanted to believe him. He really did. He gave a last thought to what Shekhar had said and thought of his mother. His mother only had one question, rather, a statement – “Who will give that child a mother’s love?” His father backed her with logic – “A baby needs his or her mother. “ That’s it. That was all the parents on both sides had to say. Yug thought of the importance of a motherly figure in a child’s life. What would he do without his mother? The question lingered, and he had no answer.
The adoption process began with counselling sessions. The social worker’s smile was polite but stiff.
“Why do you want a child without a mother figure?” she asked, pen poised over her clipboard.
Shekhar answered calmly, “Because a family isn’t defined by gender. It’s defined by love, care, and safety.” Shekhar understood the importance of a mother and her impact on a child’s life. But he knew very well that it was love that defined a child’s life. Love harboured the energy to break barriers, and they will be able to give a good life to their adopted child.
But it didn’t end there. Friends whispered, relatives sent messages dripping with judgment, and the internet trolls were ruthless. Screenshots of headlines like ‘Gay Couple Applies to Adopt: Is This Right?’ spread like wildfire.
One night, Yug sat hunched over his laptop, scrolling through the hate comments until his eyes blurred.
“This world isn’t ready, Shekhar,” he choked out. “How can we bring a child into this?”
Shekhar knelt beside him, cupping his face. “Yug, we can’t let fear decide our future. If we give up now, nothing will ever change.”
Shekhar was right. Nothing will ever change if people aren’t courageous enough to take a step forward. That is how revolutions worked. Shekhar, unlike Yug, was confident and would take all the necessary steps to become a parent. Shekhar had grown up in a neglected home, where his father would be drunk at all times, and his mother was never present. He understood both the impact of the absence and presence of parents. Hence, he had decided that Yug could play whichever part he liked, but Shekhar would become both a father and a mother. Most importantly, he will never leave their child.
Three months later, the phone rang.
“There’s a little girl,” the agency said. “Three years old. Her name is Ruchi.”
The first time they saw her, she was sitting on a tiny chair in the orphanage playroom, clutching a threadbare teddy bear. Her hair was braided into a ponytail. Her big brown eyes were wary but full of a fragile hope. The director of the orphanage, however, looked uneasy.
“You understand this is… unusual,” she said carefully. “A child needs a mother.”
Shekhar’s voice was steady but soft. “A child needs love. Stability. Safety. We can give her all that and more.”
The director hesitated. “We’ll have to escalate this to the committee.”
Weeks crawled by with more interviews, more scrutiny. Every meeting felt like standing trial for daring to dream. At one point, Yug almost walked away. “Maybe they’ll never approve us,” he muttered.
But then came the call, along with an email, which said: Approved.
The first few weeks with Ruchi were anything but easy. She barely spoke, refused to sleep alone, and flinched at sudden sounds. Yug lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering if they were failing her.
Then, one evening, as Shekhar read her The Jungle Book in a goofy voice, Ruchi giggled. It was the first sound of pure joy they had heard from her—and it broke something open inside Yug.
Slowly, the walls came down. She began calling Shekhar Daddy and, one morning, tugged at Yug’s shirt and whispered, “Papa, juice?” He turned away quickly, hiding the tears in his eyes.
Society, of course, didn’t change overnight. Neighbours stared, parents at the playground whispered, and even the school principal hesitated when they enrolled her. But love spoke louder than prejudice.
One day, Yug’s mother called after months of silence.
“I… I want to see her,” she said quietly.
When she came, her hands trembled as she reached out to Ruchi. The little girl, without hesitation, ran into her arms. Yug watched his mother’s eyes fill with tears as she hugged Ruchi tightly. In that moment, something shifted—not just in her, but in their entire world.
Two years later, their home was filled with laughter, balloons, and the smell of chocolate cake. Ruchi was turning five. Yug stood by the window, looking at the colorful chaos of the party—friends, supportive relatives, and yes, even his parents.
Shekhar slipped an arm around his waist. “See? We made it.”
Yug smiled, watching Ruchi blow out the candles, her face glowing with happiness. “Against all odds,” he whispered.
And for the first time, he truly believed that hope and love—quiet, patient, unwavering—was stronger than any storm.
Ruchi’s favourite place was the beach. The family sat on the shore watching the sunset. As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of soft blue, they held their child close, feeling a quiet strength surge within them. Every battle, every tear, every harsh word they had faced now seemed like distant echoes compared to the laughter that filled their home. They had not just adopted a child; they had adopted a future—a hope and promise that love could outshine prejudice. In that moment, they realized hope was not a distant dream but something real, living and breathing in their arms, as boundless and beautiful as the blue sky above.

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