Surrogacy In Dum Dum [upd] May 2026

Baby Manji was the canary in the coal mine. Subsequent stories emerged of abandoned twins, of German parents denied exit visas, and of surrogates left unpaid when foreign clients defaulted. The Indian government, initially keen on "medical tourism," grew alarmed. In 2015, it banned commercial surrogacy for foreign nationals. Then, in 2018, the Surrogacy (Regulation) Act was finally passed, a draconian piece of legislation that effectively killed the industry in Dum Dum. The Act banned commercial surrogacy outright, allowing only altruistic surrogacy for married, infertile Indian couples. It prohibited single parents, LGBTQ+ couples, and foreign nationals. It also mandated that the surrogate must be a "close relative" of the intended parents. Today, the surrogacy hostels of Dum Dum stand silent or have been converted into cheap paying guest accommodations. The IRM continues to operate, but its international surrogacy wing is shuttered. The law, ostensibly designed to protect women from exploitation, had a perverse effect. It did not eliminate the demand for surrogacy, nor did it address the poverty that drove women to offer their wombs. Instead, it drove the industry underground or across borders to unregulated clinics in Georgia, Kenya, or Mexico. The women of Dum Dum who once saw surrogacy as their only escape route have returned to the informal economy—pounding bricks at construction sites, rolling beedis, or begging.

The compensation, typically between $3,000 and $5,000, was a life-changing sum in a region where the per capita annual income was less than $1,000. It could buy a small plot of land, pay off a moneylender, or fund a son’s education. However, the lived experience was one of benevolent confinement. To ensure healthy pregnancies, women were sequestered for months. They ate regulated meals, underwent constant medical checks, and were forbidden from sexual activity or strenuous work. Their own children were often left behind with grandmothers. While clinic managers framed this as care, critics called it a carceral form of reproductive labor. The surrogate’s body was no longer her own; it was a leased vessel, monitored and managed for a global clientele. The central ethical debate surrounding surrogacy in Dum Dum hinges on the question of agency. Proponents, including Dr. Chakravarty, famously argued that their surrogates were empowered "heroines" making a rational economic choice. They pointed to high satisfaction surveys and the fact that many women returned for second or third surrogacy cycles. Indeed, for some, the income provided genuine upward mobility. surrogacy in dum dum

In the popular imagination, the global fertility industry is often associated with gleaming clinics in California, the high-tech hubs of Israel, or the sunny, unregulated markets of Ukraine. Yet, for nearly two decades, one of its most significant, complex, and ethically fraught nerve centers existed not in a Western metropolis, but in the modest, congested bylanes of Dum Dum, West Bengal. Once a quiet colonial cantonment town known for its ammunition factory, Dum Dum transformed in the early 21st century into an unlikely global capital of commercial surrogacy. This essay explores the rise, the lived reality, and the eventual decline of surrogacy in Dum Dum, using its unique trajectory as a lens to examine the profound tensions between medical technology, economic desperation, women’s autonomy, and the heavy hand of the law. The Genesis of a Reproductive Hub The story of surrogacy in Dum Dum cannot be separated from the story of Dr. Narendranath Chakravarty and his clinic, the Institute of Reproductive Medicine and Women’s Health (IRM). In the early 2000s, while commercial surrogacy existed in legal limbo across India—neither fully legal nor illegal—Dr. Chakravarty saw an opportunity. India offered a perfect storm of conditions: world-class medical infrastructure at a fraction of Western prices, a vast English-speaking population, and a legal system that did not explicitly prohibit altruistic or commercial surrogacy. Baby Manji was the canary in the coal mine