Musings of an Indian Aussie Hijabi. The World from My Perspective. You know you are desi when. Your mum asks who is going to marry you if you wake up so late. You attend desi parties an.

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I hope that there comes a day when we no longer have to put on our masks, but can finally be ourselves and walk hand-in-hand against the world. A day, when I can silently fall asleep into your arms listening to your heartbeats and wake up the next morning to your messy hair and porcelain skin gleaming against the morning haze. When we can go for long drives not knowing where we are heading for and get lost in our own little world.

Gamut her, Rhythm her. Upon whom the crown awry. Designed as me, for the Onus. You wrote her story became extinct. On Gamut her, Rhythm her. On Gamut her, Rhythm her. Gamut her, Rhythm her. Who wins and who loses,. Who, then, has come. The way to celebrate your drubbing.

Words from today to stir a new tomorrow from yesterday. little things can break great things. First, add a male and female termite. Bullets and teargas canisters waltz on innocent citizens. And smoke and mud mingle macabre muffled paintings. Then give them a tree to infest.

From the sun and the trees. And the night sky of stars. In rooms of cold walls. And heave sighs of dusty air. No one ever sees thee. Fearless, a word of such strength. A strength, flooded with tears.

IT ALL COMES DOWN TO LOVE. Letting go is the hardest task, especially for a person who is brimming with all kinda love and care. Melodramatic? No Just unadulterated love. And not just the romantic kind of love, but Love in all its varied and beautiful forms.