female friendships are so precious and beautiful. sisterhood is so inherent in women. there is a life force where many women are sitting together and conversing. their giggles reverberates through the deepest chambers of the even the coldest of hearts & softens them. when they take care of each other together from oiling their hair turn by turn by to putting henna on each other’s palms, everything is a sacred offering to some source unseen; but only felt. they spend hours talking about things unfathomable from the basis of love to the state of the world, the soul, beauty, last, present & future & many other philosophies. because when they’re sitting in a room together that’s where they’re easily allowed to ‘be’. here, they aren’t someone being smothered by alotted identities. they aren’t just someone’s sister or daughter or even lover, but just humans trying to make the most out of their freedom to breathe.
Hey there!! To all those who love #DesiDarkAcademia, made a little playlist. It's got some coke studio, some Raaga based classical music- thumris and khyaal, some Bollywood, folk, ghazals and Sufi music. Hope you like it!
سوچتا ہوں کہ محبت ہے جوانی کی خزاں
اس نے دیکھا نہیں دنیا میں بہاروں کے سوا
نکہت و نور سے لبریز نظاروں کے سوا
سبزہ زاروں کے سوا اور ستاروں کے سوا
۔ن م راشد
You're not beautiful or pretty to me. You are you. You are your silly laugh. You are your mind fucking poetry. You are your chipped nails and your baby hair. You are your scar on ur left knee. You are all the people you have loved and the others who never loved you. You are your dirty jokes and your wildered innocence. You are mine and at same time everyone else's . You are you in your most insignificant way yet you have got me looking at you in a room full of pretty eyes and seamered lips.
How exactly do I explain to my people that I grew up watching women in lehengas, and saris, and salwar kameez; how do I explain that I've never set foot in India or Pakistan but their language is not foreign to my tongue; how exactly do I make you understand that these are not my people but they are mine, that ever since I could imagine getting married, I've always imagined wearing a lehenga & an Arjit Singh song would play in the background as I descend the stairs of my ancestral home; how do I make you believe that I, who has only seen these people from behind a screen, have loved them & still love them with all my heart? How do I explain myself when they point fingers and tell me to stay in my culture? How do I tell them that this is also my culture? In my heart, it is mine; in my heart, I am as desi as I am Nigerian; as desi as I am not. How?