A Marriage Across Borders: A Pakistani Mother Raises Indian Daughter Amid Love, Fears and Yearning

Our daughter, Ileana Ann, was born in Dubai. However, now, at two years old. She’s being taught to know the anthem of India better than “Dil Dil Pakistan”. Just beginning to string together words, tottering between rooms with a giggle that sounds the same in any language. Born with a passport that bears the tricolor — yet half her heartbeat echoes from across the Wagah border.

By Desiree’ Francis Aug 26, 2025

Wedding photo of Desiree Francis and her two year old daughter Ileana Ann. Photo supplied.

In a quiet yet modern corner of Dubai, in a home fragrant with karak chai and dhoklas and the recurring sound of Coke Studio Music playing on Youtube, lives a woman who has defied every expectation the world had set for her. Me. Pakistani. Tamilian. Married to an Indian. Gujarati. A quiet miracle of contradictions but a mother above all else.

I was born in Karachi, raised with the poetry of Faiz Ahmed Faiz and Tina Sani’s ghazals and the passed down ache of a generation that learned both pride and pain from Partition. A place where every street corner holds a memory, where cricket is a religion and mangoes are a season-long celebration. I never imagined that one day, I would raise a child fathered by a man from a country my schoolbooks painted with caution — India.

But here we are.

A twist of fate, a marriage across borders, and a home built in peacetime but raised in the shadow of history — that’s the story I rarely tell, but always live.

Our daughter, Ileana Ann, was born in Dubai. However, now, at two years old. She’s being taught to know the anthem of India better than “Dil Dil Pakistan”. Just beginning to string together words, tottering between rooms with a giggle that sounds the same in any language. Born with a passport that bears the tricolor — yet half her heartbeat echoes from across the Wagah border.

Ileana doesn’t yet know what borders are. Her world is small — it fits within the curve of my arms. Her identity, still unformed, lies somewhere between the poetry of Faiz and Taarek Mehta Ka Ulta Chashma in Hindi on television. She says "Mama" with the sweetness of Karachi, and "Dadda" with the accent of a Gujju.

I watch our daughter closely — with pride, with love, and sometimes, with a pang that I hide behind a kiss on the forehead.

I am raising her the only way I know — with Pakistani values of respect, restraint, and reverence stitched into every prayer, every spoonful of food, every softly spoken "Grace" before a meal. My home may be Indian in numbers, but its soul carries echoes of Pakistan — where hospitality is sacred and heartbreaks have their own hospitality.

When Ileana claps at the TV during India’s Independence Day parade, I clap with her. I don’t want to dim her joy. But deep inside, a small voice asks, Will she ever know the green in her blood?

I’m not bitter — just quietly aware. Aware that the world will see Ileana as Indian — only Indian. That when she excels in life, when she recites her first poem or waves her first flag, the applause will go to India. As it should. But it will also sting a little — because woven into every word she will ever speak is the music of a mother who still whispers stories of Karachi’s Quaid Mazar and Sea View at bedtime.

My greatest fear isn’t that my daughter will grow up Indian. It’s that she will one day have to choose. between a mother who speaks of another homeland, and a country that taught her to stand at attention for another anthem. I know deep in the quiet chambers of my heart that one day my daughter will grow into a force of her own. I imagine her doing great things in life. Maybe on a stage, or maybe behind a desk, or standing at the frontlines of something brave and meaningful. And when she does, when the world applauds her, when India claims her as its proud daughter, I will smile through misty eyes and clap the loudest. Because greatness, after all, is every mother’s dream — no matter the flag.

I really won’t mind if India takes the credit. I’ll be her biggest cheerleader when she makes India proud, even if the headlines never mention the fact that I was the one who folded resilience into her nap-time, who whispered courage into her innocent ears. My love isn’t hungry for recognition — it only hopes for remembrance.

So, every night, as I watch Ileana sleep, I pray: May she never have to choose between her Mother and Mother India. May her roots not become ropes pulling her apart.

The Aman Ki Asha song by Desiree Francis, much before Ileana was born

Because what I am really planting is something neither side of the border has quite mastered — peace. Not the kind signed on paper, but the kind built one cradle-song at a time. And maybe, just maybe, one day when Ileana grows up and someone asks her what makes her who she is, she’ll say: “I am the daughter of a Pakistani mother and my motherland India. And I didn’t have to choose.”

That’s the punch.
Not in protest — but in peace.
Not in victory — but in balance.
Not in choosing sides — but in embracing them.

(The author is a former Pakistani journalist, radio presenter, and peace advocate based in Dubai. She spearheaded the “Aman Ki Asha – Indo-Pak Peace Song” and the DJ Dez Show outreach, using music and intercommunity engagement to promote friendship between Indians and Pakistanis in the United Arab Emirates. By special arrangement with Sapan)