Namaste. Hands to heart. In prayer position. I open my heart. Bow to the divine in you. And remember all that I am thankful for. My family.… Read the rest “Art. Culture. And Gratitude.”

It was two days before I was to board my flight to India when I met them. Stephanie and Paula. Three strangers drawn together in the lobby of the Pfister over a cup of hot chai.… Read the rest “No Coincidences…”

From India to Beirut. Beirut to Amsterdam. And Amsterdam back home. Time Travel. Across four time zones. To a new day. Today I woke at 3:34am.… Read the rest “Time Travel”

almost gone but not forgotten the monsoon dances its last dance as the rain, once again begins to fall for so long, i have wanted to come to India during the rains to feel its weight on my skin and listen to its talk on the streets we are in the market where my dad’s family lives where the streets bend here and there where we have been coming ever since

we are in the market where the rains have started to fall and the streets have heard her call we are in the market where the rain has almost gone and a new season has just begun

we are in the market where my family lives where the streets bend here and there where we have been coming ever since… Read the rest “where the rains fall…”

I love books. All books. Anywhere and everywhere. I love the way they stretch across borders and speak in many languages. The way they sit on shelves and lay on floors.… Read the rest “Episode 1. Did you know that the Pfister has its very own book club?”

Both of my parents were born in small villages in Rajasthan, India. They were married young joining together two families that would one day become mine and my sister’s.… Read the rest “A Big Family…”