How we tell our story to ourselves and to the world gives us agency and provides us with the most potent panacea of all—hope.

The traditional way to celebrate the end of a cancer treatment is to ring a bell, but my way is to experience a story… How do people survive such heartbreak, let alone create something beautiful out of it?

But before the process of proton radiation begins each day, I'm always asked one question: What music do you want to listen to?

I have no illusion that these paintings are any good at all. And that is absolutely fine with me.

I’ve always had ‘big hair’—thick, wavy, and full; the kind that hairdressers and aunties always complimented. But what happens when you lose your hair completely.

I have never been more surprised in my life, or more moved by an act of kindness showered on me.

To be honest, I wasn’t expecting the deep, specific, personal, wide-ranging guidance that you’ve been sharing, in response to my query about what helps you get through hard times.

Four days were packed with some of the most serious somber issues I’ve ever faced—and some of the most joyous simple moments I can remember. Isn’t that life. The beautiful and the cruel, the light and the weighty, the happy and the sad all wrapped inextricably together.

It’s been a difficult few weeks. As the focus of my writing is sharing our personal stories, I wanted to let you know about what I’ve been facing.

Who knew that one day I would become a storyseeker and “only connect” would become my mantra.

Abderrahim caught sight of the Arabic tattooed on Zayd’s biceps; I whispered to him to cover it up …

Loss cannot be expressed with a concise, terse number, no matter the number of digits it contains. Each person lost is a life story.

It’s hard to write a ‘humanKIND’ newsletter when we are witnessing daily acts of inhumanity. Perhaps what I can offer is a place of refuge—a place to gather to dare to hope, as we continue to agitate for peace.

It was a challenging summer, mainly with health issues—my father-in-law’s, my mom’s, my own. But it was an unexpected trip at the end of the summer that helped me put things in perspective.

My father-in-law was always a man of few words. But even without words, his presence was felt in any situation, through his dignity, solemnity, and elegant demeanor.

I’m not sure how the conversation with the Pakistani High Commissioner in London started with my telling him the story of how Arif and I first met and he poured the whole bottle of chilli pepper into the curry he was cooking—not the usual way to start a formal meeting with a high-level diplomat you’re meeting for the first time!

My dad bought this figurine from his family’s auction house in Kolkata when he was maybe 18 or 19. Why did this piece catch his eye?

Be present, take your time, enjoy the process, let life simmer, take a deep breath and cool it down, savor the results — and slurp as needed!

Whenever you came into the room to check on Arif, you stood by his bedside and placed your hand on his arm or held his hand in yours; that physical touch was so reassuring, even I felt it.

“I’ve got good news and bad news.” Not exactly the words you want to hear from a doctor. “It’s not malignant,” she said. “But it is atypical.”