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.”

Lying prone on a day bed gave me time to think about what I wanted to say to my dear Zayd as he embarks on this next chapter in his life—building his second start-up in one of the greatest cities in the world, while exploring the “life of the mind” at an incredible institution that holds so many memories for Arif and myself

I’m reminded me of the very first personal story I wanted to write — the one that revealed to me the power of our ordinary stories, and which ended up changing my life.

I walked into the suite, he turned around and saw me, and poured the whole bottle of red pepper in his curry!

I see a story in just about everything; and then ask myself what’s the deeper meaning. Like this katori. It had a story to tell. I simply asked.

As I walked in, a bestie came over to hug me, adding with a twinkle that I looked like a cupcake — actually, I was going for cotton candy, I said with a wink. 😉 Joy!

"We believe that each one of us can make a difference, right now. We may not be able to solve all of the world's problems, but we can do something to make the life of one person a little easier,

Zayd tutored English and Math and coached soccer at a camp for refugee students organized by the International Rescue Committee (IRC) last summer.

Being a cross-cultural parent in Washington can mean teaching your children the Koran — and then carpooling them to hip-hop class.

This is George, outside his childhood home in Mclean. His mom Evelyn lived here for 65 years, until she died last year at age 96. George wanted to donate all the furniture to the Afghan refuge