The Woman At The Bar


From The Art Of Animation

The door swings open and a gust of frigid air comes in. Everyone stiffens. The place is dim as they play, “Magnets,” by Disclosure and Lorde. Her compact mirror is laying on the table next to a drink with six olives, making it a very dirty martini. Floor to ceiling windows allows for a panoramic view of the city, with an intimate view of The Empire State building. It’s magnificent to see at this altitude. An illuminated landmark that can take one’s breath away. The waitresses are younger, more vibrant, sexy and are wearing Maria Pinto. The compact mirror is open again for several long seconds, she then accommodates it next to the martini. A mid-century silver leather sectional sofa is empty, with a view to the Hudson River. With her purse under her arm, the drink on the left hand and the compact mirror on the right, she dances her way to the more amorous side, as they now play, “You Know I’m No Good,” by Amy Winehouse. A sip of the martini and arranging the compact mirror again on the table.

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It’s Friday and this is how I’m doing


By New Yorker Cartoonist: Charles Barsotti via

The weekend is here. Yet, it doesn’t feel like it to me. I spent much of last week on winter recess adventures with Ishaan, offered a moment of silence to Parkland, Florida, experienced intermittent physical pain (I have an injury), coupled with a sore heart (I miss my husband immensely). With little help, I nearly collapsed several times. One night, I hyperventilated. Has that ever happened to you? It was more frightening than a panic attack. Or are they similar? I had to get down on my knees and with great fear, try to take deep breaths, hold it, and exhale. Ishaan was standing in front of me, oblivious to what I was doing. He’s seen his Father doing Kriya, perhaps he thought I had the sudden urge to do it?

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Imprints of the little girl I once was. And a thank you to an old friend


Photo from

Over the course of the past several months, my mind has been in the trenches. It feels like a blur, except for those moments where I relive the words that hurt, cut and bleed. And then suddenly there’s a Light. And that Light was an old friend. A very old friend. My very first friend in elementary school.

Three years ago, I bumped into her. Well, it was more like a virtual bump. She googled me and found my blog. Looking back, that moment felt so grand. And perhaps that moment may not seem grandiose to you, but I reveled in its grandiosity. I seldom get to do that. So I’m giving myself the permission to celebrate the feelings that surfaced when we reconnected.

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