New York, Always in My Heart – Part 1: A City of Shared Moments

Fifteen visits. Countless memories. One city that’s shaped my story, one moment at a time.

Some places stay with you long after you’ve left. For me, New York is one of those places—not just a city, but a feeling, a rhythm, a memory book I keep returning to. I’ve visited it more than fifteen times over the years, and yet, every visit has offered something new—a hidden bookstore, a quiet bench, a conversation that lingered.

It’s impossible to sum up all that New York means to me in just one piece. So, I’m sharing it in three parts—because a city that has held so many of my stories, my reflections, and moments with my sons deserves that kind of space.

This first part is about the quieter, more personal side of New York—the memories made not just in famous landmarks, but in ordinary, unforgettable moments with my sons. It’s about the city that became a companion in our journey through time.

The City That Becomes a Companion

New York has a pulse that’s impossible to ignore. Its energy is electric—alive in the stride of people who seem to know exactly where they’re going, in the hum of cabs and subways, in the ever-changing skyline. But it’s not the landmarks or the noise that I remember most—it’s the quiet moments in between. The years my younger son called it home, the summer my elder one interned there—those are the chapters etched in my heart.

Moments in the Middle of Madness

I remember slow afternoons in Central Park—where the city softened. We’d find a patch of grass and just… pause. Sometimes, we dozed off under the open sky, lulled by the breeze and the distant hum of the city. Other times, we lay back and let our eyes trace the skyline—the proud high-rises peeking through the trees like gentle reminders of the world we were pausing from.

Also Read: A Mother-Son Escape to Carmel- Stories, Scents, and Sea Breezes

There were sandwiches shared on benches, impromptu photo sessions, and long stretches of comfortable silence interrupted only by bursts of laughter or the whoosh of a cyclist speeding past, pulling us gently out of our thoughts. We watched people go by—families, friends, children chasing each other, couples strolling hand in hand, each playing their part in the ever-changing theatre of the park.

And as dusk fell, a hush would settle across the trees and walkways. The light dimmed, but our conversations deepened. We often found ourselves talking about the future on those benches—dreams, doubts, plans we hadn’t said aloud until that very moment. Somehow, Central Park made space for all of it.

Times Square and Timeless Bonds

Then there were the louder days—the ones where Times Square lit up not just the streets but our spirits. The lights—bright, pulsing, ever-changing—drenched us in colour. Reds, blues, golds, and neon greens swirled around us, painting the night with a kind of magic only New York can offer.

There were crowds from every corner of the world, drawn in like moths to a flame—posing for photos, laughing in groups, lost in awe. Sometimes, you’d stumble upon spontaneous celebrations—people dancing, cheering, waving flags after a sports win or just basking in the thrill of being here. We once joined a gathering that erupted into a joyful roar after a game, the whole block becoming a stage for strangers-turned-friends.

We’d weave through the chaos, our conversations blending with the honks, music, and chatter of a city that never stops moving. Even the madness felt magical when we were together.

Wandering, Wondering

Walking the High Line was like flipping through a photo album of feelings. With each son, at different times, the same path felt entirely new. I’ve seen it take shape from its early days—rusty tracks being transformed into an elevated haven—into the thoughtfully designed walkway it is today, full of wildflowers, art, and unexpected quiet corners. Watching it evolve over the years mirrored how our own lives were shifting, too.

There was joy in simply walking—sometimes in step, sometimes trailing behind—letting the city pass us by from above. We’d pause to admire the views, point out quirks in buildings, laugh over murals or street performers, or fall into the kind of conversations that only long walks invite. It was part nostalgia, part newness—like reliving an old memory through a different lens.

Bookstores, Book Bars & the Joy of Getting Lost

New York is a dream for book lovers, and some of my most treasured memories come not from museums or monuments—but from bookstores. I still remember the afternoon my younger son and I spent at The Strand—hours melted away as we wandered across different floors, both completely immersed in our own corners of discovery, having lost track of time. It was like living in parallel worlds under the same roof.

Then there was the quiet thrill of finding and comparing each McNally Jackson location. Each branch had its own personality, its own charm—and together we’d weigh the lighting, the book curation, the feel of each space as though we were judging a secret literary contest.

Also Read: Where the Mountains Healed Me

One summer, we even did our own bookstore crawl, visiting nearly 20 stores in a month. From Books Are Magic in Brooklyn to Argosy in Midtown, from the iconic Rizzoli to The Corner Bookstore on the Upper East Side, and tucked-away gems like Shakespeare & Co. and the Center for Fiction in Brooklyn—each store became a memory. A photo. A conversation. A new title to carry home.

And then came the book bars—New York’s beautiful union of stories and sips. The idea was completely alien to me until my younger son introduced me to them, eyes lit up and full of excitement, raring to go. We discovered Bibliotheque in SoHo and The Book Club Bar in the East Village, where shelves of books met shelves of wine, and evenings stretched into stories.

These weren’t just stops on a map. They were our sanctuaries—places that brought us closer in the quietest, most meaningful ways.

Coming Up Next

Stay tuned for Part 2, where I’ll take you through the neighbourhoods, corners, and riverfronts that became part of our story—each one holding its own kind of magic.

Let’s Trade Memories, Not Just Maps

Have you been to New York?
What are the moments that have stayed with you? I’d love to hear your story—drop it in the comments below.