Rupin Parikh, MD

Rupin Parikh, MD practices at an ophthalmology office in Manhattan. Addresses here tend to cluster along wide north–south corridors where public transit converges. The eye-care scene follows a quiet logic—patients arrive carrying more questions than brochures, and specialists sharpen their focus on macular health. Details matter when one misplaced light reflex can eclipse months of night-driving confidence.

Driving into the Upper West Side at 37 W 65th St, one crawls past brownstone stoops and the occasional tourist snapping Verrazzano shots. Across the street, Lincoln Center looms like an angled white glacier; the clinic sits in its lee, shielded from early-evening tour groups. The neighborhood keeps an orderly pulse: no neon, few billboards, just brownstone facades and the distant chime of school dismissal bells. Inside exam rooms, the work stays clinical—cataract consultations, retinal scans, prescription renewals—but the sky outside is already shifting from slate gray to soft violet by six.

Scheduling a visit needs only a brief connection. Patients arrive with histories spanning decades—first glasses at ten, cataract rumors at forty, glaucoma risk genes carried forward at sixty. The practice manages the basics: glaucoma screening, cataract evaluation, cornea mapping, contact-lens fittings and diabetic eye checks. Fluorescein angiography, optical coherence tomography and pachymetry sit in the diagnostic toolbox when the consultant wants numbers, not just impressions.

To chart a course, pull the map here: directions. Dial (212) 305-9535 to lock in a slot between subway surges or Central Park joggers.