Preeti Shenoy's blog.

Sometime back I had written a post about going to Pondicherry .My tickets were booked and I was looking forward to spending time with my friend, Priya. Sadly, her mother-in-law met with an accident (the car she was traveling in collided with a truck. The driver, (whose wife was 9 months pregnant, and due to deliver anytime) died on the spot. Her Mother-in-law succumbed to injuries on 25th May. My going there as a ‘guest’ now would be totally inappropriate. Therefore that trip is postponed indefinitely.

Instead I am going to Mumbai.(Bombay)—India’s largest and the most multicultural city. The city has a vibrant zing that is difficult to describe. 15 million people live in Mumbai, in towering sky scrapers and sprawling slums. It is hard to describe the spirit of the city. I used to live and work in Mumbai, some years back. I loved it then—and still love it!

My brother still lives there—and he has a lovely sea facing apartment. I can just cross the road and go the beach. I will be staying …

It is 5:25 am and I have woken up sweating. Despite the air conditioning. Beside me, my kids and my husband are fast asleep.

It feels as if someone has just been pounding away at my heart with a sledge hammer. Grief is overwhelming and is upon me in colossal waves. It’s been 8 months now since he’s gone.

On the outside, it seems as if I have coped remarkably well. Nobody sees my tears any more. I don’t talk about it as much as I used to. I tell my mom that this was for the best. I feel really bad for my children. (They were very close to him) I tell them too that this was for the best. This was exactly the way he would have liked it. Many people aspire for this, yet few get it. He is lucky. Really lucky. And I smile a big smile to show it is okay.

Inside, it feels so raw. It feels as if someone has reached right in, and scooped out something with a machete, and forgotten to put a gauze, to make it stop bleeding.

Every small thing, still reminds me of something he might have said. His laug…

This image, again clicked by Atul,(aged 9) caught me by surprise, when he showed it to me. (click on photo to enlarge.I simply loved the details)

Made me think about how we, as adults, stop noticing the tiny things—The pebbles for instance. Looking at the world through the eyes of a child, really changes your perspective.

I have worked with children, for many years now—and what amazes me is their originality and the unfettered creativity, not bound by adult notions, the innocence, the joy and the unconditional love that you receive, as one of the primary care givers.

A few years back, when I used to teach at a pre school, the moment I opened the gate there would be a large group of children aged between 3 & 4, all running towards me with outstretched arms, shouting my name, wanting a hug! I had to put my handbag down and hug each one, before I could proceed to the class room.

Children are so expressive. And so frank. They are observant, sharp and keep you alert and thinking. And how t…

Sometimes, I come across these images which say more than a thousand words can! I cannot resist sharing them.

Sometime back, I had put up one such picture andPaul found it completely out of character for a 'nice lady' like me to have such a whacky sense of humour. Mr.Fabalso finds it amusing that I really enjoy his blog.

What!! Do I appear 'so nice'? Let me assure you people--I am not! It just seems that way.

And here is the image that I found, which said it, just the way it is!

Picture clicked this morning --Purvi turned 6 today.
On this day, 6 years ago,
You came into this world
At the break of dawn.

We named you Purvi
Which means “From the east”
Like the rising sun.

You were now outside of me
I could no longer feel
You kicking or turning within.

Yet, I feel every heartbeat
Every emotion, Every joy
Powerfully--like you are me.

You smile and my world lights up
I wait for you to come back from school
With outstretched arms.

You talk and laugh
You love and care
You are my heart that goes walking outside my body.

We love you Purvi

Happy birthday my darling.With loveyour mom

Pondicherry is a small quaint sea side town, in the south of India, about 162 kilometres from Chennai (formerly Madras). To say that it fascinates me and I am completely in love with the place, would be to put it mildly. (click on the underlined word to see pictures and the official site)

The whole place is divided into two areas—the ‘white town’ and ‘the rest’. For more than two hundred years, the place was a French colony. The slight French accent which tinges Tamil and English languages that we hear spoken, remains a living memory to the culture of this place. In the same way, the alignment at right angle of the streets remains a lovely inheritance of French architects. Many people still have the French citizenship—and you will hear French being spoken widely.

I have constantly moved, as a child and as an adult. (the average time I would have spent in a place would be approximately 3 and a half years). I had the fortune of staying in the white town area of Pondicherry ,for nearly two…

The global haircare market generated total revenues of $30.5 billion in 2005, this representing a compound annual growth rate of 3.3% for the five-year period spanning 2001-2005.
In the US alone, about 80,000 hair care salons (75,000 beauty salons; 5,000 barber shops) generate combined annual sales of $16 billion.

History has been witness to the changing hairstyles, through different ages. It is interesting that men did not always have short hair. I remember reading somewhere that around 1698, tax was imposed on long hair, by a ruler (I forget the name) and it led to short hairstyles for men.

Why does the way our hair feel or look, affect our attitude to ourselves and others attitude to us, so powerfully?

Hair has come to play such an important part of our anatomy, affecting our psyche.
How our hair is cut, colored or styled, telegraphs to the world our personality, attitude and style. Your hairstyle (or lack of it!) speaks volumes about you.

A friend of mine, who is also a mother of two be…

And now for the next 1 week my husband is going to live in it too..Sigh!
(How in the world did we manage, before the internet happened?)

It takes a woman twenty years to make a man of her son, and another woman twenty minutes to make a fool of him.

The poem was written by me, on 9th May 1994. Thirteen years have flown. Pure coincidence, that the date matches, almost exactly.
Tha painting was completed a few days back. It shows a sea gull taking flight.Away from the cactii, which almost seem human-- threatening , frightening, surrounded by darkness.
The picture I painted seems apt for the poem I wrote so many years ago.
Sometimes, we just have to be pushed, in order to be able to fly. Only then do we realise what we are really capable of.
**************************************************
Freedom
Free of the shackles,
That imprisoned the soul,
I discover now, the broken wing,
Wanting to soar,but compelled to limp,
Step by step,I painfully tread.
A stumble here,a step missed there,
Nevertheless onwards, the quest goes on,
And before I know,
Guided by a force unknown,
The footing is suddenly,surer than before,
And here I am,
Now, flying once more. *****************************************************************

Those of you who have heard of Denny Dent, will already know why he is amazing. Those of you who dont, watch the video.

Have a great Sunday!

She was 23.Young and pretty. She had moved to Mumbai. It was from a small town to a large city , teeming with life, a lot like New York. She was enjoying her financial independence and her time, as a single girl. The irresponsible life and a string of good friends. She was finding herself, living and loving every moment of it.

He was 28. Professionally qualified .Chocolate boy looks and a great job. Ready to settle down. He had met tonnes of women who fawned over him. They were good girlfriend material—but not good wife material.(or so he believed)

Then he met her. Reluctantly. And it was only because his dad had insisted. His dad had been impressed by her family antecedents. Unknown to him, she was meeting him, simply because her mother had insisted too. It was easier to oblige her mom than incur her wrath.

Maybe it was the magic of the night. (The time was 9:45 pm when they met. The date was 17th March .The year--1995) Or maybe it was his charm that worked. Or perhaps her wit won him …

What is a sin? Who defines it?

We are all conditoned to accept unquestioningly, certain things, as sin.Have you ever thought, why?

If it is a sin, why is it so much fun?

And finally, how sinful are you? I took this quiz and it was fun. (and not a sin) :-)

This is what it said about me. (does this mean I'm not having fun?!)
What about you? (click on the link below this box to find out)


Your Deadly Sins
Greed: 40%

Wrath: 40%

Pride: 20%

Envy: 0%

Gluttony: 0%

Lust: 0%

Sloth: 0%

Chance You'll Go to Hell: 14%

You'll die in a shuttle crash, on your way to your resort on the moon.
How Sinful Are You?