Support of the Blood Relations

I felt very glad today while looking at all the comments I have received from my brothers and didi. Much of my life experiences would not have been the same without them being a part of it. It is very important for me to know what they feel about what I have to say about those good old days as it is part of their life too, us being so inextricably linked together. I am glad that they like my blog. Thanks folks.
My paternal grandparents, Mr Bijon Sengupta and Mrs Bina Sengupta had three children the children had two children each thus they had six grandchildren and I am one of them.There is a common strain among all of us, the grandchildren of MrBS and Mrs BS, at least I think so, we can all express ourselves quite well in writing! my grandfather was an MA in English and a journalist by profession, so ofcourse he could write but my grandmom was also a prolific writer, she maintained a diary for more than twenty years and recorded the day to day events of her life in the minutest detail. Even now when there is a difference of opinion in the family regarding an ancient fact we quickly refer to Amma's diary of that year and find out the truth. Things like whether there was 'chingri machher malai kari' (steamed prawn delicacy) in the menu of my 'annoprashaon' ( ceremony when the child first eats solids) can be found out in a jiffy from her accounts. I am sure that if she were alive she would try her hand at blogging! Amongst my cousins the two eldest ones are the most gifted. Didi excels in English writing , is a master of grammer and can never get a spelling wrong in any language, I have tried to give her tough Hindi words and although she has never studied the language she can spell 'kinkartavyavimudh' without blinking even once! Her handwriting is beautiful and her brother and I copied it all over lives and our writing is now just copied versions of hers (though not as good). Dada is highly confident and expressive and he was the first among us to start a blog and frankly it was so high brow and subtle with lots of poetry and lyrics of such philosophical songs that much of it was beyond my understanding. There are three of us in the same age group a sister who is a journalist whose style is easy and direct, myself with my ramblings and a brother who is the most sensitive of the lot and had written a story about a dog in his childhood which had brought tears to my eyes and in his letters to me over the years he has expressed himself beautifully. The youngest is my brother who can bring humour into the most staid and serious matter. He is the complete entertainer like a masala bollywood film that he so likes writing about. On the whole after a brief survey of the cousin brigade I am still convinced that the writing bug that existed in both Mr and Mrs B Sengupta has found its way into all of us and binds us together in a strange and wonderful way.