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Our Nepal, Our Pride

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Bhuwan Thapaliya

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“I just find music to be one of the great creations of humankind. It breaks boundaries, it brings people together, and it seems to transcend differences. It bonds us to each other. It does all of that without regard for whether it’s jazz, or rocka- billy, or blues, or rock, or folk, or R&B, or soul, or gospel, or country, or classical, or whatever your genre of choice might be. It does all of that, whether it’s Vivaldi’s violins, or Paul Desmond’s haunting alto sax, or James Burton’s twangy guitar. It’s important stuff to us humans, and it’s important stuff to me.”

“So when the man was only a few steps away, Robert did his best to imitate the yellow bird’s call. When the notes came out, they were not the same sound as the yellow bird’s – after all, they were sung in a frog’s voice. But whatever differences there were between his and the yellow bird’s sound, there was also an obvious likeness that was easy for the man to catch. For, by fate or good fortune, Robert had stumbled across a man who had a deep passion for music. And for a moment, the man froze in surprise at what he had just heard this small frog do.”

“I think you did it because you were brave.” “Brave, is a big word, Robert! Too big. A word you would have to live up to if such a word was to find its way around to certain groups.” “But what you did was brave, Baz.” “But, Robert, the point is, I don’t remember how I did it. So please do not tell anyone what you saw – they will expect me to do it again. Can you imagine what might happen? And now look at my other leg. It’s shaking even more than the first one. I couldn’t run if I had to. You see what I face? Let’s head back now, in case the fox comes back.” “It won’t come back, Baz,” said Robert. “I wouldn’t.”

“The other member of the small band of friends was Daisy, a fawn-coloured dairy cow with a lovely heart. She was a gentle, kind, dreamy soul, who loved nothing more than to slowly wander the paddocks, trailing her nose through the long grass in search of an eating experience she had once had years earlier. Her inability to ever recreate that “incredible grass eating day” was a topic she often returned to.”