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the piano

In my childhood the home was filled with the sound of music.

My father was a child prodigy on the piano who later added a celebrated baritone voice to his repertoire. His mother kept scrapbook upon scrapbook of his achievements in music.  Flicking through them as a child, I suspect intimidation mingled with admiration more than I ever realised at the time.

As children at Woodstock School (India) with its exceptional music department, we were each 'encouraged' to pursue a musical instrument. One sister settled on the flute, while the other went for the clarinet (another 'sister', later to become my wife, was nearby on the oboe). One brother made the trumpet his own, while the other brother tried a bit of everything.

Like I say, our home was filled with the sound of music.

However, this brother, that would be moi, was stuck with a grumpy, crumpled old woman as a piano teacher who thought scales were the very music of heaven. When finally liberated from that captivity, I…

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