A college friend of my father's was a major in the Gurkhas in WW2. After the War he became a schoolteacher, & I was sent to the school he taught at.
His khuk hung on the wall of his study, and whenever I was in there, I couldn't help gazing at this thing... According to my father, he had a very distinguished war record and saw a lot of action.
He spent all the school holidays in Nepal with his army buddies and their families. After he retired from teaching, he went back to live in Nepal, in the village where his men came from; last I heard, he was still there. He always said that Gorkhas were the bravest, most loyal and most honorable people he'd ever met, and he was proud that so many of his comrades-in-arms called him their friend. He himself was one of the finest human beings I've ever had the privilege of knowing; if he says the Gorkhas are OK, they're OK.
I figure he earned his khukuri. Anyway, ever since then I've had a soft spot for the bent knife and the people who make them.