... and how we lose them...
I used to be a spoiled child. I was the first son of the last son, and bore my deceased grandfather's name. I had a loving mother and father; loving grannies; a loving maternal grandfather; eleven loving aunts and four loving uncles; plenty of cousins and plenty of toys that I kept in huge wooden Indian tea boxes. But I was unhappy, because I had to go to kindergarten since I could walk. For three and half years that I went to kindergarten, I cried every day, and once - even unsuccessfully escaped. This story is about that escape of mine.
I hardly remember anything - only that I am in a side street and a Russian granny approaches me and asks something. I even don't remember the question. However, what I am told is fairly dramatic.
Being a small boy who could hardly speak yet, once I somehow managed to escape from the kindergarten. I crossed the roads and "headed towards home". And in one side street a Russian granny noticed me - a small boy under five walking alone. And she approached me and asked where is my parents. I don't know what I answered her, but she took me and visited all nearby kindergartens in my neighbourhood. At last, she managed to find my kindergarten and left me there.
I don't know who she was, what was her name, whether she is alive or deceased long time ago. I just remember a thin, small and blond silhouette in a headscarf. A typical babulya, Russian granny.
And now, imagine Baku nowadays. Most of its young and adult Russian population have left the city leaving behind a huge population of Russian grannies. Alcohol has mowed Russian grandpas' population long ago. It was terrible, but fast. However, demise of Russian grannies is a tragedy - it is terrible and slow. Left jobless, homeless and without families, these grannies are starving, deprived of normal sleep and life, compelled to beg for their daily bread. They are dying one by one, seeing each others' death, feeling its approach, waking up to a day as if it is theirs last.
I can't describe what I feel when I meet a Russian granny in the street.
3 comments:
I totally understand what you mean. I love those Russian babushkas. I used to have one as a nanny when I was a child, and she lived in "pohludere" She was so lonely and even with me visiting her, I always felt I could not do enough. Life can be very cruel when you are old.
Grandmothers are just like antique little girls...
I have a big soft spot for Russian babushkas and those from the Caucasus. They can be way too inquistive and prying, but they have spirit and character as well.
My heart breaks when I hear stories of babushkas who have no one left, because their families all emigrated far away looking for a better life. It really is a big overlooked problem in many FSU countries.
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