Surrounded with shelves of pickles, old bicycles, and gardening tools, it took my eyes some time to adjust to the dark. Within minutes, I was hiccupping from too much crying. My grandpa let me out and we spent the day with our usual routine, yet I was too sad.
That night I didn’t sleep, I waited for the morning. As soon as the daylight started breaking through pitch darkness, I got up and run to school. Interestingly, the school gates were closed and locked. I started banging the gate with a stone. Uncle Qorovul came out from his cabin next to the library building rubbing his eyes. I explained everything to him, occasionally looking over my shoulder to see if my mom wasn’t coming after me. He let me in. We even had a breakfast, bread with qaymoq** in his cabin before I went to my classroom.
That morning our first class was interrupted by my mom and the school director. Caught again, I started packing my notebooks and pens. But the director announced my mom should bring my documents and I was officially accepted to grade one.
Today I am far away from Konibodom. I miss the apricot trees of the village. And my grandpa is no longer with us.
I miss our lessons, talks with him. And I miss our walks to the barn the most.


3/3

@MenSenvaUlar2

Are you still with me? Good. I might be getting too nostalgic with my memories from Konibodom and about my grandpa and could go on and on. So not to bore you with my rumbling any longer, let me tell you one little story from those days.

One day, I decide to pay a visit to my mom while she is at work. Her workplace, the village school being six houses and one chaykhana away from grandpa’s, it doesn’t take me much to get there. The only challenge to find the classroom where my mom would be teaching at that exact hour. By now, I know five - six classrooms she would likely be. I am not tall enough to peek through the keyholes, I put my earlobe on the doors instead. This day, I find her on the second floor, drawing the solar system on the board.
Quiet classroom fills with giggles and laughter as soon as I enter the room. On one side my mom furious at me for interrupting her class, on the other side, whole class trying to get my attention. Almost everyone is begging me to seat next to them. Ha! I see Nemat Terak* among them calling my name enthusiastically. The other day, he made us chase him the whole neighborhood for our ball that he took away. Now totally ignoring his pleadings, I pick a guy in front of him to sit next to and I shoot a victorious look at him. I ask the guy for a pen and paper. By now my mom manages to quiet the class somehow, but this guy next to me continues whispering and asking me questions. I tell him to shut up and concentrate on the lesson. I, myself start copying the solar system from the board. At that moment, the door opens and enters the school director. Seeing me among the students:
‘Your little one is again here today? She seems very interested in coming to school. Why don’t you let her to attend Shoira’s grade one and see if she likes it?’
‘But she is only four years old, how can she study with the kids three years older than her. No, she is too young’ refuses my mom.

That evening with the help of my grandpa, I manage to convince my mom. Now I have to get ready to school next day. I have no supplies, no school bag. I run to my cousins, get some notebooks, pens, and an old bag from previous years. It has no back straps, just a handle on top. No problem! If I lean to one side a bit, I can manage walking without it touching the ground. I didn’t bother with school uniform much and went on my first day with slippers on my foot. I went three days in a row. I was getting ready on the fourth day, alas, my mom grabbed me by my elbow and next I found myself locked up in the basement. I could hear her arguing with grandpa:
‘She is too young. She barely reaches the board. I thought she would get tired and bored by sitting for hours in the class, yet she is getting more eager day by day. It needs to stop.’ And off she went to work.

2/3

@MenSenvaUlar2

Barn Lessons
for Grandpa
Dear reader, let me take you on a tour today. If you take a bus from Tashkent to Kokand going through the province of Sughd, just before reaching Beshariq, the outskirts of Kokand, you get to enjoy the sweetest scents from forty types of apricots that ripen in the orchard fields of Konibodom. Heavy from their golden harvest, the trees bow to the ground as if welcoming you. At the far distance, behind the vast orchards your eyes could rest on the emerald waters of Kairakum reservoir.

A couple of years of my childhood is spent between two neighboring villages of Konibodom, Hamijo’ and Kuchkak. The years being 1994 - 1996, the peak of the economic crisis following the collapse of the Soviet Union, the ongoing civil war on the south of the country, non-stop quarrels between my parents, my mom and me going back and forth between two villages, between two homes, three/four-year-old myself was living my childhood, much unaware of what was going around me.

It was at my maternal grandpa’s place, I felt the happiest. My mom being away at work during the days, my grandpa and me would spend our days together in his grand home.

There were two separate buildings, ustki uy (higher home) and pastki uy (lower home) with a pomegranate orchard in between. The orchard itself was cut by the middle with concrete pavement, roses blooming on each side. Grapevines with black, red, and white chandeliers divide the orchard and open space of the pastki uy, giving a full shade to the yard and even partly covering the rooftop.

Recently retired school math teacher of fifty years, my grandpa would busy himself feeding the sheep three times a day with two course meals. First, we serve vegetable and fruit peelings followed by forage and lastly serve water in backets. With much of the cooking and living happening in pastki uy, all the food and water is kept in the porch there. We would be doing nine trips a day going through the rosy pavement, around ustki uy to the corner of the back orchard, to the barn. On the way and as my grandpa feeds the sheep, four-year-old curious me would bombard him with questions after questions. He in turn would answer and explain everything meticulously and with lots of affection. We would learn various folklore, prose, and poems. It is back then, I learnt by heart Hamid Olimjon’s epic poem - Oygul bilan Baxtiyor, and Erkin Vohidov’s ode - O’zbegim. We had already mastered basic arithmetic and alphabet. In the evenings, my two cousins, both boys and much older than me would join us for grandpa’s classes. He would teach us old Uzbek script (Arabic letters) and as well as Ayats* from Koran.

1/3

@MenSenvaUlar2

Tunov kuni bir tanishim bilan Ves Anderson tomonidan ishlangan “Itlar oroli” nomli multfilm ko’rgani bordik ( Film hayvonlar shelterlarini qo’llab quvvatlovchi Sokofest loyihasi tomonidan namoyish qilindi). Hozir film haqida emas, namoyishdan avval bo’lgan bir voqea bois mulohazalarimni yozmoqdaman.

Loyiha tashkilotchilari namoyish oldidan loyiha haqida qisqacha aytib berishgandan keyin, tamoshobinlarni qiziqtirgan savollarga ham biroz javob berishdi. Old qatorda o’tirgan rusiy zabon bir yigit so’rab qoldi: Nega o’zi Toshkentda it boquvchilar kam? Ko’chalarda itini sayr qildirib yurganlarga kam ko’zim tushyapti. Rossiyada buni aksi, ko’p odamlar it boqadi, ko’chalarda ko’p ko’rasiz. Yana Rossiyada bunaqa, unaqa, Toshkent esa bunaqa ekan va h.k. Aftidan Putin opressiyasi va G’arb sanksiyalarining Rossiya iqtisodiyotiga ta’siridan yaqinda Toshkentga qochib kelgan insonga o’xshaydi. Bu insonni noo’rin savollari kamiga, tashkilotchilardan bo’lgan qizning hijolatomuz, aybdor ohangidagi tushuntirishi odamni o’yga toldirdi. “Endi, bu yerda mentalitet boshqa, odamlarni dunyoqarashi boshqa, ko’p qavatli uyda it asrashni xohlamaydi, it aylantirishga yetarli parklar yo’q va h.k”. Shundan keyin ham u bola, Rossiyani maqtashdan qolmadi.

Aslida Rus imperializmi, mustamlakachiligi, ayrim/balki ko’pchilik ruslarning Markaziy Osiyo xalqlari va madaniyati/qadriyatlariga past nazarda qarashi, hattoki til bilish darajasi va terisini rangi bois ochiq diskriminatsiya qilishi juda katta mavzu. Lekin qochqin yoxud muhojir sifatida kelgan mazkur inson hech qursa, bunaqa o’ylab - o’ylamay solishtirishdan avval, kelayotgan davlati haqida o’rgansa, qadriyatlariga hurmat ko’rsatsa yaxshi bo’lardi.

Bundan tashqari ijtimoiy tarmoqlarda Rossiyadan qochib kelayotganlarga nisbatan “ekspat” so’zi qo’llanilayotgani odamni hayron qoldiradi.

Bizning vatandoshlar tinch zamonda Rossiyaga ishlash uchun borganda, mehnat muhojiri ba’zan kamisitilib “qoralar”, “gastarbaytar” degan tamg’a qo’yilganda, siyosiy - iqtisodiy tang holat, urushdan kelgan odamlarga nega “ekspat” maqomi qo’yilishi kerak? Avval mustamlakachimiz bo’lgani uchunmi? Rus imperiyasi va Sho’ro davrida yurtlarimizni talashgani, xalqimizni qirgani uchunmi, yerlarmizni xom - ashyo bazasiga aylantirishgani uchunmi? Orolni quritishgani uchunmi? Yoki shunchaki teri pigmentlari oqligi uchunmi?

@MenSenvaUlar2