my mother and me was the music classes. Her distant nephew played the violin, and my mother's dream was that I would learn to play a musical instrument. When I was in the first grade, she sent me to music school, but I was embarrassed to carry the violin and hated it with a passion. When I walked with it outside, my ears burnt and I wanted the ground to swallow me up. I suffered for the first two years but found a solution during the third year. I would leave the house to go to music school, but instead, I hid the violin in the boxwood bushes nearby and played soccer with my friends. After the game, I would retrieve the violin and return home as if nothing had happened. I skipped music school like this for two months before my music teacher called my parents. My secret was out, and I got into very serious trouble. My mom wanted me to go back to music school, but I refused. Emphatically. By that time, I had already learned to resist. Finally, mom yielded but went after my brother. She made Valera take piano classes. He quit. Then she talked him into taking up the clarinet – same outcome. Mom persisted, but we defied her, and none of us became musicians.
Nonetheless, the head of our household was our father. He would come home late from work and frequently went on business trips. My father was passionate about agriculture and was responsible for the agriculture of our entire region. The successful development of viticulture in Karabakh was mainly due to his efforts. Moreover, he served as the deputy chairman of the regional executive committee for many years, even managing to carry out scientific work in the midst of his hectic schedule. After getting his Ph.D., he stayed in our town. This was quite unusual at the time – after receiving an academic degree, people would typically move to the capital cities: either Baku or Yerevan. But my father was convinced that he was needed here, in Nagorno-Karabakh. In these mountains, he, an agronomist, created the orchard-town and built the communist system, the ideals of which he sincerely believed in all his life.
Due to his busy work schedule, my father couldn't spend a lot of time with me, but he did his best to teach me what, in his opinion, every man must be able to do. I remember how he taught me to drive a car. We had an old Moskvitch sedan – I believe it was the 403 model with round edges. I was barely 13 back then and rather short. My dad sat me behind the wheel and asked me, "Can you reach the pedals?" – "I can" – "Can you see the road?" – "I can" – "Then, drive." And I drove.
He also taught me how to fire a gun – a 16-gauge single-barrel shotgun. We began by shooting at homemade targets we drew on plywood or cardboard, then we went hunting in the mountains. I was so proud of myself when I shot my first chukar partridge. Soon enough, my father allowed me to use the gun alone and then gave it to me for good. No kid in my neighborhood had their own gun yet. So we all would go hunting together in the mountains with that single gun.
I went to a Russian school, and I did well. Whether I liked the subject or not, I couldn't imagine entering the classroom unprepared. I couldn't imagine a bigger embarrassment than to stand by the chalkboard not knowing what to say. In general, I was quick and disciplined: as soon as I came home, I did all my homework, and then I was free. Math and physics were easy; I liked geography and literature. Languages, including Russian, were much more challenging for me. My essays were good, but I made too many spelling mistakes. The only two subjects that I really wasn't attracted to were the Armenian and English language classes. Ironically, fate would make me learn them as an adult. When I became Armenia's prime minister, I truly regretted that I skipped Armenian classes in school! I would never have guessed that I would need them so much: our Karabakh dialect is very different and hard to understand in Armenia.
The courtyard was essentially the center of our universe. The private home we lived in was next to an apartment complex, and all the neighbors – adults, children, and the elderly – gathered in its spacious courtyard every evening. They all knew each other well and spent their spare time together like a large extended family. There was a gazebo in the courtyard's center, where adults battled over chess and backgammon, poking fun at each other while we ran around. Once in a while, one of the players would say something particularly witty, and the gazebo would explode in loud laughter that bounced off the buildings and reached every far corner of the courtyard. And since everyone made fun of everyone else, the light-hearted laughter never stopped. In short, the atmosphere in the courtyard was amicable and cheerful.
Our courtyard was seen as upscale. The chief of police, the head of the People's Oversight Committee, and several officials of the region's Communist Party Committee lived in the big apartment building. In general, our neighborhood was cultured – people read books, and played sports. Kids played soccer, basketball, and – what was particularly popular at the time – handball at the school's nearby sports field. Naturally, we would argue, quarrel, and fight during the game on rare occasions, but it didn't ruin our friendship. Sometimes, we played soccer with kids from rougher neighborhoods down the street. Some games were friendly, some not so much. However, there were no serious fights; we mostly waved our fists in the air from the abundance of energy and excitement.
As with everyone in my generation, my childhood was carefree and happy. I might be biased, but I am convinced that there was something special about Karabakh. All around – in Azerbaijan, in Armenia, and in the entire Caucasus – corruption flourished, and crime lords had authority. But Karabakh remained an oasis of law and order. The word "bribery" was considered the most terrible insult, and people sincerely believed that they were building a communist society. Apparently, the ideals of equality and fraternity for all were in line with the traditional values of many generations of Karabakh people, and the dream of an ideal society took root in our land. Residents of Nagorno-Karabakh – upstanding Soviet citizens – sincerely believed in their bright future.
And that's how we lived – calmly and simply, thinking that nothing could disturb our quiet and isolated land, generations succeeding generations.
CHAPTER 2
MOSCOW STUDENT
In my last year of high school, I knew exactly what my next step would be: I would go to Moscow and apply to a technical university. I didn't look beyond that – the rest of my life seemed like a clean page that any story could be written on. I set my mind on a technical university because I liked science far greater than the humanities. I chose Moscow because the only university in Stepanakert was the Pedagogical Institute, and I never considered it an option. When Stepanakert high school graduates wanted to get a good college education, they would go to Yerevan or Moscow. It was impossible to study in a foreign country: borders were closed. In the Soviet Union, Moscow provided the best education, which meant that my path led to Moscow.
I aced my high school final exams, packed my suitcase, and departed for Moscow. My sister greeted me there – she lived in Reutov with her husband. I stayed with them while I took the college entrance exams. When I went to the Moscow Power Engineering Institute to submit my application the next day, I noticed that all the light poles nearby were full of tutoring ads. As it turned out, Moscow college applicants were far better prepared than us back home – we didn't even know what a tutor was. We thought that simply doing well in school would get you into college. I still had some time before the entrance exams, and I had some catching up to do. I found a tutor, scheduled classes, and dove into it. I remember my first two weeks in Moscow as a nightmare of round-the-clock studying.
Contrary to my fears, I did pretty well on the exams and was admitted to the university's Department of Power Engineering. I called my father. Mobile phones didn't exist yet, so I had to go to the post office,
