National Assembly deputy Hovik Aghazaryan has again published an excerpt from his book "The Real Side of the Earth" written by him. Well, perhaps it is not so important because, in the end, what matters is the meaning that is finally attached to the term. And then there are more important things.
Example: I will definitely go down in history... to be honest, I never had such a goal to go down in history. I prefer to live as correctly, fully and interestingly as possible the period that nature has planned for me. But hey, we come back to the same formula: "the road to the temple is the only one".
Each of us deviates from that one path, one a little more, one a little less, but all of us, all of us indiscriminately. You just follow your right path, whether you will get there or not, it doesn't depend on you anymore. Or rather, it doesn't depend only on you. The moment you think that you will deviate a little to bypass this or that difficulty and obstacle and get back on the "right road to the temple", you will definitely not get there, you will not reach your goal.
But it's okay, it's possible, you will definitely have the opportunity to "see the temple"... The street named after Nikoghayos Tigranyan has another, much more popular name: "potato street". Why? Throughout the winter, potatoes were sold in the Mamikonyants-Komitas section of that street. And what does all this have to do with not staying in my story? Direct connection. Either generations will read this "creation" of mine, or it will be forgotten. In the event that it is forgotten, fifty years from now, a historian will appear who will wonder why the street (no matter how much it changes with the breath of time) has a second name: "potato street". He will conduct scientific research and solve the "problem of the century".
Then he will write a scientific work, where my name will definitely be mentioned. A simple, simple justification that my name will go down in history. We have been living in the "Ani" neighborhood next to "potato street" for three years now. Before that, due to circumstances, I passed through the Mamikonyants-Komitas section of Nikogayos Tigranyan Street at different times of the year.
From late autumn until mid-spring, potatoes were sold on a huge section of that part of the street. Someone used to "own" that part of the street and rent it out piece by piece to the villagers or the dalals of different castes. A logical question arises: how did it happen that the busy part of the street became a "market"?
Of course, I won't do scientific research (like the scientist that made me go down in history), but I will present my hypothesis... From time immemorial, the villagers sold potatoes in that place, which was a small village in the countryside, and then that part was improved. - the potato sellers are left.
Nikoghayos Tigranyan Street was built later, the potato sellers remained. The Soviet Union collapsed, Armenia adopted a declaration of independence, held a referendum on independence, and the potato sellers remained. Artsakh was liberated and the owners of the situation appeared - the fighters of "justice", "freedom", "independence" and made that part their own, the potato sellers remained, but in a different status... conquered by "justice", "freedom", " by "independence" fighters...
... The "owners of the situation" developed the business and since the middle of spring, they have been turning that part of the street into an entire market, closing one of the two lanes of traffic in one direction. The sight was terrible. The booths were placed with their backs to the sidewalk. The long stretch between the sidewalk and the stalls resembled the most horrible garbage dump. In that part of the street there is also a normal pedestrian crossing, and in the depth of the buildings in front of the "market" there is a school. Crossing, narrowing of the roadway, children, school... School? Let's go back to the school years.
We were in the tenth grade. I was the secretary of the "Commerit Union" of the school. Just out of respect for young readers (no matter how much I think of myself), let me say a few words about the "comeritmity". It is the same as the head of a regional structure of a youth union of a political party today. Considering that there was only one party at that time, it can be concluded that it was quite a serious matter.
"Hovik, you will come to the principal after school," said the clerk in a very formal tone, half-opening the classroom door.
- Why? - as if I was worried.
- I don't know, you will find out when you come. I went, Comrade Harutyunyan and the director of the state farm, Comrade Ghazaryan.
"Sit down," said the school director in a strict tone. The most lasting of my school memories were the creaking of the parquet, the smell of mastic and Comrade Harutyunyan - Comrade Ghazaryan came with a very important suggestion.
I listened attentively and willingly to the director of the state farm.
- Dear Hovik, you should help us with the child, we have to paint the trunks of the trees with lime, we don't have time. I will also give you thirty tickets for a tour of Kharkiv in the spring, Comrade Ghazaryan presented the problem and the proposal at the same time.
- But there are 62 students in our two classes, how are we going to do it? - I wondered.
- Boy, you organize the work, then we will choose the best thirty people, of course, taking into account your opinion, - the school director considered the conversation finished.
"Very good," I announced, feeling very important, and went to organize... Not everyone was coming. There was a girl whose presence made my heart flutter: she was special.
And the daughter of our class teacher friend Zakaryan did not come at all. More precisely, he came to the park with everyone in a car and immediately returned in the same car. When the car was moving, the impression was created in the middle of the village that it was also participating in the works.
- Gayane, why do you avoid helping your village?
- I asked him on the third day. - I'm doing well.
- Gayane said, squinting her mischievous eyes.
"Hey, girl, you're not going to come to Kharkiv, are you?" I tried to suppress that wayward being.
- You are not good, I will come with Kharkiv
Gayane answered in the same style.
"We'll see," I tried to end the conversation.
- Hov, do you agree, if I come to Kharkiv, I will slap you in front of everyone every morning until the end of school?
- that naughty girl continued with provocative persistence.
"It happened," I concluded and went about my business. After some time, the thirty people who were to go on the tour became known. It's okay that my opinion wasn't taken into account, it's okay that the name of the girl whose presence made my heart flutter was not on the list, but that injustice was a terrible thing for me.
In the list of thirty people, there was Gayane's name, which should not have been there, and there was not Borik's name, which should have been there.
Tenth grade boys and girls who tomorrow must enter the great life and what do they see, what do they feel on the threshold of that great life - a crying, terrible crying injustice...
"Comrade Harutyunyan, did you say that you would take my opinion into account?" I was upset when I entered the director's office.
"What's wrong with you, boy?" he asked in a depressed, stern tone.
It's us and us again, to be honest, he didn't say "you boy", but he said "you puppy". Perhaps, he knew in advance that I would not be at peace with such a situation (it was obvious that he was not at peace either) and, getting into a contradiction with his inner self, he wanted to pour "mour" on me.
"It's not fair, Comrade Harutyunyan, that Gayane came and Borik didn't."
- She is your classmate's daughter, friend Zakaryan has been working at the school for twenty-five years, don't let her out, you idiot.
"Borik is also Gohar Tota's son, he has also been working at the school for so many years, just a cleaner," I didn't give up.
- Boy, maybe you know a lot more than us, you teach us wisdom too.
- as much as he wanted to strengthen his position, Comrade Harutyunyan, that giant man, was getting weaker.
It was obvious that in the far corner of his soul he felt that I was right, that they were taking an anti-pedagogical step.
- Of course, I know a lot from you, Comrade Harutyunyan, because I know everything that you know and that you give us as a teacher, and a little bit from here and there and that's it.
- what a beautiful insolence, nothing that I could have lost, but I won. What should you do, the school principal and your class teacher are in front of you? The forces are unequal, you will not succeed in the usual way, not to mention that you will not win.
What should be done, how to find a solution to a difficult situation? Simple logic suggested that you should take a non-standard step, such that the problem becomes the problem of those you are fighting against. I will later call similar steps "potato syndrome". I tossed and turned in bed all night and it seems I found the solution. In the morning class, I announced that I was refusing the ticket to go to Kharkiv, most of my classmates announced that they were also refusing...well, let the principal and my class teacher think about how to solve the problem. They did not think long.
Gayane did not come to Kharkiv, Borik came to Kharkiv...
"Potato syndrome". It is true that I put this term into circulation later, due to the well-known incidents on Nikogayos Tigranyan Street, but with the flashing of a red light, from time to time, it reminds me of all the episodes in my life where I used the idea of "potato syndrome". Its main essence lies in the fact that the problem that you see and your capabilities and strength are not sufficient to solve it, you turn to a last option. You make it a problem for those who were at the root of the problem. It is better to clarify my point on a concrete example. "related to the history of potato street, especially since that term was born at that time. ...I have already described the essence of the manual of the "owners of the situation" and the surroundings of the "market". If before I used to pass that area once in a thousand, now I pass by every day. Every day I wake up, shave, look in the mirror, tie my tie and openly admire myself..."
... Have you ever stood in front of a mirror and looked yourself in the eye? When you are satisfied with yourself, you look confidently, when you are not satisfied, you avert your eyes from your own gaze. These mirrors are also interesting: brother, you reflect what is, you don't need to create, you don't need to invent, whatever is. If I'm not happy with myself, why do you distort my reflection, why do I see my "munnat" face, okay? Yes, once again, has it ever happened to you to stand in front of the mirror and scold yourself, insult, curse... It will happen by chance, but, as a rule, you admire yourself.
For me, the most successful moment is when you turn the tie a little on the right or left of your neck and bring it back to finally fix it, I love myself at that moment, confidence radiates from my eyes. It was the middle of autumn. One evening, when I returned home, I noticed that some kind of movement had started in the "market". I decided to spend a little more time in the morning. I snapped my tie firmly around my neck and left the house.
Approaching the "market" area, I noticed that the situation was taking shape that would eventually turn into an arc-shaped formation like a market, which would close an entire lane of traffic, leaving a section the width of one car. I approached by car and stopped.
I literally couldn't believe my eyes. A Ford Gazelle truck was standing, loaded with bags of potatoes. Before the gazelle, four "padons" were placed vertically on the sidewalk, each with a bag of potatoes, with their mouths open, so that the rules of "esti metzek" were fully in effect. Well, what kind of deputy are you, you have to find a solution, or you can't ignore such an outrageous phenomenon? I got out of the car and was looking around frantically, looking for some rational being who would explain to me what was happening.
A man came out of the vegetable shop on the opposite side of the street and asked, moving towards me.
"What's up, Hopar?" He must have thought that I was a customer. I waited for him to approach. It was a tall, sturdy man, about 40 years old. - Is it your car? - I chose a way of speaking appropriate to the situation.
- Yes, Hopar dear, is it necessary? - he answered, waiting for "svta".
- Didn't you put the "padons" on the sidewalk and block the road?
"III, I forgot to ask you," answered the first dalal in an arrogant tone, that is, the person who was supposed to rent the entire area from the "owners of the situation" and give it to others in small pieces. It was obvious that he was ready for such a meeting. The "peaceful" conversation turned into an argument, a tug of war, a push, as a result of which one of the sacks of potatoes overturned and part of the contents of the sack spilled onto the asphalt.
Finally, the "potato syndrome" was triggered. From now on, the problem became the responsibility of those who were obliged to solve it: district administration, city authorities. Journalists, with their various interpretations (each presented the incident in accordance with the political conjuncture they were serving), put the phenomenon caused by the "potato syndrome" into resonance and brought it to the level that the actual problem could no longer be resolved.
There is no trace of the "market". The street has been improved and renewed. I don't think that potatoes will ever be sold there, but I'm sure that even in this fierce age of digitalization, the name of that street will remain "potato street" in folk "folklore".
...I honestly don't want to bore you, but since the process caused by the "potato syndrome" became a pan-Armenian "potato issue", with your permission, I will describe a fictitious, nightmarish situation that could have happened in real life if the "potato syndrome" had not been applied. "...Every morning I tie my tie, look in the mirror, admire myself, then go down to the yard, sit I get into the car and reach the "market" with a confident mind.
Somehow I pass through the narrow section "generously" left by the "owners of the situation", reach the National Assembly, look at myself in the mirror again, straighten my tie and go to the meeting hall or another event, satisfied with myself, and waiting for the "national savior". " to my next opportunity to give a speech. I don't get that chance until a big break on one of those standardized days. I'm a little upset that MY chance to give a "national savior" speech is delayed and I drink coffee in the office to calm my nerves.
I'm flipping through my phone with my hand and...I see the ear-piercing report of the fifth channel journalist, who talks about the terrible tragedy that happened as a result of the inaction of the "reckless authorities".
Approximately like this.
This morning, a young man should have taken his pregnant wife to the hospital a second earlier. A young man driving as fast as possible through the narrow section caused by the "market" (the one "generously" left by the "owners of the situation") does not notice the seven-year-old boy crossing the street... three deaths, one unborn and one maimed by fate...
And, I'm also upset that I didn't have a chance to say MY "national saving" speech that day, go home, have dinner, sleep, and look at myself in the mirror again in the morning and admire myself, YES, REALLY...
Thank God it was completely different in real life. And it's no wonder that the journalist of the fifth channel titled his report about the potholes caused by the "potato syndrome" "Aghazaryan passed through this".
Sorry...
