Today is my father-in-law, Gago's birthday. He would have been 87 today.
When I asked for my future wife's hand in marriage, as was the custom in Armenia, Gago refused me. It was quite a public refusal as a table had been set and lots of witnesses were present. I can't say that I held it against him, but I did like to remind him of it (from time to time), when we took him abroad on holiday together, much to the amusement of his wife and my mother-in-law, Shura.
I dedicated my book about the lost lands of Armenia; Rory's East Anatolian Journal to both Gago and Shura and include that dedication below.
This book is dedicated to my
parents-in-law Shura Khatchatrian and Anoushavan (Gago) Gokoyan. I learned a
lot about life from both of them.
Shura and Gago
Shura and Gago were brought up in
the Soviet Union during the hard years and repression of the 1930s and the
terrible war years of the 1940s. They came from the village of Kamo, Armenia.
Gago had looked after the sheep in the hills in his youth and Shura was the
daughter of the village headman. Gago was too young for the war, although one
of his brothers was lost during it. Shura was one of seven sisters. Her only
brother died tragically, during military service in Russia. After completing
the obligatory fours years of military service, Gago married Shura and they
made the big move to Yerevan. Life was not easy, but it was better than in the
village. Gago sometimes worked at three jobs, just to make ends meet. They had
been given a flat by the state and they made a home in the suburbs of Yerevan
in the area of Zeitoun.
However, those facts of their
upbringing are not important. I never heard them bemoan their hardships or complain
about the past. Their lives were dedicated to their family of four daughters.
This family expanded, after first one daughter, then in quick succession, the
other three daughters were married and grandchildren appeared, adding to their
joy.
Shura was the example of the
selfless mother, who had raised four beautiful and talented daughters and had encouraged
them all to complete their higher education studies. She was the one everyone
came to when they had problems; the wise one, the calm one, the one with the
endless fount of anecdotes and jokes for every occasion. She could make people
laugh or comfort them or bring calm to the seeming chaos all around. She was a
rock but a very soft one. Whenever I spoke to Shura, or I should say, she spoke
to me from abroad, all I would hear were her thanks and multitudes of blessings
and wishes for my health, my wealth, my happiness and for that of my near and
extended family. Not much was ever said by me as far as news was concerned but
the blessings from Shura were manifold and sincere.
Gago worked a lot. He was a man of
habits but he could break them too as he proved when he stopped smoking without
any preliminaries or fuss. He was always the best dressed in his neighborhood
and he was the one who did the shopping at the market on foot as he had learned
frugality from his upbringing and would never take a taxi when a trolley bus,
tram or “marshroutniye” taxi were available. He was always, deep down, a simple
man, who appreciated everything with such genuine and almost naïve pleasure and
fascination. This quality was so spontaneous, that you could show him the same
sight or place on successive days, and each time his reaction and delight were
as if he were seeing them for the first time. That is a rare quality in our
fast-paced society. The same was true with his favourite food or drinks. Each
time he had them, it was as if he were tasting them for the first time and the
thanks and appreciation were profuse. When he phoned us from abroad, once more,
very little news was exchanged as he showered his blessings and thanks on us
and on our family. When his grandson David called him from Los Angeles, David
would cue up and play his favourite song “Ararat” by Arto Tunboyacian and the
Armenian Navy Band, loud in the background and he would laugh each time
uncontrollably like a child.
The village Kamo, where Shura and
Gago came from, had also been known as Gavar and Nor Bayezet until 1959, when
it was re-named after a Communist hero. Nor or New Bayazet was named after the
village in Turkey, Dogubayazet from where Armenians had escaped the massacres
of 1915. Dogubayazet is the other side of Mount Ararat and the starting point
for climbing expeditions in search of Noah’s Ark there. Thus, I would be
visiting the ancestral homeland of many of the inhabitants of Kamo.
My life has been richer for having
shared it with Shura and Gago. This book is in fond memory of them.
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