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ANALITICS - MASS-MEDIA

DROP, AT LEAST, A KIND WORD FOR POOR CHILDREN
DROP, AT LEAST, A KIND WORD FOR POOR CHILDREN

In a historic range a human in its time is like an instant. But however it may be, but in the course of years man begins to comprehend his way of life, to evaluate the genuine wisdom of common words and instructions. I and my friends - young correspondents of Tajik television - were fortunate in one thing. We underwent the school of journalism led by the prominent masters of word and votaries of culture and art. Many of them serve as an example for us which we try to pursue. And if we achieved, at least, something in this life it is owing to them, to their being near us; for them, our preceptors, the spiritual was always above the material. Publishing my recurrent observation and rumination I decided to preface the article with a small episode from my journalistic career; my decision being not fortuitous. As it was the episode which in the long run determined all my destiny. My option - just as that one of the numerous plead of young journalistic who appeared in the 70s-80s of the century passed and set the fashion in Tajik journalism up to nowadays - was influenced by one man, zhe was stern but very just; he was a nurseling of a children's home. At that time when they spoke about people who had been reared in children's homes we knew that these were steeled individuals of high culture and education …

Nurseling of children's homes became the elite of society
Unusual phenomena often happen in life. I remember distinctly April 1982. All people were admiring the spring attire of Dushanbe, its wonderful vernal carpet resembling a fairy-tale, woven out of the blossom of apple-trees and scarlet poppies. Suddenly snow started falling from the sky being so unexpected for everyone. Big snowflakes covered instantaneously gardens, streets, buildings of the city and its vicinities. I was laid with the duty of filming a plot about the city covered with "spring" snow, being so astounding for us, southerners. The twigs of blossoming trees were bending under the double cover of flowers and snow. This picture looked out especially beautiful and extraordinary in the university botanical garden. On the one hand, it was a miracle of nature, but on the other hand - we understood it was a real tragedy. Still all the yield of fruits might perish. At that time I worked as a rank-and-file telecorrespondent. I called the prepared report about the unusual phenomenon of nature as elements were called - "Tears of Nature". The next day after the material had appeared on the air I was invited by the chairman of the Stateteleradio of the Tajik SSR Ghalib Nazarovich Kalandarov.
- I have seen your report, he started the conversation in his usual manner, briefly and kind-heartedly. - Most of all I liked the text and incidental music. I have already issued the order on your appointment as editor-in -chief, you will be in charge of musical programs on television. I congratulate you with your new position and wish creative progresses, - he said smiling, shaking my hand. All my objections, my reasonings concerned with young age, absence of musical education when I proposed a composer or a musical critic for the position of an editor-in-chief were rejected.
-The order on your appointment had been already signed. As for a composer he will be your councillor. He is also young and vigorous. Tolib Shahidi is his name. You know him well. You are good friends and I believe, everything will be all right with you.
There was no sense of further protest, I understood that the solution had been adopted. To resist to give it up as a bad job.
In those years the authority of a minister, member of the Central Committee of the communist Party was very high. Sometimes people were afraid of his shadow. And if a person was summoned to his study he was apprehensive of being given a good scolding.
Galib Kalandarov treated young, so called "prospective cadres" with great love. Few were those with whom he might be on friendly terms. And still there were exceptions.
In remember when once he invited me to his place. After considering a number of items pertaining to creative work he wondered how I lived, what my everyday life was like. It was our first unconstrained hearty talk. He told me something about himself. It turned out that he had been reared in the children's home. As many nurselings of his generation he tool part in the Great Patriotic war. The fate tested him severely in the post-war years as well. But they say the world is not without good people. They helped him to get through all the ordeals of life and never let go astray. When he had become an own correspondent of "Pravda" in Tajikistan he first of all visited his native children's home. Being correspondent of the central USSR newspaper, editor-in-chief of "Tojikistoni Soveti", chairman of the Stateteleradio, deputy of the Supreme Soviet of Tajikistan he constantly rendered feasible aid to children's homes and boarding-school where orphans were brought up.
In the Soviet times children-orphans were always surrounded with care. Homeless children were sent to statal institutions for the underaged. The state cared about their future. The main thing was that it provided education for them thus helping to become full-fledged members of society. May be, owing to this fact a lot of famous people who made great contribution into the development of economy, science and culture of the country belonged to the nurselings of children's homes and boarding-schools. As far as I know, among them there are: Mishon Sharipov, former minister of construction; academicians Abduhakim Boymatov and Talbak Nazarov; Sohib Tabarov, corresponding member of the Academy of Sciences Muhammad Bobokhujayev, Professor, Dr. of Medicine. All of them are people of supreme culture. Their distinctive features are honesty, decency, justice and devotion to the cause they serve. And as far as I know, these are the qualities they value in people mostly. My ustod possessed all the properties as well.
 
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