A bird that does not land

Homeland I was very small - the time when I asked for an explanation of the new words I was hearing. Momom came to a guest's house and told Enam that so-and-so had built a homeland.

For a while, I thought about what "homeland" was. When I didn't have a clear idea, I went to my grandfather who was plowing the field (my grandfather used to make a "heh" sound every time he hit the ground with a hoe), I asked him what his homeland was.

My grandfather looked around for a while, leaning on the handle of his hoe, then he showed us our house, my brothers playing in the dirt, our huge, green garden, and my stooped mother who was making tea on the stove (my mother has been stooping since I can remember. When we asked him why he was walking like that, he said, "I am saluting God." He said that the most beautiful things are "homeland".

I ran home. Something started happening in my body, I ran for a long time, unable to hold my heart.

I ran shouting that the most beautiful country is ours. My grandfather laughed and watched.

Grandfather's smiling look at any of our actions meant the conclusion that it was correct. One spring day, my grandfather and I drove sheep to the hill.

The wind before the rain blew and brought strange winds, and my heart skipped a beat. I said, "Grandpa, I'm getting homesick." My grandfather smiled again and patted me on the shoulder.

After that, the territory of the homeland expanded. I don't know, under the influence of which of my grandfather's teachings and which of my mother's stories, later on, the day I did not work with sweat on my forehead for the future of our house, no matter how much my parents tried, I could not eat with appetite.

If I didn't fulfill my duty seriously, I would feel like I was betraying my country. (Forgive God, at that time I could not distinguish between the borders of God and the Motherland) .

I have also experienced times when I wanted to shake the hand of every person I saw on the street and thank them for their patriotism. Teacher, I was the best in our class.

I was the class captain from the 1st grade (I am giving this information to justify myself in this case) In the 2nd grade, our teacher decided that "tomorrow we will not come to school, there is a wedding at the beginning of the village, and we will all go to that wedding." When I came home, I told my grandfather what my teacher had said (all the decisions in the house were made by my grandfather). In the morning, I drove cattle to the field.

In the afternoon, I saw a classmate coming from school. I told him, "The teacher told us not to go to school today." He said that the teacher said this to test us, that everyone went to school except me.

I was very upset with the teacher. A storm of incomprehensible feelings arose in me.

I went to school the next day. My teacher asked me why I didn't come yesterday.

Focusing on my frustration with the teacher, I did not think of any excuse until this situation. I couldn't say, "You said to go to the wedding, don't come alone." I told the lie that came to my mind.

My grandfather fell ill, I sat next to him in order not to leave him alone, I said. They didn't tell lies, they didn't make mistakes - I thought that humanity was defined by these aspects.) My teacher "posted" the question asking if others could take a look, and I kept listing the busy jobs of all my family members.

I lied to my teacher like a memorized poem, and the image of the world flooding continued to flash before my eyes. Inside, I was very upset with my teacher for making me tell these lies to the person I respect the most.

I thought that teachers wear new clothes at home (I never saw teachers in their home clothes until the 4th grade. The first time I saw them in old clothes, doing things that other people do, I was saddened by life).

I thought that whatever the teachers said was true. Even now, the status of teachers in my heart has not changed.

As my life progresses, I understand the status and value of a teacher more deeply! (Now, believing my teacher's words (although I was rated the dumbest student in our class by my classmates), I'm even happy with myself for not going to school.) People I didn't go to school yet, the fate of a poor mother was shown in "Otalar Sozi".

When the protective grandson joins the army, the son and daughter-in-law put their grandmother in a nursing home. When his grandmother died, the boy was "sitting" for his friends at home.

The grandmother stretched out her hand and lost her attachment to her children. Momom and Enam pointed to me and whispered, "What do we mean?" I was holding back my cry...

To comfort me, they told me that they acted, that the dead mother is now at home, enjoying herself in front of her grandchildren, drinking hot green tea. But...

"Why are people like this?" something stuck in my throat and I cried for 2-3 hours, maybe even more. I was crying even when my grandfather came from the market.

My brother brought my grandfather to see if he was a fool, he was crying to himself, saying that no one had done anything. "What did my grandfather do?" I couldn't express the pain in my stomach in words.

That was the first time I felt the discomfort of not being able to explain the pain in my stomach, and later such situations turned into "farming". Life I study in elementary school, one of our neighbors passed away.

The eldest of his children was 5 years old. On the "seventh" night of our departed neighbor, there was a meeting of fellow students at our neighbor's house 3-4 houses away.

It made a noise like a wedding. The village gathered to see the highly educated guests.

My grandfather and I did not go to the show. It was my first witness to the cruelty and harshness of life.

I got under the blanket and cried as much as I could because I was embarrassed by our sad neighbor. First helplessness It seemed interesting that the characters seen on TV hold a table.

I have one too, but if I try to use it like these, I wonder how it would feel to hold a handkerchief. I searched and found a handkerchief from home.

I spread it and wiped my face. My nose began to feel like fire.

I ran to Mom. "Momo, I can't stand it," I said.

It was the first time I encountered the feeling of helplessness that could not be solved by hand strength. Mom saw the handkerchief and said, "Yes, my child, it was full of pepper." "Now run around the farm, keep running, the burn will cool down," he said.

I don't know how many times I ran around our 80-hectare farm. I flew like an arrow, leaving the pain of the burn on my face behind, and I felt comforted by that speed.

Even now, at the points of helplessness and weakness, I often think that if I could run as hard as I did on that occasion, I would be able to leave behind the unpleasant helplessness that was looking over my shoulder. The pleasure of poetry.

I started taking literature lessons in the 8th grade from a teacher named Bobo yeva Nargiza (God bless you), who is 7 years older than me. A completely different world has begun.

I began to feel poetry. Until that time, I used to rhyme the words of my daily communication and sing them in the form of weightless "poems".

I understood that poetry is a blessing. I understood aspects such as balance, weight, metaphor, image, light and dark rhyme, mission, idea, philosophy.

I could fly by feeling the poem I read. My literature teacher reads poetry in every lesson.

The beauty of the word was driving me crazy. I write "poems" every day to be my literature teacher's favorite student.

Momom sometimes "looks" at me on days when I lack inspiration. "Momo, didn't someone write before, are you knitting yourself?" I hesitate.

My mom said, "No, no, baby, don't believe me!" says. After reading my poems, my teacher is happy to pass me by, I will become my teacher's favorite student.

My mood is no longer the mood of the earth. It's enough to see the food, I'm full without eating.

I was excited as if I was waiting for a great journey ahead, the pleasure of finding a way out of danger. I would show the result of 2-3 people in the time of one person in any work that requires movement, speed and strength.

People around me said that there is a giant in it, that it is flying. There were days when I collected until noon the amount that the picker girls of our village, who are 5-6 years older than me, pick until late at night.

I did the honor of some strong-armed girls and reached the end of the second evening of the day, which was made of tufted carpets that took 4-5 days to weave. I was so strong that I could grab the ground with both hands like a belt.

Because I knew the poem, I felt it, as if I was flying. On the same day, we fell into the onion vine with our neighbor.

He was raking the overgrown grass and then picking onions. Our neighbor's onion area is 20, ours is 18.

Young men, one a year younger than me and the other two years younger than me, are ready to divert 20 acres. They offered a race.

At the end, we came to fetch water from the remaining ax. I'm swimming with an instrument.

I leveled 18 acres thinking that if I pass through this forest, if I finish school as soon as possible, if I can reach the territory of "Birds that do not land on the ground". Part of the "forest" on our neighbor's farm was still standing.

I took "pity" by telling the guys that they don't need to bring a bucket of water, that the mood I feel now is enough. The pleasure of poetry gave me fantastic consciousness.

The iron coming from the early morning charmed my soul and made me fall in love with it. Then I was completely bald.

When I wanted to cry, but I couldn't cry freely, I said to those around me, "I should have been an actress. Cry now, tell me, I'll make you cry." He willingly tried my acting studies.

I used to cry silently under this mask. Those next to me are really crying, look.

They were surprised that your tears are big. I used to cry with pleasure like this.

The polar opposite of lust At that time I was under severe persecution at home. If they saw that I was reading a book or writing something in a notebook, they would start yelling and yelling.

I couldn't stand the fire inside me if I didn't write. I felt that there was a conflict zone in my stomach, a completely opposite pole to lust, I wrote countless letters to radio, television, newspapers, magazines, hoping for a way to reach it.

It was enough for me that some of my letters were read or mentioned on the air - He strengthened my belief that there are birds that do not land on the ground. Although I knew that after my arrival there would be doomsday, I went to literary events as much as possible.

At those times, I felt like my brother. I said, "Let's have fun with this baby, so he doesn't die inside me." "Literature days" are taking place in Surkhandarya.

Shodmon brother called Otam saying that there will be a meeting at the Lyceum in Termiz, Usman Azim said "Nargiz should come too" (Shodmonqul Salam's brother and Otam were close friends). When my father heard the name Usman Azim, he sent Nargiz to the event, not believing that he had said it.

At the event, my whole body went numb - hearing Usman Azim's confessions. I asked those around me, "Are you sure it's about me?" I look at it with a questioning look.

One of my father's colleagues also participated in that event. Usman Azim came to my father and said that your daughter is a great poet.

My father came to drink that day, and in the whole family circle I was officially allowed to read books openly and write whatever I wanted to write. One room was marked as my private area.

They even bought a bed for 50,000 (it was good money) and made it as comfortable as possible. I was released from many jobs.

They call me at meal time, I "create" at other times. My father always looks out the window.

I have several books open on the table. In a hurry, I read 3-4 books in parallel.

I felt my father looking out the window again. I looked at my father happily, he was waiting for me to look.

Pointing to the open books on the desk, he said, "My daughter, don't embarrass us by copying from someone else's book." "Don't worry about that oil!" I said. When I went to eat, my mother said, "How many did you write?" he asks.

I joke at the same time: "I can't write." "What are we going to do now?" he worries. I laugh, I applaud Usman Azim in my heart, I am grateful.

At the end of that year and the beginning of the New Year, we received a holiday SMS from Usman Azim to me and our family. My brother had the phone.

My brother came rushing in. "Hey, Usman Azim congratulates you on the holiday, read it!" Now the mood in our house has become chaotic.

We forgot the New Year's holiday and it was a higher and different joy. After reading the preface written to my first book (written by Usman Azim!), my father (he used to be very clear when he drank) cried.

"My moment is prayer, my destination is Qibla, / I set out on a journey with joynamaz as my path" you wrote, my daughter, my father, I may have hurt you unknowingly, I'm sorry. This path is not easy.

That's what it means to dig a well with a needle, he said, if you've got it, then live however you want. Poetry The times when the MTS company announced a description of 20 minutes of talk for 2 cents.

God willing... Siroj and I will talk for a long time, after about 20 minutes, he will be connected again.

He recites his favorite poems in turn, culminating. I put the phone to my ear and wrap a scarf around it.

I'm doing my job. ...People of the world market, ho, / Take it, I've come to sell my heart...; This is my world, my heart is half full, / Even if I sing with half, my world will be full...; I am tied to the ground, my roots are underground...; You can't give me any value, / I passed the world barefoot...; If I tell you to be soil, why don't you put it?..; Embrace me too, father, / I became earth, father, earth...; It doesn't make sense to die, / It doesn't make sense to live, but...; My life is coming to an end, don't die!..; Don't spare yourself, / Be ruthless, / Take care of yourself sometimes...; Mother earth, let it go...; You couldn't find a stone for me, / The world whose stones have turned to dust...

I'm going crazy. I can't fit myself, the area I'm in.

Birds that do not land on the ground. They took the participants to the event in the building of the association.

We got out of the elevator and others are waiting. Usman Azim came to me on my way out.

I was frozen in place. It was the first time I saw Utoz "The Bird That Doesn't Land" live.

It felt disrespectful to ride next to him in the elevator. The door of the elevator was open for a while, as if someone else was coming out, and then it was closed.

I have been in this situation for a long time. After the event, the participants get on the bus and are buzzing around.

3-4 meters away from Usman Azim, I also feel numb during the time I stopped. Shodmon "introduced" aka Usman Azim.

My legs didn't obey me, I hesitated, I couldn't go to them, I greeted them from afar. Then they left.

Abdulla Oripov, Usman Azim, Shodmonkul Salam left the path for walking, and they followed each other's footsteps on the lawn, stepping in rhythm. I didn't take my eyes off until the buildings sheltered me, thinking that their march was also a poem.

"Azim" meetings We gather in the evening near the regional government building (!) in Termez. Abdulla Oripov, Osman Azim, Sirojiddin Sayyid, and Eshqabil Shukur will recite poems in turn of Sirojiddin Ibrahim.

We invite you to read that poem and this poem. Siroj nails his melodies, and we applaud as if we heard from the poets themselves.

At that time, our materiality was so inversely proportional to our spirituality. We will return from this meeting in the mood of the number one billionaires in the world.

On the way back, we all read poetry as Usman Azim. Azim means great!

Usman Azim's poems inculcate in our cells the idea of ​​bravery, living a noble life without losing sight of one's life, looking straight at life, being able to show mercy to the enemy, not being ashamed of one's own way, not sparing oneself, going towards God, let's say the name of all the situations that a person on earth can fall into, the border of the poem, and the most important thing is the soul. We say that everything will be fine.

In this pleasure, I say, "Siroj, even his grandfather's father knew what kind of person Usman Azim would be. He named his son Azim." Siroj also confirms with a laugh.

We are happy to know that people do not know who they are contemporaneous with, and we float back in the air. "Great Chevar" One time, Mentor, brother Shodmon and I had lunch.

I came to Tashkent from Surkhandarya on some business. We were all given a bowl of soup according to the teacher's choice.

At that time, I was also seriously dieting. Brother Shodmon adjusts the soup to the meal - ours too.

The teacher said, "It's not possible, we didn't tell you." Me and Mentor didn't come out of the pot, it was there when Shodmon was named brother. The teacher was delighted and said: "Did you see, Nargiz, God is a great lover?

You can't have a pea for both of us! He only counts his places." From that day, the expression "Great Master" entered my vocabulary, and then I put a lot of faith in this wisdom.

Everything will be great! Years of crying because I couldn't go to school.

Sirojiddin Ibrahim Ustaz praised you and said, "Go, we will find the magazine." In the heat of summer, Siroj, Khurshid, and I willingly visited several "kioski". We finally found it.

The three of us pass each other and rejoice. Then we will have lunch in the nearby kitchen.

According to tradition, Siroj will host us. We roar with self-satisfied appetite like the owners of our term (Mahmud Abulfayz used to talk about the older and younger men and women around ustoz Siroj as your sons and daughters, half jokingly and half sincerely.

Siroj used to tell us the places of guidance). Don't think that my words are praiseworthy.

I have a lot of feelings: we throw grain at the bird and keep it, we do not "catch" it to the point where it is necessary, but God throws such grains to His servants. I counted these places as such "grains" in my life.

We are following "Azim" Inson Bakhtiniso (Mahmudova) to the end. A dirty man in the yard.

They are like questions and thoughts in my mind, chaotic movement and noise. I, too, am sitting in a corner, with endless pain and incomprehensible objections about why life has been so cruel to me.

When I see people I know from far and near (they came from different regions), I feel grateful to them. I am crying remembering Bakhtinisa's life as a bird, rushing to Turkey, her lifeless body flying over people, and many other pains that crushed her heart.

In one of his writings, he wrote that he followed his father, and that his father did not even look at him. There were many puzzles in his fate.

Men's voices are coming from the street. They are talking about Bakhtiniso in turn.

I heard a familiar voice. Involuntarily, I directed my attention in that direction.

Osman Azim spoke about Bakhtiniso with great respect, sincerity and sadness. Something in my throat caught my tongue and my breath.

Hearing the teacher's voice, my shoulders shook and I began to cry. I don't know if this cry is due to misfortune or out of respect for the Teacher...

Any emotion can make a person cry. It seems that such a big man at this age can come to the honor of a young girl.

God bless you!.. That day I could not go to greet the teacher.

I thought that he had some kind of good luck or that it was not a good idea to say hello... This visit made Mentor even more "Azim" person, in my eyes.

My respect as a person had increased many times. My partners and I returned to Termiz in the evening.

Those who went to observe Bakhtiniso are communicating through the group. They agree to meet every year on a certain date, to commemorate Bakhtiniso, to organize some events.

I'm going to say that God knows whether these things will be true or not, what the Teacher came to observe today is important (enough), this is the respect of literature and great poetry to Bakhtiniso. Wow, world!

If we met acquaintances at TerDU, we would ask each other how we were doing, quoting a verse of Usman Azim, and warn each other about our situation. We burst from line to line, not leaving each other behind, and at the end we stopped saying that Usman Azim is not a man.

We would be drunk thinking that it is beyond the scope of a person to be able to describe the situation of a person in forty-one layers so clearly in a poem. Then, we would repeat the Master's words in our own tone: Wo-ya, dunya-ya!...

I became very fragile later on, especially in my pre-college and college years. When I looked back when I needed it, it seemed that there was no one willing to help me financially.

And there were many times when I was able to pull myself together. At such times, I was so enthralled by the culminations of the Great Teacher that the Teacher would suddenly call me at most of my halting points.

"Nargiz, are you okay, aren't you in trouble?" The murmurs that lasted for a few minutes, of course, "Everything is going to be great!" they ended with the magic word. I would willingly start living again.

Everything will be great! First of all, we should thank and applaud the woman who created the conditions for the teacher to be able to build themselves perfectly.

Even if God does not cut off talent, if the artist is overwhelmed by family worries, if his attention is divided, if he is driven by trivial worries, then he will spend his life without his voice. On behalf of the nation and literature, I bow to Yangam with every cell in my body for presenting Usman Azim's phenomenon perfectly.

Thank you for keeping the borders of the teacher to us completely (without betrayal), for giving us a gift!.. Thank you to the noble treasurer of rare property!..

The wealth of literature There are named and nameless treasures in the world whose value becomes incomparable as you understand. The name of one such wealth is called "master".

They are the title of factors that determine the value of life, such as time, opportunity, profit, and duty. They look down on the road map of the disciples and those behind them.

They are the architects of the heart. Thanks to their services, the image of humanity is clear, and our spiritual and material world looks like this today.

There will be wealth and properties belonging to one person, one family, one dynasty, one country. As well as wealth belonging to the nation and humanity.

Usman Azim is also the wealth of the nation, literature, and humanity. His poems, personality and universal value, feelings, and ideas sharpen us, when we are in doubt, we clarify our Qiblah, we adjust our belief system every time.

It is not easy to live as you understand the basics. When you remember and see such people, you are comforted to live, you remember the pain of nation and homeland, you say that there are reasons worth living.

It was not for nothing that I started my speech with the concept of homeland. It has been a long time since I made this confession - Usman Azim has become a part of the territory of the Motherland in me.

Debt I consider myself a very strong-willed person. However, when the human race is weak, standing in one place hesitantly, when I feel the points of defeat in life, in the ruins of self-doubt, the feeling of indebtedness to the words of the Master, which caused my Father to allow me to write poetry, awakens my soul.

As a reader who feels poetry, every word of Usman Azim was a help (peers and teachers used to inform each other that Usman Azim said such good things about you). The human race is such a weak species.

It is difficult for him to live the burden on his shoulders, to live a fate alone, to step forward with confidence. However, everyone lives their own destiny!

But the encouragement and trust of the people around him, whom he respects, is very important. The presence of good people in itself is an encouragement to live!

The fact that you owe people kindness, understanding, and humanity will double your responsibility and faith for life. At that time, my father believed in the words of Usman Azim, who did not know him closely, his life style and activities were due to the fact that other people respected the teacher as a great person and believed that every word he said was correct.

I came from a long way. From the teacher extremely (!) (in their own words!

"Finally!" I am grateful that no one else would say this word with the love of a Master. My respect for the Teacher is obvious to Him for the boundaries I have seen with my eyes closed, the vastness I have felt and discovered when I have opened my eyes.

God knows where I would be now, what situation I would be in if it wasn't for what he said at that event. Don't worry, I haven't done anything yet.

Health, peace of mind, no matter how short my life is, I have a mood that justifies the trust of the Master. Everything will be great!

Nargiza ODINA Y EVA, Oyina.uz