Embark on a journey through the personal reflections of a life rich in experience and contemplation. This narrative delves into the true meaning of wealth, beyond the material, and invites readers to consider the legacy we weave through our years. Herein lies a story that resonates across generations, urging us to ponder the depth and breadth of our own lives.

Beautiful words from a famous song performed by an equally famous singer from Georgia. But perhaps my years are not wealth but a heavy burden that oppresses me with old age diseases or heavy thoughts. The question is not simple. On one hand, it seems very good that I have lived to be 94 years old. After all, not many live to such an age, and probably one should rejoice that one has lived to such, as they say, advanced age. Yes, logically, one should rejoice, but unfortunately, there is little joy at this age. It feels as if I’m sitting in a death row cell waiting for either an angel or a devil to come for me, depending on where they will drag me to heaven or hell. Well, I have little hope for heaven. Our socialist system raised me as an atheist, and all my life I fought against the “opium” of the people, that is, against religion. So, there is no hope for heaven. And I don’t want to go to hell. It’s best if there’s nothing there. These are the not very joyful thoughts that constantly come to mind. Hence the gloomy moods. Hence the irritability. Hence the depression. Unfortunately, the younger generation does not always take into account such a mental state of the older generation and do not understand the seemingly causeless irritability of the older generation. In the spirit of self-criticism, I must say that we too, when we were young, did not really understand the mental state of the older generation. But, still, not everything is so bad in old age. There are joys that are only inherent to the older generation. We rejoice when our children are doing well. We rejoice at the appearance of grandchildren, granddaughters, great-grandsons, great-granddaughters. After all, each of them has a part of grandmothers, grandfathers, great-grandmothers, great-grandfathers. Perhaps this is our immortality. We leave, but we also remain in our continuation in our children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. Perhaps this is the main content of our life, to continue ourselves in our offspring.

Yes, it is a great joy when you live to see great-grandchildren and when you feel relatively normal. I say relatively because at such an age for a person not to be sick does not happen. But for now, I walk on my own legs and serve myself for my needs. This is also very important. Much has changed during the time I have lived in this world. I remember when a car appeared on our street, we children ran after the car and shouted car! Car! For us, a car was some kind of wonder. In 1937, the first elections to the Supreme Soviet of the USSR took place in the country. As part of the agitation work, so-called crop dusters flew over the city and dropped postcards urging people to participate in the elections. After that, when an airplane flew over us, we children shouted for it to drop papers. How far away all this is now! Much has been preserved in memory, but much has also been erased. I remember very well June 22, 1941. I was 11 years old. I was at my aunt’s near Tbilisi in the village. I see everyone running to the center of the village where the loudspeaker hung. Then, homes and apartments were not radiofied, and in populated areas, such a horn, radio, loudspeaker was installed. And I ran there. I see people standing, and everyone’s heads are down. They listen to the radio with their heads bowed, and only the voice of the announcer is heard. He was transmitting Molotov’s speech about the treacherous attack of fascist Germany on the Soviet Union. This happened around 12 o’clock in the afternoon. The day was bright and sunny. Men and women stood in the square, and there was complete silence. A heavy, anxious silence. And it was not Molotov’s speech that made a heavy impression on me, but this oppressive, pressing silence in the square where several hundred people were. This terrible silence told me that an event had occurred that really threatened all of us with death.

From that heavy day, my whole life changed radically and for the worse. The struggle for survival began. We lived quite poorly even before the war. Mother was a cleaner at school. Father was a chimney sweep and also a decent drinker of Georgian wines. And there were four of us children. The room where we lived, if it could be called a room, was 12 square meters. All conveniences and inconveniences were outside. My brother and I slept on the floor, under the table, there was nowhere else. And despite this poverty, the pre-war years are remembered as somewhat bright, warm. Perhaps these years were the best years of my life. Before the war, even food appeared in the stores. The main thing was that there was enough bread. And for us, bread was the main dish. And the fact that we lived poorly, I somehow did not think about it because I had not seen another life. Everyone lived approximately at the same level as we did. Someone maybe a little better, someone maybe a little worse. There were no particularly rich people on our street. There was a German family living in the neighboring yard, they had a piano, so they were considered rich in our understanding. Or if someone had a phonograph, they were also considered rich. There was no one to envy. Maybe that’s why the relationships between people before the war were friendly, there were no locks on the front doors. They shared the last piece of bread with each other. In the evening, all the residents of our courtyard gathered under the mulberry tree and talked about many different issues. They often talked about whether there would be a war with Germany. Someone brought a fresh newspaper, and I was asked to read it aloud. So it turns out where my political work began. And all this calm, peaceful life disappeared in an instant. WAR. In the fall, my father was called to the front. There were four of us children, 13, 11, and two 3-year-olds, and we all wanted to eat. How we survived these difficult war years, and the post-war years, I write more in detail in my memoirs. Here I just want to ask myself the question, were these my years my wealth? No. God forbid anyone such wealth. Well, for Kikabidze, of course, the years of his childhood and adolescence were wealth. He did not have to live in the years of war. And it’s kind of offensive that the theme: children of war, what they had to go through, and not only in the Leningrad blockade, which certainly deserves special attention. But, in general, this issue needs to be raised. What the children of war had to go through in the Soviet Union. How “rich” were their childhood years! Then the country helped the front with everything it could. The question of our existence as a people, as a country, was being decided. Therefore, we lived by the law: “everything for the front, everything for victory.” We had no childhood, no youth. It is unlikely that these years can be considered our wealth. But that’s not all. When we entered retirement age and thought that we were going out to a well-deserved rest and a happy old age ahead of us, life turned 180 degrees, and those who were nobody became everything. We, who built factories, cities, defended the country, now we have become nobody. And they threw us, like a dog is thrown gnawed bones, a beggarly pension. There’s no talk of wealth here. So our years that were beggarly in childhood turned out to be even more beggarly in old age. So unfortunately, it doesn’t work out that my years are my wealth.

And what is wealth, after all? How do we measure this wealth? Of course, all of us want to live well. But what does it mean to live well? For some, it’s enough to have a good apartment, a country house, a car, and to have healthy children who don’t have bad habits and stand firmly on their own two feet in life. For others, even millions of dollars are not enough; they want billions. So how much money and property does one need to have to feel satisfied in this life and to consider their years as their wealth? I suppose no one can give an answer to such a question. But there is wealth that is not only material. To know oneself, to understand the world around us, to appreciate the art created by humanity. Literature, music, etc. Isn’t that wealth? I’ve already said that I come from a very poor family, but I didn’t pay special attention to my poverty and didn’t worry about being poor as some young people do. Since childhood, I have loved to read. Not far from our home was a decent library. In our time, the library mainly had classical literature. I read foreign, Russian, Georgian, Armenian classical literature, of course, what was printed in the Georgian language. That is wealth. It’s impossible to list all the writers whose works I’ve read; there are too many. Since childhood, I’ve had a strong inclination to read. We lived on the outskirts of the city, and frankly, apart from reading books, I had no other entertainment. I had neither the money nor decent clothes to go to the cinema in the city center, and besides, the cinemas were far from our home. There were no televisions, not even a radio point at our place. A radio point was installed in our shack around 1948. So books and only books were my source of knowledge about the world. It must be said that the radio greatly expanded my knowledge, especially in music. The radio broadcasted wonderful music programs. Opera music, Verdi, Tchaikovsky, Paliashvili, Gounod, Mussorgsky, Puccini, Beethoven, Glinka, Mozart, and I will not list any more, all the music programs were in this spirit. At first, I did not appreciate opera and classical music in general. I thought that all this was not for us, at least not for me. But an interesting event happened in my life. I wrote in my memoirs that I was born in the mountains of South Ossetia, in the village of Dzvaris-Ubani. The thing is, my mother, who already lived in Tbilisi, was in Dzvaris-Ubani for the summer, and there she went into labor. At the same time, my father was arrested. Well, it was 1930! And my mother had my older brother in her arms, and he was 2 years old. So my mother left me in the village with a woman from the Pliyev family and went to Tbilisi herself. Since she was a healthy woman and had to do something with her breast milk, she was hired to breastfeed the son of some woman. This woman was a veterinarian by profession and worked at the market in sanitary control. She checked the quality of meat at the market. Sometimes she even threw us pieces of meat, but that was after the war. So, around 1947 or 1948, I became interested in who actually drank my milk. My mother gave me their address, and I went to meet my milk brother. He turned out to be a very good boy. We became friends. His father was repressed, which was quite common in those years. They lived on Rustaveli Avenue. The apartment was not very good, but it was near the opera house. It turned out that the controller, who checked the entrance tickets, was a good acquaintance of his mother. Understandably on what grounds. Thus, Nodar, my milk brother’s name, took me to the opera every weekend, and sometimes on other days, of course, to daytime performances. We went there because this acquaintance woman let us in without a ticket. I had no musical education, no understanding of what opera was and how to ‘eat’ it. The first opera I listened to was “The Tsar’s Bride”. Everything was good, cozy, the seats were soft and comfortable. What was bad was that this tsar’s bride was very vocal, and I couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. Still, I fell asleep. The next time we went to listen to “Rigoletto”. Since I had already adapted to ‘listening’, I fell asleep instantly. I woke up, especially for the Duke’s aria “La donna è mobile”. But for “Carmen”, I was captivated by the music from the overture, and I listened with rapture until the very end of the opera. Later, I listened to operas by Tchaikovsky, Glinka, Mussorgsky, Gounod, and other composers. I was so captivated by opera music that when I later attended a performance at the drama theater, I missed the music, the musical accompaniment to the performance. And I understood how much music enhances the perception of what is happening on stage. Much later, when I was an officer and on leave in Tbilisi, I listened to Paliashvili’s opera “Daisi”. “Evening Serenade” in Georgian. I came out of the opera house somehow enlightened, cleansed of everyday domestic dirt. I wanted to do something good for people. I then thought that a person who has listened to such music as “Daisi”, Tchaikovsky’s first concerto for piano and orchestra, or Rachmaninoff’s second concerto, Grieg’s “Peer Gynt”, and in general musical works by outstanding composers, cannot do something dirty, disgusting. In my opinion, classical music, if understood, cleanses the soul of a person like a prayer spoken before God in a state of strong emotional excitement. I am deeply grateful to those who introduced me to the understanding of such spiritual wealth as opera, classical music, and I sincerely pity those who reject or do not want to accept such a treasure and prefer only material goods, pity.

I am generally amazed at the abundance of luminaries in music, literature, painting, and art in general who were active in the 19th century. In the 20th century, we also see and hear the greatest works of art of all kinds, but the 19th century is unparalleled in this respect. In any case, the pseudo-art that originated in the 20th century and flourished in the 21st century did not exist in the 19th century. My generation had the happy opportunity to interact with real art, not pseudo-art as it is now. Of course, this does not mean that everything was good then and now everything is bad. This is not the correct conclusion. There was also a lot of negative and even disgusting things in the life of my generation. We were raised in the spirit of loyalty to the cause of Lenin-Stalin. We didn’t quite understand what Lenin and Stalin’s affairs were, but we shouted that we were loyal to their cause. If we had said that we were not loyal, our affairs would have been bad. Unfortunately, in our time, our entire life, including art, literature, music, was limited by the postulates of Marxism-Leninism. Stalin’s statements on one issue or another were considered the truth of the highest authority. If you objected, you would become a gold miner in Kolyma or chop wood. Not a pleasant occupation, and the living conditions were not very good. Therefore, even though we did not agree with Stalin, we expressed violent delight that we had such a genius leading the country.

To my great regret, in our time, the opinion of one person determined what we were supposed to read, what we were supposed to listen to, or see. Everything that did not coincide with his opinion was bad and dangerous for the people. This is how the ‘father of nations’ cared for our moral and ideological upbringing. I vividly remember a series of decisions by the Central Committee of the CPSU/B, on issues of literature and art, where the works of writers, musicians, and artists were subjected to annihilating criticism. By the end of the 1940s, a struggle against cosmopolitanism and prostration before the West had unfolded. Interestingly, if Comrade Stalin saw what is happening in our country in the field of cosmopolitanism and prostration before the West, he would not just turn over in his grave but spin like a fan.

I have dwelt so much on Stalinism because Stalinism also contributed its terrible share to the spiritual upbringing of the younger generation of the 30s and 40s of the last century, and the consequences of such upbringing are still evident now.

I have digressed somewhat from the theme of a person’s spiritual wealth, but the spiritual wealth or poverty of a person still depends to a certain extent on the spiritual state of the society in which this individual lives. I lived my main life under Soviet power. Undoubtedly, that ideology, Marxism-Leninism, significantly influenced my worldview. We, our generation, did not have the opportunity to critically assess the prevailing ideology. I sincerely believed in socialism and communism, mainly until the mid-1970s, and I perceived spiritual food through the prism of Marxism-Leninism. Everything that fit into the Procrustean bed of Marxism was correct; everything else was cut off. If you also consider that I was communist No. 1 in my household, you can understand that I had to profess only Marxism, as a priest does the Bible. Moreover, it is very difficult to realize that the best years of my life I was like a blind kitten. I have somewhat digressed from the topic of ‘my years, my wealth,’ but indirectly I am still answering what wealth the years of our generation had. Perhaps these words imply that the number of years I have lived measures my wealth? I disagree with this. The richest person is a newborn. The greatest wealth is the time allotted to you for life, and the more years I live, the poorer I become. And soon I will be 80 years old, so I am on the brink of poverty. So soon there will be not only no wealth of mine, but I myself will not be. What to do. This is how nature has ordained it. The old dies, the new is born and lives. And this is correct. Otherwise, there would be complete chaos on Earth. Death, as paradoxical as it sounds, is a necessary phenomenon for the normal existence of humanity. Therefore, one should treat this phenomenon more calmly and, as they say, philosophically. If a person reaches an advanced age, 80, 90, 100 years, and passes into another world, there is no need to make a tragedy of it. Of course, it is always sad when a person leaves, but it is normal. But when young people die, violently or from illness, in an accident, etc., of course, it is difficult, and it is indeed a tragedy. There is no justification for this. A person should live at least 100 years. That is normal, and I strive for it. I have a wife who has been with me for over 60 years and cherishes me, my health, like the apple of her eye. She will indeed do everything to ensure that I continue to exist on this sinful earth for as long as possible. We simply have a direct need for this. The fact is that sooner or later we may have a great-grandson from Katya. Question? Who will walk with him \or her\ with the stroller? Of course, my wife and I. She needs to work, the great-grandson \or great-granddaughter\ grandmother will also be working, so it’s up to us, me and the great-grandmother. So without us, nothing works out. It’s good when there are many children. Someone needs you. And when you are still needed, this feeling also contributes to prolonging life. I don’t believe it when some people start rolling their eyes and say, “Ah, I don’t want to live, I’m tired of living.” Not true! Everyone wants to live and for as long as possible. And you should not be afraid of death. I often think about the questions of life and death. Of course, we, the older generation, will leave, but we also remain. My wife and I have 4 daughters, 3 grandsons, 5 granddaughters, 2 great-grandsons, 3 great-granddaughters. In each of them, there is a particle of our flesh and blood. That’s how we live in them. This is immortality.

As for material wealth, on this issue, I would like to quote a poem by the grandson of Nicholas I, Grand Duke Konstantin Konstantinovich:

I am the darling of fate… From the cradle Wealth, honors, high rank Led me to a lofty goal By birth, I am called to greatness. But what are luxury, gold, power, and strength to me Isn’t the same impartial grave Going to swallow all this tinsel shine. And everything that flattered us only by appearance here, Will disappear, like the momentary splash of a wave.

I don’t think one can say more accurately and deeply about the role and significance of earthly goods. The verse is taken from the book “Heartfelt Secrets of the HOUSE OF ROMANOVS”.

I wanted to end this theme of ‘my years, my wealth,’ but on September 19, an event related to my years occurred, and I cannot fail to mention this event. The fact is that on September 15, 2010, I turned 80 years old. Since the date, from a certain point of view, is not very cheerful, I did not want to celebrate it solemnly. I did not want any solemnity. But my youngest daughter, born in the village of Tiksi, persuaded her sisters, and on September 19, gathered everyone in the Georgian restaurant ‘Amirani.’ The restaurant is small, very cozy, and beautiful. I expected the usual clichéd toasts, all kinds of praises, about how good I am and all in that spirit. But what my daughter, Fatima, with her husband, Artem, organized was beyond all expectations. And it’s not about what kind of table was set, what kind of drinks. All this was, of course, but the main thing was the expression of respect and love for us, the great-grandmother and great-grandfather, from the children, sons-in-law, grandsons, granddaughters, great-grandsons, great-granddaughters. But my wife and I were pleased not only with how beautifully my Jubilee was organized. We were pleased with the warmth and love with which everyone treated each other at this event. And the relationship between the children is not a simple question. I am proud of my children, grandsons, granddaughters, great-grandsons, great-granddaughters. All my four daughters have higher education, all my sons-in-law have higher education. Grandson Alexey graduated from the military university. Granddaughters, Tatyana, Oksana, Alena, Natasha, with higher education. Grandson Zhenya is a student at Moscow State University, second year. Granddaughter Ekaterina is a student at the Higher School of Economics, second year. And most importantly, all of them entered the university without any nepotism or the like. How can one not be proud of such descendants?