In the tiny Buryati town of Okinski in eastern Siberia, 2500 miles from Moscow, nobody had heard of ballet or Bolshoi. For sure Misha hadn’t. Nor had his mother, Alina. But, working three jobs, mostly cleaning, to make ends meet, she knew this: she simply hadn’t the means to educate her bright son. Misha seemed bright to her. And nimble too. He did well in the games he played with other kids. He kept playing and appeared tireless. That gave her an idea.
She had heard that a team from Moscow came periodically to Ulan Ude, the area capital, to choose small children, eight to ten, who were then trained at government expense. She borrowed money and bought train tickets for both. Misha wasn’t keen on education, so she told him about a selection for gymnastics. In Ulan Ude, in the two large halls of a public school, there were about sixty kids with their expectant parents and three somber-looking male judges.
When Misha met the judges in a separate room, his mother waiting outside, they wasted little time. Strip and show your body. Sing a song and show you can hold a tune. Bend forward as far as you, then bend backward. Sit on the ground and spread your legs as far as you can. When a judge spread his legs further and it ached, Misha didn’t complain, for he wanted to be a good gymnast. When the judge tried his arms next, roughly pushing them backward, he still kept his cool. The judges gave his mother the good news. He was one of the seven selected for training in Moscow.
She had heard that a team from Moscow came periodically to Ulan Ude, the area capital, to choose small children, eight to ten, who were then trained at government expense. She borrowed money and bought train tickets for both. Misha wasn’t keen on education, so she told him about a selection for gymnastics. In Ulan Ude, in the two large halls of a public school, there were about sixty kids with their expectant parents and three somber-looking male judges.
When Misha met the judges in a separate room, his mother waiting outside, they wasted little time. Strip and show your body. Sing a song and show you can hold a tune. Bend forward as far as you, then bend backward. Sit on the ground and spread your legs as far as you can. When a judge spread his legs further and it ached, Misha didn’t complain, for he wanted to be a good gymnast. When the judge tried his arms next, roughly pushing them backward, he still kept his cool. The judges gave his mother the good news. He was one of the seven selected for training in Moscow.
Misha arrived in Moscow a chilly September morning with a small suitcase, that contained his entire wardrobe of three shirts and pants and a small package of pancakes Alina had prepared for the trip that Misha was too excited to eat. A grave, elderly man took him to a large building and placed him in a room with seven other newcomers. That was the first time he heard that it was a school for ballet.
Early the next day the lessons began. They were harsh and unremitting. About eighty students from all parts of the country, assembled in a large hall, were trained rigorously by five instructors. They gave no respite and made the kids work steadily for five hours. The first priority was to develop the dancer’s technique. That entailed having the correct posture, increase flexibility and gain strength, all the while learning the arcane vocabulary of ballet. Misha, like every other student, struggled and sweated; he was ordered to change clothes every couple of hours. After a midday half-hour break, to rest and eat a light meal, he had to return for another grueling afternoon session.
This continued day after day, week after week. Within two months, half the students dropped off, and in six months, the number halved again. Misha thought of leaving sometimes, but he knew of no better alternative. Truth to speak, he found a new instinct sprouting in him. He felt he could take the pain, perhaps a lot better than many others. He almost felt a little proud of the amount of physical pain and mental humiliation he could take and survive. I can do it, he said to himself, whatever you say to me and however hard you make my life. I will do it, became his mantra, I will do it to the end.
This continued day after day, week after week. Within two months, half the students dropped off, and in six months, the number halved again. Misha thought of leaving sometimes, but he knew of no better alternative. Truth to speak, he found a new instinct sprouting in him. He felt he could take the pain, perhaps a lot better than many others. He almost felt a little proud of the amount of physical pain and mental humiliation he could take and survive. I can do it, he said to himself, whatever you say to me and however hard you make my life. I will do it, became his mantra, I will do it to the end.
Misha did it indeed. He stuck through it all for ten years. From simple pirouettes, linking steps, large poses and endless barre exercises, he graduated to higher and higher levels of skill and mastery. He stunned his instructors with his doggedness, his stamina and eventually the subtlety of his performance. On the chief instructor’s recommendation, on graduation he went for further training and experience to Kirov, one of the greatest institutions.
“Twelve years had passed since I left Buriyatia and my mother’s home, for perhaps the cruelest internship one can imagine for a kid. Finally I was now sensing the first inkling of approval and success,” said Misha, as he poured me a glass of beer.
I had met him through common friends and Misha had graciously invited me for dinner. I loved his warm hospitality, but I loved his story even more.
“Twelve years had passed since I left Buriyatia and my mother’s home, for perhaps the cruelest internship one can imagine for a kid. Finally I was now sensing the first inkling of approval and success,” said Misha, as he poured me a glass of beer.
I had met him through common friends and Misha had graciously invited me for dinner. I loved his warm hospitality, but I loved his story even more.
“All this had happened without a clear plan on my part,” Misha continued, “I just went along with what my mother wanted at first. I hated her for my initial days of agony. It took me a long time to realize she wanted something good for me, though she did not know what it could be. Now it was time that I should form my own plan. I started thinking.”
Luckily, he found that Buriyatia’s ballet troupe had the opening for the principal dancer. He called and expressed his interest. There was some hesitation, for among the local dancers some had waited five to seven years for such an opening. But Misha was a star, and the troupe could not let him go.
Luckily, he found that Buriyatia’s ballet troupe had the opening for the principal dancer. He called and expressed his interest. There was some hesitation, for among the local dancers some had waited five to seven years for such an opening. But Misha was a star, and the troupe could not let him go.
So, fourteen years after he had left the area, Misha returned to Buriyatia, spurning the opportunities he might had in Moscow. His goal was to make the local troupe as good as it could be, whatever it took in terms of time and effort.
“I came back to my mother’s modest home. I returned to the same tiny room I had lived in years earlier. I had left the klieg lights of the big city, in order to build something worthwhile in my home town. I was still a star, but a star of a very different kind.
“I was once again a son, the son of an aging mother. She could not work as hard as she had worked earlier. Now it was my turn to work harder and be the dutiful son.
“I felt happy. I also felt at peace with myself.”
The beer in his glass sparkled. His face seemed lit up.
“I came back to my mother’s modest home. I returned to the same tiny room I had lived in years earlier. I had left the klieg lights of the big city, in order to build something worthwhile in my home town. I was still a star, but a star of a very different kind.
“I was once again a son, the son of an aging mother. She could not work as hard as she had worked earlier. Now it was my turn to work harder and be the dutiful son.
“I felt happy. I also felt at peace with myself.”
The beer in his glass sparkled. His face seemed lit up.
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