I can’t tell much about my grandfather. Unfortunately I was a little boy when he died and I don’t remember much. But I’ve heard about literary critic Eduard Topchyan from his sons, friends, relatives, acquaintances. I am of the same name as my grandfather and it sometimes becomes a reason to remember him with love, respect, warmth and gratitude. My grandfather has directed the Writers’ Union for 30 years. I think we all inherit some traits of our character from our ancestors. The most striking trait of my maternal grandmother Arshaluys Babayan, a literary critic and professor, was righteousness. Up to this day her students remember how honest and incorruptible she was. That trait is also in my character. No power in the world can make me go against my conscience or justice.

Christmas is one of the oldest holidays of the general church which Apostle Jacob has defined. It is also called “Coming of Christ” because being born on the 6th of January Jesus Christ was baptized the same day after 30 years.
So on the 6th of January after holy mass Blessing of Water is performed in Armenian churches in remembrance of Christ’s baptism in the river Jordanian.
Jesus was born in one or the caves of Bethlehem. At that time three magians or kings from the west following the star that had appeared in daytime, came and found the stall where the saviour of people and the lord of the peace was born.

All the works are vain without patriotism. The private impulses and aimless desires can’t become a source of inspiration and powerful emotional experiences, contrary to elevated and non private aims. Is it possible that I could work so much, could seek for Jivan Gasparyan’s person’s fame and recognition? Certainly not. Only the happiness to inspire my fatherland and nation, to spread their name and reputation, could inspire me. Each of us is transient, fleeting, we come to give our instantaneous life and to do our mission; only the nation and fatherland are everlasting, all the victories and laurels belong to them.

Human mind can’t decepher the past of the gene and it can’t reach the source. Man’s birth and his life are the next refuge of that great and interminable way. I am from Alaverdi. My father Hovhannes Navasardyan was a historian, my mother Hranush Petrosyan was a mathematician and singer; she had a beautiful, precious voice. My childhood was bathered with bright beauty. The nature was beautiful, my mother’s voice was beautiful, human relations, standards and values were beautiful. The impressions of childhood accompany us during the whole life, the echoes of the past are always with us; they are the wrap of our spirit, they give birth to our dreams, experiences, emotions, they colour our life.

The initiators of the idea of the constitution are the English while we – the Armenians have talked about democratic values almost simultaneously with the French. In the second half of the 18th century the Armenian colonies were recruited mainly with merchants, workmen and ship owners from Iran, particularly New Jugha, whose broad trade circles gave an opportunity to have a great influence, position, authority and to create strong bonds with the English politicians and civilization. At the beginning of the 1770s “Madras Club” was formed where the Armenian intellectual cream of society was involved.

I met Rudolf Khachatryan – one of the best painters of our times during his last visit to Armenia. When I asked an official of the Ministry of Culture to arrange our meeting, he said that the painter was going to have limited contacts and that he would have an interview only with the correspondent of “Izvestia”. However, I hurried to Armenia-Marriott hotel where Khachatryan was staying. Learning that I was a journalist and I wanted to see the painter, the door-keeper accompanied me to his room without making any inquiries. The willingness of the door-keeper seemed strange to me.

If only “welcome” wasn’t observed as coming to Armenia is an event. I come to Armenia every year, often without any mission. I come to meet myself, to become an entity. The bond between a person and birthplace is mysteriously deep and versatile. I come to breathe the air of my homeland, to pass through the streets I have passed in the years of my childhood and youth, to see the places of which I have dear memories. I need this all most of all in the world. I want to listen to the frank conversation of the Armenian taxi-driver, to exchange a word or two with the shoemaker. I want to feel the breath, the colour which is so harmonious to the rhythm of my blood, to the miniature of my soul, to the content of my heart. Fatherland is my point of support in this great world.