COLUMN: Russian upheaval's stalwart survivor

From Lindsay Faber's, "From Russia With Love," Fall '98 From Lindsay Faber's, "From Russia With Love," Fall '98There is but one character in today's Russia who will survive the current political and economic crises with bravery and pride. One strong soul who will not complain about the trials and tribulations of daily life, the course of the ruble or the government which is vacillating between communism and non-communism. One face which has lived through it all, and has triumphed enough to tell about it. This face about which I write is none other than the Russian babushka. Incidentally, the word "babushka" may be one of the most mispronounced and misunderstood Russian words -- and also one of the most popular ones. Americans tend to put the stress on the second syllable, pronouncing the word like baBUSHka, and interpreting it as a kerchief-esque head scarf. In reality, however, the stress is placed on the first syllable, BAbushka, and the word means "grandmother." The confusion stems from the obvious: Russian babushkas always wear kerchiefs on their heads to keep warm. The Russian babushka can also be seen tugging a sack behind her, tied intricately together by a faded bungee cord which has undoubtedly withstood the test of time just as long as she has. Until recently, the contents of her trademark sack had remained a mystery to me. What could possibly be so important, I thought to myself, that would require an extra 50-lb. bag everyday? I was waiting on line at a vegetable kiosk this week when the babushka in front of me began to untie her sack. As her swollen fingers and blackened nails struggled to open up the mystery bag, I focused intently on her and waited with baited breath to find out what was inside. As I discovered, the bag held enough beets, cabbage and potatoes to feed five divisions of the Red Army. Strangely enough, the babushka and her mystery bag all began to make sense. A babushka's duties rest in the kitchen, as taboo or archaic as that might seem for American culture. Each day she brings home the Earth's prizes, and with her organic conquests she slaves for hours on end in the kitchen. It does not matter to her how she gets her produce each day. She will knock you over with the strength of a linebacker, she will wheel her cart right over you feet or she will simply slap you in the face if you don't give up your space in line for her. Traditional Russian cuisine is her specialty. The babushka stews up a caldron of borsch from her beets and potatoes. She prepares sirniki (fried cheese), blini (pancakes) and kasha (hot wheat cereal). No one can challenge her expertise in the kitchen or on the streets. No one dares to turn her down. My particular Russian babushka has been a great source of help for me in Moscow. She often helps me navigate my way through the city and she has guided me through the pain of food poisoning, all with a nurturing touch. But make no mistake about it: she is no softie. If I even think of leaving the apartment with wet hair, I get a slap in the face and a towel on my head within three seconds. In her own little way, the Russian babushka perfectly typifies the Russian character with her strength of conviction and tradition. The people here step aside for her. Unlike other Russians, however, the babushka will not complain about how hard life has become in the past two months. Instead, she will go about her business with a fiery passion, refusing to disappoint the family members who count on her. Invincibility is the babushka's trademark, but how she succeeds in her duties is the mystery which will never unfold. As a victim of Stalin's brutality, she was thrown thoughtlessly into the infamous labor camps, where she worked mercilessly in the dirt with a hammer and sickle. She lived through the second world war, where she watched her country take on the Germans. And 45 years later, she was told that everything she had ever known in her world was about to change. Perestroika and Gorbachev's era of openness all paved the way toward the collapse of the communism she was told to build. Democracy? She doesn't know what that is, and likely never will in her lifetime. Her government reinvents itself one day and then collapses on the next. She has no idea what to think or who to believe, and she is hesitant to trust anyone. As Russia now witnesses the gradual collapse of a seven-year semi-democracy, the babushka still goes about her business as she did before. Confused, perhaps, but silently fierce in her demeanor. And she still somehow manages to place a bowl of borsch in front of me every night.