The editorial board of HD magazine expresses gratitude to the Honored Artist of Uzbekistan Karima Zaripova for her biographical book "A Dynasty That Conquered the World," excerpts from which are used in this article with the author's permission.  
I wrote the book three years ago for the 130th anniversary of Karim Zaripov's birth. The book is published in three languages, and it is based on the 1960 work by Professor Tashpulat Tursunov. His book was published just before my grandfather's death. He was studying at the Faculty of Journalism and approached my grandfather with this request: "Karim-doda, I have to defend my thesis, but I need a scientific article, and it will be about you, your work. Allow me to follow you, to observe." So he worked for a whole year, and the article eventually grew into a book. Later, Professor Tursunov told me: "You are like your grandfather — you have the same strong-willed character!".

Currently, I am working on a book that I plan to release for the 120th anniversary of my grandmother — the great circus artist Mubarak-aya Zaripova. 10 years ago, I already wrote a book for her 110th anniversary. But now other events and memories are surfacing. My sisters are helping me with gathering information.

For me, my grandfather, grandmother, and my parents are the standards of the very best artists. But at the same time, having high titles, respect, and status, they never became arrogant and remained genuine people. This is the true Zaripov school. Grandfather, mother, and father told us all: "Do not forget who you are, what surname you bear — thousands of eyes are watching you. Therefore, control every step you take, every movement, so that people do not say something for which we would later have to sit with our heads bowed."

Karima Zaripova

Awards and Titles of Karima Zaripova:

  • 1990 — winner of the Youth Union of Uzbekistan award for contributions to the development of circus art.
  • 2000 — Honored Artist of the Republic of Uzbekistan.
  • 2009 — Order of "Dustlik" (Order of Friendship).
  • 2012 — Order of Friendship from the DPRK for activities in the development and popularization of the martial art Hapkido.
  • 2022 — medals "Devotee of Culture and Art", "For Loyalty and Devotion", "30th Anniversary of the Constitution of Uzbekistan".
  • 2023 — Order of "Glory of Labor".
  • 2025 — Awarded the academic title of professor; by decision of the "Turon" Academy of Sciences, awarded the academic title of academician.
He sat on the bench, silently staring ahead. There were no more tears, the lump of sugar had softened in his little palm and was crumbling. Crowds of people bustled past, paying no attention to the little boy. Images from the last few days flashed before his eyes... There he was, running away from his angry stepmother across the flat roofs of houses... before him an unfamiliar square. Frightened, he begins to cry loudly. Here is the next image—a young woman in a chachvan: "Little one? Son, why are you crying? Are you lost? Where are your parents?.. Do you want to be my son?" And now they are on a train, trees, houses, wastelands flying past—but where are they going? "Home! We're going home, son... Father is waiting for us there..." The station, a multitude of people and... "Have you gone mad!" shouted a young man. "Where did you pick him up?! I don't want to see him!!!" He is alone again—sitting on a bench, clutching a piece of flatbread and sugar in his little hands. Too many trials for a 6-year-old child. It seemed that a whole lifetime had passed in two days...

A Life That Began at Age 6

"They say the life story of the great artist Karim Zaripov didn't begin with his birth, but precisely at the age of 6? How is that?"

— You could say that... He ran away from home at the age of 6. His birth mother died, and Zarip-khodja married a very beautiful girl, I think of Turkish origin — Sakine. But the blue-eyed beauty really disliked children. He had an older sister and an older brother. The sister married a wealthy man. The brother was not yet married. They had a stable in their yard that housed 24 horses. And the lively little boy was always drawn to them — that's where our love for horses comes from. If his father went somewhere, he would instruct everyone not to let the child go to the stable — a horse could kick him. But Karimzhan was obsessed with horses — he would run to the stable, sculpt horse figures from clay. If his father was home, the boy would be put on a horse and taken for a ride.
Apparently, when his stepmother scolded him for going to the horses again, he ran away from her across the rooftops of the houses. That's how he ended up on some square, and from there, an unfamiliar childless woman took him and carried him off to an unknown place. Nowadays, that's child abduction. But her husband didn't want to take him, and she, handing the child a piece of flatbread and some sugar, left to follow her husband. He sat there and cried. But then a man approached him, spoke to him in an unfamiliar language, and then, seeing the child didn't understand, switched to Uzbek. And, in turn, handed him over to a teahouse keeper passing by — also childless.
But Karimjan heard the familiar and dear sounds of the doira and ran there. As it turned out, Jumabay-surnaychi's circus troupe was performing in the square. The teahouse owner persuaded the head of the troupe to take in the little boy, who was crying and begging to go with them. It was fate! Jumabay-surnaychi's two sons took the boy under their wing and began to teach him the intricacies of acrobatics — they stretched him, made him flexible, and put him into splits. 
All the training was not in vain—Karimjan began working with traveling artists and, one might say, went through fire, water, and copper pipes. Jumabai the surna player took him to Bukhara. He wanted to show the khan the boy's skill.
Many theatrical and circus groups performed at the court — darbazs, palvons, and askiyachi — maskarboz. Therefore, a performance area for artists was established there, covered with fabric, with seating for spectators. As Karim Zaripov himself recalled: "It seemed that his courtiers were like animals in a cage, who, at the command of the trainer, had to carry out his orders. If the audience suddenly clapped or laughed without command, it could lead to the Emir's fury. And if something displeased him, the artists could be driven out or even executed."
Karimzhan was very flexible, and everyone called him "the rubber boy," "the gutta-percha boy." The khan was amazed: "Does this child even have bones?" After the performance, the khan, saying "This boy will be a great man!" gifted him his own gold-embroidered robe. Of course, it was funny to everyone that such a little boy walked around in an adult man's robe. Later, his grandfather told that he was brought there often and each time gifted with gold, and he accumulated quite a fortune for himself.
But he used this capital for the good of people, as he loved to give, loved to give away — and for this, it seems, his life rewarded him. He invested in art, in artists. For example, he donated 1000 tanga in gold for the construction of the Abror Khidoyatov Theater. At that time, there was a call from the government to all who could help. But only my grandfather responded. Having money, people did not think about the future and did not care so deeply about the art and culture of Uzbekistan as he did. This fanaticism was passed on to his descendants.

— When did he get his own team?

— When he turned 21. The collective was called "Cooperative." He gathered unique acts from all regions, being a professional director and actor.
In 1924, he expanded the boundaries of his troupe by inviting his friend — the then still unknown composer and musician Yunus Rajabi and his comrades. The circus troupe is now called "Star of the East". And for the first time, artists begin to enter the ring to the live music of an orchestra and in bright new costumes. And it is safe to say that the birth of professional circus in Uzbekistan began precisely with Karim Zaripov. In 1929, Yunus Rajabi left to work for the television and radio company.

- And did he meet his relatives later?

— Yes, a sister and a brother—they found him themselves after hearing an advertisement about a performance by the famous artist Karimdzhan Zaripkhan. They realized it was their missing and—as they thought—deceased little brother. Their father had already died after being dispossessed as a kulak, and their stepmother Sakine had disappeared.

Stage — school — history

— Since we're talking about family... Who was the next representative of your dynasty?

— The life companion of my grandfather and the first actress, the first circus performer, a female maskaraboze, a comedian, a horse trainer — my grandmother, Honored Artist of Uzbekistan Mubarak-aya Zaripova. She was an amazing beauty, she danced and rode horses. That was a time when women were still not allowed to show their faces. She would fearlessly come to the circus with her husband in a paranja, which she would later remove. She would apply makeup and, together with her partner-husband, step into the ring and perform her acts. The audience had no idea that a woman was before them!
She was one of the first to remove the burqa, open a school, and teach girls to sew and embroider costumes, read and write.
Like her grandfather, she had no professional education—this made them unique. They were self-taught individuals who helped others and taught themselves. Of course, they received a general education in a madrasa. But professional education was absent. And this is not dilettantism; it is true professionalism. Her grandfather learned through practice from real street performers. And as early as 1939, he sent his first protégés from his school to study in Moscow.

— So, he's not just an artist, but also the founder of a school.

— Yes, as I've already said, Karim Zaripov was a very generous man. In 1932, he built a school with his own funds. It was the first school of circus, variety, acting, and musical art. He invited the very best artists so that they could teach. And the students were mainly children from low-income families, without parents. And he himself clothed them, shod them, fed them, and gave them an education. In 1937, the People's Commissariat for Education of the RSFSR (Narkompros) took the school building for the state, but studies continued until 1942. In 1942, there was a hospital on the third floor.

- Was he friends with the creative community?

— He had a strong friendship with the actor Abror Khidoyatov. When the artist saw his signature "drop" trick, he jumped up and started shouting—he thought the daredevil had taken ill. And backstage, the great People's Artist, whom everyone idolized, embraced his friend and cried like a little boy. Years later, his son—Hakim Zaripov—repeated this trick. Not exactly the same, but he repeated it. But to this day, no one performs this trick. Many are afraid for themselves—the technique here is extremely complex.
Besides Abror Khidoyatov, my grandfather was friends with other creative people — Yunus Rajabi, Shukur Burkhanov, and Halima Nasyrova. Halima-opa adored my grandmother, they always visited us, and grandma would cook plov and lagman. These artists were regulars at our house, sitting around the large oval table discussing art and debating about work.

"And has your family made a mark in the world of cinema?"

— My grandfather and my parents worked as stunt performers in films. At the A. Dovzhenko Film Studio, they were filming the movie "Dohunda." The shooting took place in Azerbaijan, and they had to perform horse stunts: trips, falls, galloping. They also participated in the film "Nasreddin in Bukhara" — my grandfather was Lev Sverdlin's stunt double. By the way, the donkey belonged to my grandfather. I also acted in films. These were not leading roles. For example, in the 1996 film "Amir Timur," I was a stunt performer. And my son Sherzod played the son of Amir Timur.
In Jordan, they were filming a movie about the Prophet Muhammad. It turns out he also had a white horse and long hair just like I had at that time. According to the script, I had to gallop along the embankment on a horse wearing a white cloak. I did it! They filmed me from a distance, and it turned out very impressive! I don't know if the film was ever released, but they didn't even provide me with photos.

"He left, and a week later I was born"

— How did Karim Zaripov leave?

— He was taken by a heart attack, his third. He died in 1960 at the age of 70, on December 20th, and exactly a week later, on December 28th, I was born. He really wanted a boy because I have three older sisters. My grandfather was in a government hospital, my grandmother was called and asked to come urgently. But he didn't wait for her...
His friend Abror Khidoyatov was there. When he was informed that his grandfather had passed away, his cry echoed throughout the corridor.

- How did the dynasty continue? Who took over the business?

— My mother is an example set by my grandfather—Khalida Zaripova, a Honored Artist of Uzbekistan, a grotesque horse rider, a female daredevil. His eldest son—Hakim Zaripov, a People's Artist of the USSR—also continued his work, later becoming the head of the "Daredevils of Uzbekistan" troupe. He also made a significant contribution to the construction of our circus. In many cities across Russia, he was invited as a consultant for circus construction. After all, any circus begins with a stable—just as a theater begins with a coat rack. And he knew how to establish any circus. Because first and foremost, it is the ring, the arena—the platform where horses are broken in.
For my mother, my grandfather conceived and staged the number "Grotesque Equestrienne" — dancing on horseback. Standing on the horse, my mother would jump, dance, and perform acrobatic moves. For my uncle, he created horse dressage acts. He taught my father clowning and gave him his own comedy routines.
The third sister also joined the circus, but she did not become an equestrian. Our mother, after an injury, created the act "Trained Pigeons" and an illusion act, which my sister Aida continued to develop. She bears the surname Tashkenbayeva — that is how the two great dynasties became related.

— And what happened to the circus in Tashkent after that?

— Where Broadway is now, there used to be a circus—just a wooden circle with a big top overhead. And crowds of people went there, but there were only seats for 800. There were 3-4 shows a day. But in 1966—after the earthquake—the circus was gone. And in 1976, the new building, known to all of us, was built. My uncle Hakim and my father worked on the project.

When did you realize you belong to such a dynasty?

— Probably even in the womb, because as soon as I was born, all I heard was circus, theater, dance... That is, the world of art was bubbling in our home. I attended every performance, every show at the circus, and I idolized my mother, who was the standard for me. Having four children at the time, she was always in shape, like a girl, jumping on a horse, performing mind-blowing tricks. At the same time, she was a wonderful mother—she managed to do everything. On tour, she would take the three younger daughters—the eldest was taken in by our grandparents.
They put me and my sisters on horses when we were three years old, to see how a child handles it. We immediately had posture—apparently, it was innate. The famous clown Akram Yusupov, seeing me, a little girl, on a horse, predicted to my father: "Fakhriddin, she will be your rider!" But my father absolutely did not want his daughters to work in the circus! Categorically! And when I joined the circus, he didn't speak to me for two years. He used to say: "One of your mother is enough!" After all, my mother suffered so many injuries...

"And have you ever been injured?"

— During one of my performances in Tashkent, I got injured. The arena used to be filled with shredded rubber. I was galloping on a horse, and at that moment a boy with flowers jumped out from somewhere. The horse got scared, caught its hoof on the rubber, and started falling onto its side. And my leg was left underneath it. That's at least half a ton on my leg! How I managed to get out from under there, I don't know, but I was in such shock, I couldn't understand why I was seeing the dome — after all, I had just been seeing the audience!
My younger brother helped me – Honored Artist of Uzbekistan Ulugbek Zaripov. He helped me stand up to the audience's ovation. Of course, the final was disappointing. But my entire left side was beaten, my fingers were dislocated, which I myself, being in a state of shock, set back into place and immediately lost consciousness. I woke up with my leg in a cast. And at home, my mother reacted surprisingly calmly: "Now you understand why your father was against it? It's good that you came on your own two feet."
But in 1998, after the horse's death, I stopped. I had worked with him—Skyscape—for 27 years, and I also suffered a minor heart attack.

Two years of silence

— How did you end up in the circus if your parents were against it?

— I always looked through rose-colored glasses because I was raised in an intellectual family, where we weren't kept under a bell jar, but were shielded from anything bad. And they always told us what was allowed and what wasn't, what was good and what was bad, they spoke about family and the family name.
And at the same time, it was a good, happy childhood because my parents were nearby, and I was studying at a school. Although initially I dreamed of studying at the circus school in Moscow, my parents didn't allow it. So I studied at a choreographic school for almost 8 years. At the state exam, I was accepted into 6 troupes. I did my internship with the "Bakhor" ensemble, but I said I didn't want to dance, I would work in the circus. So I took the tickets myself and left. I went straight to the general director, introduced myself, and literally three hours later, my parents arrived. They took me back to Tashkent.
Mother secretly bought me a horse without father knowing. That's when dad stopped talking to me. But during a tour in Karaganda, he came to my performance, and backstage he approached, hugged me, kissed me, and said: "Yes, you are Zaripova!"

— Tell us about your performances in the arena.

—It was a completely new act—a high school of equestrian art: the rider sits astride the horse, and the horse itself dances to the music. To this day, no one has replicated this act. Unfortunately, artists today are looking for easy paths.
The second act - acrobats on roller skates. With these two acts, I traveled practically the whole world, performing as a rider.

— What was your life like on tour?

— There were moments when they wanted to keep me in the host country. For example, the then King of Jordan, Malik Hussein, and his daughter very much wanted me to stay there and open a horseback riding club for girls. But I refused and returned here.
But I worked abroad for years. After all, a circus tour is for a long time; it's not like a theater that leaves after a few performances. I only came home once a year—and even then for 15-20 days, because I couldn't leave the horses there unattended, even though I had staff. And yet, I lived for this. Everywhere I went, I glorified only Uzbekistan.
I also used only Uzbek music in my performance: "Kizbola," "Arab Tango" by Batyr Zakirov, and other works. For example, my horse danced to the waltz "Bakhor," and in the finale, to the Andijan polka. And at the end, I dismounted from the horse and finished the dance. So, the audience was in a pleasant shock.

— You've traveled to many countries… Did you learn any tricks there?

— The acts there weren't very interesting. But I taught some myself. For example, in Czechoslovakia, a horse trainer wanted to put his wife on a horse so she could repeat my high school act. But this beauty was uncooperative. Nevertheless, I staged an act for them. While I was there, she could have performed thanks to her beautifully trained horse. I showed her how to lead the horse, how to handle the bridle so the horse would obey.
Then there were cities where I taught shaping — my sisters and I have been dancing since childhood, which is thanks to our mom.
But one of my ideas was brought to life by another person. About 40 years ago, among fellow performers, I shared an idea for an act with a cube made of metal tubes. About three months later, such an act appeared in the circus ring — someone had taken note of my idea.

— And who was your idol?

— Of course, mom, grandfather, dad — these are all idols, people who dedicated their entire lives to culture and art specifically for the country. They did not go abroad, like most artists. Although they also had a thousand opportunities, they didn't want to. Grandfather showcased his skill in France, in China. It was in China, many years later, that my little brother became a Guinness record holder and won the Grand Prix. They didn't have dzhigits or horses. He stayed there, and within a year, he created a dzhigitovka for them. And now all his students work there. I was also invited to stay, but I refused. That's patriotism and love for the homeland!

— What does the circus mean to you?

— The circus is a great thing, a complex form of art. A multi-genre, multinational, very complex, life-threatening, but very beautiful form of art. This is exactly what I tell my students during lectures.
It is a heavy daily labor, hard work — warm-up, stretching, gymnastics. This is how a circus artist's day begins. For example, we are already at the stable by 5 a.m. The horses need to be groomed, fed, given the opportunity to relieve themselves. And only then — to the ring. By 7 a.m. we are already on horseback: we work, we train, — then the animals rest in the stable until the evening performance. And this can happen on tour as well. I traveled all over the world with my parents, changing several schools a year. It was the same for me — my son traveled on tour with me. My daughter Camilla was little, and I left her in the care of her grandmother.

"I fought for the school"

In 2023 marks the 90th anniversary of the founding of the first school of circus acting and musical art—now the Republican Variety and Circus College named after People's Artist of the Republic of Uzbekistan Karim Zaripov. Over these years, thousands of actresses and artists have studied within the walls of this educational institution, who now perform and work on arenas and stages all over the world.

- You mentioned your students... The technical college you now head is named after its founder. How did your journey in science begin?

— I've been here since 1999 — I worked as the deputy director, head of the department... Officially, I've been the director since 2005. So, I've been here for 28 years — a third of my life. During this period, I've also learned a lot and have given all my knowledge to the students. I have big plans and I want us to achieve these plans. They wanted to take this place away from me. When they were building the bridge across the road, they wanted to remove this building entirely. There were threats, attempts to force me to sign a waiver. I fought for it — I went to the very top and achieved that this building is now considered a monument of historical architecture.
I graduate 150 people every year. And they all make me happy because they are working. 30% of them currently work in the best circus in the world—Cirque du Soleil. When I was in America, we were invited to a show, and I saw my students in the ring! It was a very joyful moment!
We maintain our standards and strive to produce worthy artists. Currently, we have a two-year training program — that's completely inadequate. What can you achieve in two years? I am now writing everywhere to have the training period extended to four years — there is no institute, no higher education for the circus department.

— What qualities should a circus performer, especially a woman, possess?

— First and foremost, it's a love for animals. As I've already said, there must be a partnership with the horse. I personally washed, groomed, and fed my horse, even though there were workers who took care of the animals. They could feed the horse, clean the stable. But I did everything else myself, trusting no one. I believed it was my creation, my child. That's why I had a heart attack after his death. It felt like losing a family member.
The second quality is the ability to work on oneself. To develop one's flexibility, plasticity, musicality, acting skills, even stage speech. For example, when I performed on horseback, I always began my act by engaging with the audience. You need to be able to focus the audience's attention on yourself. This is enormous work. Not every circus artist can boast such qualities. She might possess superb technique and perform certain tricks, but the audience won't find her interesting to watch. She lacks charm, she lacks acting skill. That's why we teach all of this here.

— Are you a strict teacher?

— Very much.

— Tell me about the technical school.

— We teach both theory and practice. Many can't handle the pressure, the strict discipline. They come here after 9th grade from different schools. They are 15-16 years old — that very age when you need to break them, hold them, put them in new frameworks. In the morning, we collect phones — no technology allowed.
We have various departments and disciplines: from circus acrobatics to pop performance. We train artists for both trick riding and puppet theaters, as well as for theater.
Every year, children come after 9th grade, naturally, about 100 people or so. But I have a high dropout rate because I personally sit in on every exam, I personally select them like this. There are many tears. But they know my character, they know my attitude towards the work. And that's why they always say, your children are completely different students of ours. Even at the institute, when I teach there, they tell me that my graduates are completely different. First of all, they all say hello, always in uniform. That is, this school that we give them, they carry it further—to the institute, to their workplace... My guys act in TV series, host TV programs—it makes me happy. My students work in Monte Carlo, participate in all festivals, in all competitions and win prizes.
We, the Zaripov dynasty, are six-time Guinness World Records champions. My students recently entered the record book with their act — Daryana Matveeva and Sanjar Khasanov. My other students — Kristina Vorobyeva and Rustem Osmanov — received the "Golden Elephant" and the Grand Prix in Monte Carlo for their act "Aerial Gymnasts." Unfortunately, Kristina had a serious accident and then underwent a long recovery. Today, she is the director-choreographer of the act "Second Wind."
Now I have an idea to open a composition department. But for that, we need equipment, new classrooms, and good teachers. Another idea is an arrangement department, which could be combined with the composition department. Another department I want to open is a directing department. We have subjects like "Fundamentals of Directing" and "Fundamentals of Screenwriting," which I teach. From their first year, students definitely study the history of theater, circus, and variety shows.

— Can you answer this question: what haven't you done yet, but would like to?

— I would also open my own private school. And I would set up the work a little differently there. After all, we represent the state and depend on what they tell us from above. Now they are pushing us into a framework. Before, we were more involved in creativity, but now it's all paperwork and bureaucracy. All of this takes up a lot of time. That is very scary. That's why I would like to open my own school like that, where we would focus only on creativity. I have a children's circus studio "Karima". And the studio "Alimak," which is run by my daughter — they study dance art, acting, stage speech, and drawing there.

About dreams, character, life...

— What is your biggest dream?

— To establish an Academy of Circus and Variety Arts here. Today we are the only technical school in all of Central Asia, and it will become the only academy in all of Central Asia. I was in Kazakhstan a few years ago, and when I mentioned this idea, they opened an Academy of Arts. Why are we any worse than Kazakhstan? Why shouldn't my circus departments have the right to receive higher education? We need either an institute, a higher school, or an academy.
What is needed for this? If desired, finances can be found, I will create the educational programs, find teachers—that's not a problem. I myself became a professor at the age of 65. To date, I am the only female professor in Uzbekistan in circus arts.
I teach master's students at the conservatory. And I tell everyone to write, work, and engage in research. I speak French—I studied at a school with a French focus. I believe one must work on languages. But it is essential to know one's native Uzbek and Russian languages well.
Once at the ministry, they asked me: "Why are they leaving?" I replied: "Well, think about it and look at their salaries. For 2 million, they are risking their lives! We need to review the staffing schedule. And the salaries of artists, dancers..." A circus artist steps onto the ring on their own two feet, but whether they will come out on their own—they don't know. They are fanatics—half-starved, half-dressed fanatics of their craft. We were all like that. I myself started working for 60 rubles in the 1970s!

— You are strict, you are called the "Iron Lady." How do you feel about that?

— I am told that I am a wonderful mother, an excellent grandmother. They say I am a very demanding and very good director — as a leader. But behind my back, they call me the Iron Lady. However, the students respect me. A leader must be an authority themselves — otherwise, you can become a laughingstock. If you are not an authority and if you can't do anything and don't understand anything, of course, that's just a laughingstock.
My daughter Camilla always consults with me — we have a very good tandem. I don't interfere in her productions. She has her own world, her own ideas. I can guide, advise... But with others, I might change something, because there's a different school there, different concepts.

— What would you never forgive?

— I will not forgive betrayal, gossip, lies. I am very good at sensing people and can see when a person is telling an untruth — I will not forgive that. I love children, flowers, animals, nature in general very much. And I think that a person who loves nature, animals, would never do harm to anyone. I think so because I know it from myself, and I would like this quality to be in people too.

- How does Karima Zaripova spend her leisure time?

— I only have one day off — Sunday. And even then, sometimes I get invited somewhere — to an event or somewhere else. I really love my apartment, I really love my home. I keep it clean, I have a lot of flowers at home. I brought a lot of them here too — I set up a greenhouse. I take care of the flowers, sometimes I knit. Sometimes it happens that I lie down on the sofa and say: "Okay, that's it, I probably need 30 minutes, just to rest." I can't lie still because my thoughts don't stop, my thoughts don't lull me to sleep. And I start writing some script or working something out.

— Conduct a comparative analysis: Karima Zaripova at the beginning of her creative journey and now — what has changed?

— I have always looked at the world through rose-colored glasses. And I have come a long way from that girl in rose-colored glasses to an iron lady, although deep down I am still the same Karima Zaripova I was 60 years ago. I am still just as kind, responsive, very sentimental. I can cry immediately if someone talks about their problems, or if I say something to my children, tears just start flowing from me, I worry for them. I don't feel my age. You start looking at the world with more realistic eyes, the rose-colored glasses fade, you begin to understand people. Life teaches us to live in its own way. I achieved everything through my own labor — fame, respect, status, I owe no one — only to the Almighty and my parents. They gave me birth, raised me, gave me an education, and the rest is my contribution.
From the Turon Academy under the President of the Republic of Uzbekistan, I was given the title of Academician. And on the anniversary, they presented me with another certificate — Honored Art Worker of Uzbekistan. It is pleasant to be valued. I would, of course, like to leave behind good memories of me, my deeds, as a grandfather and grandmother.

— What advice would you give to your students for future generations?

— First and foremost, I always say — no matter what happens, no matter what title you hold, never get a big head and always remain human. Kind, good people, so that it's pleasant to communicate with you, so that you can speak correctly and beautifully. And prove with your skill that you are who you truly are. Read more, develop yourself, work on yourself, don't settle for what you have today. A person who always works on themselves is always on trend, they are always interesting. If a person stops, degradation begins — that's already bad.