Dr Sarath Obeysekera

When people speak about the Soviet Union today, they usually talk about politics, the Cold War, communism, shortages, and the collapse of an empire. But for those of us who lived there as students, it was a different world altogether—a world of friendship, adventure, hardship, and endless stories.
I arrived as a young foreign student and quickly became part of a close-knit group of Russian friends. There was Yura, Sasha, Igor, and Kolya. We had little money, but we had youth on our side, and that made us feel rich.
Beer was often scarce. Whenever Bulgarian beer suddenly appeared in the shops, word spread like wildfire. Students rushed to the stores and bought entire cases before the shelves emptied. It was treated like a national emergency.
Our favourite drink, however, was vodka.
The cheapest and strongest bottle cost exactly 3 roubles and 63 kopecks. The cap was designed to flip open but could not be screwed back on. The message was clear: once opened, the bottle had to be finished.
Workers developed their own system for sharing a bottle. If two men had enough money for only part of a bottle, they would stand near a shop or a shipyard entrance holding up two fingers. It meant, We are two. We need one more partner.” Within minutes a third man would appear, contribute his share, and the bottle would be purchased.
It was socialism at work.
Winter nights were unforgettable. Beneath the city was a hidden underground bar. Yura, Sasha, Igor, Kolya, and I would stand in a long queue in temperatures that froze your eyebrows. We carried newspaper parcels containing six-inch pieces of dried fish. Once inside, the fish became our chaser” after shots of vodka.
Nobody needed fancy cocktails.
On the way to university, there was a small kiosk run by a huge, red-faced beer seller. During the bitter winter months he sold hot beer. Imagine drinking warm beer while snow blew sideways and the temperature dropped below minus twenty degrees. It sounds ridiculous now, but at the time it was heaven.
For those with refined tastes there was a more expensive vodka costing 4 roubles and 12 kopecks. Experts claimed it was distilled from grain, while the cheaper version was produced from ethyl alcohol derived from petroleum products. Whether true or not, we drank both with equal enthusiasm.
Food shopping required strategy. The Myaso shop—the meat store—rarely had enough good cuts for everyone. If I wanted a decent piece of meat, a discreet bribe to the saleswoman sometimes helped. Elderly women waiting in line would grumble and complain, but somehow everyone survived.
The funniest contradiction of Soviet life was winter itself.
Outside the temperature could reach minus thirty degrees Celsius. Yet inside the Metro tunnels people happily ate ice cream. I joined them. Standing underground, wearing heavy coats and fur hats, we enjoyed ice cream while snowstorms raged above us.
Travel was wonderfully cheap. A five-kopek coin could take you almost anywhere on the Metro system.
Our greatest adventures were camping trips. A group of friends would throw rucksacks over our shoulders and disappear into forests or countryside for weekends. Supplies were simple: several bottles of vodka, canned tomatoes, jars of gherkins, black rye bread, and tins of military-style canned meat.
At night we sat around campfires.
Yura would pull out his guitar and begin singing old Russian folk songs.
Kalinka, Kalinka, Kalinka maiya…”
Soon everyone joined in. The vodka flowed, the songs became louder, and the stars above seemed brighter than anywhere else on earth.
Hangovers were dealt with in the traditional Russian manner: another glass of vodka the following morning. It was a cure that made no medical sense but appeared to work remarkably well.
The food was simple and satisfying. Black rye bread accompanied almost every meal. People consumed enormous quantities of potatoes, yet diabetes seemed rare compared with today. Fried potatoes mixed with slices of kalbasa sausage created a feast. Kefir, the sour milk drink, was a daily staple.
One of my favourite meals was mashed potatoes served with giant boiled sausages. It was inexpensive, filling, and delicious after a day spent in freezing weather.
Occasionally we celebrated in style. A visit to a Georgian restaurant was considered luxury. Getting a table often required bribing the gatekeeper. Once inside, we enjoyed good food, wine, music, and laughter until late into the night.
Returning home could be an adventure by itself.
Taxis were scarce. Sometimes a passing police officer would stop and offer me a ride. On one occasion I sat in the passenger seat of a police car and asked politely how much I owed him.
He looked at me and laughed.
Do you think I take people for free?”
When we arrived, I placed five roubles on this cap beside the gear lever and stepped out.
Spasibo,” I said.
He nodded and drove away into the snowy night.
Today, the Soviet Union exists only in history books. The shops are different. The prices are different. The system itself has vanished.
Yet when I think back to those years, I do not remember politics.
I remember friends.
I remember hot beer on freezing mornings.
I remember black bread, kalbasa, kefir, and endless potatoes.
I remember Yura’s guitar beside a campfire.
I remember singing Kalinka” under a sky full of stars.
Most of all, I remember a time when life was simple, money was scarce, and happiness was found in friendship, laughter, and a bottle of vodka costing exactly 3 roubles and 63 kopecks.
Those were unforgettable days.

Regards

Dr Sarath Obeysekera