Kabul…Ahoy

Four days in Kabul… was it Kabul or heaven…Much of what it meant to me, was said in a form of text message that I sent to my wife… it went like this

“Reachd Kbl… wlkd unescrtd on its streets… sw women widout burqas… actually saw women… wrld seems nrml agin… dint knw sch small thngs matterd so much”

Last time when I was in Kabul… it was two and a half months ago… chilling winters (by my standards), sleet beneath the feet, lonely roads… Kabul was not the best place on the earth to be… after Delhi.

This time around… things were different… spring, lively streets, freedom, women- in fact very beautiful women-… Kabul was heaven after Kandahar.

On my flight to Kabul… which is operated by United Nations Humanitarian Air Services… and which takes 357 American greenbacks for that flight… and which ensures you for about 7 million Indian rupees… and which coaxes a senior leader in Kandahar to say “there is nothing humanitarian about it”… I met a FAO official.

He was an ethnic Tajik from Panjshir Valley… place from where the great Afghan leader Ahmed Shah Masoud came… (More I read about the person, more I am impressed with his greatness… alas he is dead today… he was a real Afghan hero… not a Tajik, Uzbek, Hazara or Pashtun hero… but as I said… no political views on the blog)

So this official of FAO told me his story… how he used to work for the UN even during Taliban days… and how he was arrested by it on suspicion that he was a spy of Northern Alliance… and how he was detained in an underground cellar in Kabul for about three weeks in chilling December… and that the underground cellar had a small uncovered ventilation, that made his life hell… and how he had lost all hopes for life… and one day, when a Talib came to put a plastic sheet over the open ventilation… he thanked Allah for sparing his life… and that he was out of it all when Red Cross took him away.

Read any book about those days… and they are replete with such anecdotes… yes anecdotes… which you go through, passively and vicariously… anecdotes… that extract expressions and not emotions… and here I was meeting a person, who told me, what death was like… what suffering was like… I tried looking into his eyes… there were no emotions… for people like him have forgotten how to emote… it is just not the way of life in this part of world.

Kabul, I realized, is fairly big city… with a lot of life… its like an infant trying to find its way in a new world… new malls are coming up, lot of construction everywhere… a senior Pashtun leader, once lamented, in front of me… we are like small child… who is trying to walk… and every time we take a first step… somebody pushes us to fall… and we have to begin afresh.

Afghan women, mostly Tajik-Hazara and Uzbek in this city… are a beautiful lot… much of what they dressed like… reminded me of Egypt… long skirts and hijabs… I took a long walk at around 4 pm in the evening, around my hotel… it was an opportune moment… as a number of school going girls were on their way home… they were giggling… they were enjoying… world seemed normal again…

The unescorted walk took me to Safi International Hotel… which houses one of the most posh shopping malls of Kabul… one step in and you are blinded by the affluence… you wonder if you are in Dubai… some place else, I would have lambasted this affluence in a country where masses live in penury and die in penury… but, here and now, this mall represented a hope… that Afghanistan would be normal again…

At a coffee shop in the basement of the shopping mall… I met a Hazara boy… speaking in English… we chatted for over an hour… he worked in a computer firm… which paid him enough to enjoy a lavish life style… and an I-phone… we talked about Hazarajat… about Bamyan… about Band-e-Amir lake… and how I wished to visit it… he told me ways and means to get there… and I said insha Allah… I would be there, one day.

In the evening… I checked out a new Indian restaurant… Namaste… not so good when compared to Anaar… the next day I went back to Anaar, to relish the laid back atmosphere… the naan, the tandoori chicken and all…

The day next, I checked out street food in Kabul… the potato-stuffed naan… French fries (arrrrrrrrgh, even here), checked out Kabul Fried Chicken (with almost the same logo… an IPR violation… but who cares in this part of the world… I am told there is a Afghan Pizza Hut… even in Kandahar)

My time in Kabul floated… like a hope… the place where I stayed… Hotel Park… had an open courtyard… where they had placed a huge birdcage with a number of exotic birds… feeding them… hearing them chirping was a bliss… I refrained from staying in Hotel Safi (much expensive and modern… and as my employer would have paid for it… it didn’t matter)… I wanted the bliss of being in a courtyard.

The maids in the hotel, referred to as Khala… were mostly Hazara… in their forties and fifties… all beautiful, motherly… they smiled after seeing me… and said Hindi… here I was in a place, where I am respected for what I am… from where I belong…

I also met a number of Pakistani young men… who work in Kabul; mostly in Call Centers… unaware of the politics… they seemed genuinely warm towards me… and wondered when Afghans would stop hating them…

Kabul was an experience… a great experience.

Aimless wanderings in the Egyptian heartland. Part Eleven and final- The last few hours

The first question one would ask… is why you took so long in writing the last part of this travelogue… almost a year.

This last part, I believe, would forever separate me from the memories of Egypt. Perhaps, it would be the last time I would be writing about my travels in Egypt… yeah… may be I have to complete the travelogue about Sinai Camel Trek… I also went to Aswan and Abu Simble… just before leaving for India… but then Aswan/Abu Simble was a package tour… so plastic, that I wouldn’t ever write a single word about it… and Sinai Camel Trek is something best said in pictures… there is hardly any narrative… but an eerie landscape… a night under the sky… a Bedouin like existence for 4 days. Still some day, I will have imagination enough to write about it…

The moment I entered Abydos… I received a phone call… Daughter of the East was dead… fallen to the intolerant world around…

Benazir Bhutto meant a lot of things to me… a childhood crush that forced me to read her autobiography “Daughter of the East” when I was only 13 year old… an object of hate for she headed Pakistan, which always schemed against my motherland… an object of sympathy for she was hounded by her opponents… and object of respite that we are unlike Pakistan.

Something snapped within me… I realized that the circuit was over… and that life would never be the same again… how do you react to this kind of a news… perhaps the same way when I heard that a suicide bomber had killed Rajiv Gandhi… it is the end of the road of hope…

Ancient Egyptians followed not one religion but a series of different religions… they were basically animist… more of sun worshippers… one cult lead to another… another lead to another… the last great cult was the cult of Osiris, the God of afterlife… and father of Horus, the Sun-God …thereafter, ancient Egyptian religion was replaced by Orthodox Christianity. Abydos was the great pilgrimage of the Osiris cult… a cult which believed that Abydos was the centre of all creation. Abydos is where the kings of Osiris cult came to die and be mummified and prepare themselves for an afterlife.

One of the most remarkable aspects of the Abydos temple is its grand entrance… equaling in a way… the magic of Hatepshut Temple entrance in Luxor… however, the backdrop of Hatepshut is dramatic and surreal… Abydos is earthier.

The temple perhaps represents the pinnacle of Pharaonic religion… for it has not one but seven different sanctuaries… dedicated to different Gods of different cults… the Horus, the Isis, the Seti…etc. etc.

My mind was wandering… I could not relish the place as much I relished Dendera… though definitely the place was better kept, touristy and grander than Dendera… the few things that I could remember were the good relief works within the temple… which I could relish at my own pace without being reminded about its beauty…


One well kept secret… that a guide told me some months ago in Luxor… was to look out for UFOs of Abydos… one of the relief in the inner hall of Abydos bears an uncanny resemblance to a UFO… I searched for it… however, could not locate it… (Later I found references about it on the World Wide Web, too)

Near the main temple is a huge water tank… with strange looking boulders placed in between… I was told that it was a dummy tomb… perhaps a model of what after life would look like… I didn’t bother to explore it further…

I was famished… had a four-egg omlette… I could see a few foreigners at Abydos… and was told that Abydos is oft visited by package tourists from Luxor… who give Dendera a slip…

My next step was supposed to be Assiyut, which is the third largest city of Egypt… not a great tourist spot… however… a laid back and full of warmth… from there a road took me back to Cairo… and other to south west towards Kharga… (I had earlier been to Kharga… not so memorable… but Kharga was enroute to Baris… an isolated oasis… romantically named after Paris… Arabs don’t have a “P” sound and replace it with “B” sound)… I decided to go to Assiyut and proceed to Cairo.

Assiyut is famous for a Coptic Convent of Holy Virgin… which was visited by the Holy family… and Gezirat Mooz… (The banana island, which, I am told, is a wonderful place to picnic)….

The day was even worse… while riding a taxi from Abydos to Assiyut I received a call from India… my Nani (maternal grandmother) was hospitalized… it was the last straw… I decided to head back to Cairo…

The journey to Cairo was Herculean… I couldn’t get a ticket for train… the bus was late… it broke down in the middle of nowhere… and the journey that would have taken 3 hours… took 8 hours…

Just before the dawn, I reached Cairo… after all these days Cairo was looking beautiful… the city victorious… there was a special charm to the city in these pre-dawn hours…

Perhaps this is the last blog on Egypt… I need to move in life… that Egypt is a part of my life… is a fact… and more so that one day I will go back to Egypt with Vidhu and Kinshuk (my sons)… and show them all …

I am told that influx of tourist have destroyed the simplicity in Luxor and Aswan and Siwa… and hope that the simplicity of Al Qasr remains to be felt by my sons… that such a place does exist on earth… which is so uncomplicated… and warm…

Egypt… I owe you one thing… you have rekindled a fire in me… to be a globe trotter and not just an India trotter.

Arghandab- the Shangrila

From atop my office… and on the northern horizon, I can see some mysterious looking hillocks… separating Kandahar from Arghandab… I keep on repeating the name of Arghandab in my blog… what is Arghandab…

Arghandab has two meanings for me… physical and metaphysical…

The valley of river Arghandab nests within itself one of the most fertile areas in Afghanistan… which produces, perhaps, the best grapes, melons, pomegranates, citruses in the world… they are known to the world as Kandahari- anaar, angoor etc., but are cultivated in the fertile valley of Arghandab…. They were a part of popular culture in India and Pakistan… for example… I am told that till few decades ago ladies in Punjab used to sing a wedding song in which the bride was compared to Kandahari Pomegranate… red (ala virgin) and voluptuous.

There was a point in time… when these orchards were owned by Afghani Hindus and Sikhs… perhaps, not so long ago… and then came the war and religious intolerance… the Hindus and Sikhs migrated- to Europe, to Americas and to India. These orchards were taken over by their local proxies and thereafter usurpers…. Some of these fertile land were used for cultivating opium… which to this day… forms the backbone of indigenous Afghani economy (or at least southern Afghani economy)….

Today… Arghandab is one of the most fertile areas of Afghanistan and produces very good quality fruits. It is one of the few districts, which are partially-controlled by the Afghan Government…. In late 2007, Taliban gained upper hand in the area following the death of charismatic anti-Taliban leader Mullah Naqibullah. Today, I am told there is a stalemate… the entire area is partly controlled by international forces and partly by Taliban… and is controlled by them at different times in the day… day- by international forces and night- by Taliban.

As promised… I would not dwell in the politics of it all… but the fact that it is an area of struggle between the international forces and Taliban… makes it a no-go zone for me… a zone which I can see, but cannot go.

I have heard so much about Arghandab… people used to picnic there… plucking grapes from the orchards… diving in River Arghandab… fishing over there… laying a carpet and hearing music and reading a book beside the burbling brook…. All these description suggest it was some fairytale land… it entices me to go there… to pluck grapes… to dive in river... to fish over there… and just relish the beauties of life.

But alas I cannot… However this inability gives me a lesson in life… a metaphysical lesson…

Aren’t we all living in secured compound… don’t we all see the beautiful hills of Arghandab and wish to go there… and don’t venture fearing the unknown…. Don’t all of us dream of plucking grapes, diving in river and fishing… and fear doing that… wondering what is in store.

I guess we all do…

We all fear the unknown… we all fear leaving the comfort zones behind… we all fear that the world outside the safe zone is filled with “Taliban”… which may be the case or may not be the case… but sitting back in comfort zone we cannot do what we dream of…

Sure, if I want to go there… I can always take a escort… visit the place in a secured car… where the entire experience of Arghandab passes by me… as a movie… passively, inertly… and sure I can ask somebody to pluck some grapes for me… but wouldn’t that be too emotionless. I guess it would be.

At a practical level… it teaches me a lesson in traveling… for the true experience of traveling…. One needs to leave his comfort zone…One needs to get out and feel, touch, smell, taste and breath the real world… and this cannot be done with escorts… it cannot be done by passively listening to a tour guide in a air-conditioned tourist bus… this cannot even be done by seeing the Must-sees… Tajmahal is not India… Eiffel Tower is not France… Pyramid is not Egypt… there is so much more to an India, a France and an Egypt than their totem-poles. When I blink my eyes and think of Syria… I remember meeting Abdu in Hamah and not Ummayad mosque or Palmyra… when I think of Egypt… I dream those aimless walks in Al-Qasr oasis town and not Cairo or Luxor… that is what the true travel experience is… and for it… one needs to pack his backpack and head out towards the unknown… having faith that perhaps… there are no “Taliban”… perhaps beyond the appearances of it all… every human being is the same… and full of human emotion and compassion… that every human has the ability to love his child… to smile while seeing blooming of flowers.

Another realization… one of my friends is on a spiritual journey… I wonder if spiritual accomplishments are like traveling too… which cannot be experienced with the guided-tours and travel-guides… I am of the firm belief that spiritual experience are very personal… one needs to accomplish those experiences all by himself… no teacher, no Guru, no master can teach you the way to accomplish it… and that there is no one way… the only sure shot way is to pack one’s backpack of intent and head for the Arghandab… and experience the truth for himself…

So….

Well in a way… Arghandab, to me, represents Shangri-La…

A new beginning and and an end...

The following verses have been written by a very good friend of mine... a very very good friend of mine....

That friend is trying to make a new beginning in life... though ironically when our friendship ends... life is strange and it will remain so... I think!!!!

You are a rose, a beautiful rose!

Gifted to me by someone loved.

I press you hard in the pages of this book.

A book which stands on a rickety bookshelf.

Amongst many others-

I read them all!

Inspiring Wisdom and Knowledge;

Reflections of Truth and Courage,

Preaching happiness and success,

Guiding through wit and calculation.

Oh! The rankness of a scholar -

Sought by one and all!

I lost you somewhere in the clutter,

Until today, when I discovered you yet again.

You were the rose, the same beautiful rose!

Gifted to me once, by someone loved.

Pressed hard in the pages of this book.

A book which stood on a rickety bookshelf.

For long, long enough to lose your color and shine.

But, you still smell the same -

Your redolence reminds me again,

Of my true identity and existence.

What wasted years,

Ah! the brevity of life.

I hold on to you tight this time,

Never ever to let you go again!