Running after a Kite in Kabul!
This time around... Kabul was not a passive unknown city... it had a language!!!
A week ago, I visited Kabul for the second time during my stay in Afghanistan... last time on... my perceptions were largely romantic... of a farmer, who had seen ages of parched earth and then as if rain befalls that parched earth... of a traveler, who within a journey of 500 miles or 1 hour flight transcends a millennium.
Kabul, then, was a unknown quantum, so unknown that every step I took brought bewilderment... brought a discovery.
This time around, however, things changed... Aamirjan and Hassan, the Bachha-e-Hazara changed it all for me... places like Wazir Akbar Khan and Shahr-e-Nau spoke a language... a language that I could understand...this time Kabul did not evoke bewilderment… but emotions
Sitting at Kandahar Airport, waiting for ever-procrastinated UNHAS Flight, I started chatting with an Ethiopian Gentleman, who worked for International Organization of Migrants. One look at him, I could tell that he was from Ethiopia... chiseled face...large eyes... and I could tell it... even when I have not met a lot of Ethiopians in my life... even when I have not visited Ethiopia... we discussed about Lake Tana, Addis, Axum, Lalibela... and after a while, he blinked, and refused to believe that I have never been to his country... How Can anybody be a fan of Ethiopia in a world where traveling means- lazing in a Mediterranean beach, Letting your hairs down in a Thai disco or shopping in a Country-Mall of Singapore...
Flight was eventful... I met a Dutch-Namibian Air-stewardess Anita De Vries... with a friendly attitude... She was pretty, affable and yes White... a far cry from other snobbish Air-stewardesses. And when I asked if this flight was a direct flight to Kabul... and not a hopping flight that takes us to Herat, Bamiyan (I wouldn't have minded to see Bamiyan even from air) and sometimes to Islamabad!!!... She raised her eye-brow and said no!!! Buddy we are going to Islamabad, the Kabul aircraft is already gone... and before I could faint at the thought of spending my day in the confines of Islamabad Airport... she burst into laughter and said Sorry! I was joking... So much for an air-hostess!!!... it was as if I was flying with a long lost buddy. We talked about Namibia... and how it was different from South Asia... Alas! Last few days of waking up had tired me so much that I couldn't talk to her a lot. Alas!!! I also forgot all my test and proven, and ever successful, flirts.
Kabul… this time around… was a changed city, living under an unprecedented security cover due to the fast approaching elections and ever increasing specter of the Taliban. I even saw an Armed Personnel Carrier, somewhere therein. My escort, Baljeet, narrated me incidents of rocket fires in last few days… and how Kabul is becoming an increasingly dangerous place to live.
For me, however, Kabul was far from dangerous… this time around, I was trying to read the language of Kabul… wondering how Aamir Jan lived here, or how Hassan rushed after the Kites and became a KITERUNNER. It was strange, but through two, perhaps imaginary characters, Kabul had become a real city for me…
I stayed, yet again in Park, with small rooms, defunct television, out of order telephone… but with a great lawn… which has a few bird cages, full of exotic species of birds… whose one sight emancipates you… relieves you of all the bruises that your psyche has taken by living a prison-like life in Kandahar. I could have, yet again, gone to Safi Landmark… retiring to a five-starred existence… but I chose freedom… that perhaps is the most defining aspect of my person.
For next two days, apart from doing the entire official running up and down… I borrowed a car and a driver from my friend and traveled on the roads of Kabul… keenly watching everything… flipping past through Wazir Akbar Khan… Shahr-e-Nau… and while driving, I almost saw glimpses of the Kite-runners… Kabul, I knew, would never be same again… it is now etched in my memory forever… and I would always be proud to have come here and now… and seen this tragedy of humanity… and perhaps its only hope… through my own eyes.
I went to my friends place for a lunch… and met his Hazara maid and his little son, Fardeen. Fardeen was perhaps the most innocent kid I have ever met… and when I propositioned to take a photograph of his… he almost straightened up like a Sahib… posing for the photograph… I saw glimpses of my son in his eyes… and felt blessed to have met my son… in distant land herein. I asked Fardeen what you want to become… he said Doctor… why? He said because everyone needs a doctor… yes! More so in this land of turmoil… why don’t the West brings more doctors… why people still die of psychological stresses, ulcers, pneumonia and headaches… in this country…
My two days in Kabul were memorable… I did nothing… no sight seeing… I merely absorbed the city… and felt numb at being here. One day, I knew, I have to come back and roam around… without a fear or favour… I have to back-pack… take a pick-up to Bamiyan, Jam, Panjshir, Jalalabad… and Kandahar and beyond… talk with people, sit and have green tea with them… a promise!
While coming back… my flight took de-tour through Bamiyan and Herat… it all, but landed in Bamiyan… while in air… far off I saw the Band-e-Amir… I promised I will be back… the flight went to Herat. On the flight, I met a Japanese lady who lived in Bamiyan… and an English freelance photographer, who was going to Bamiyan to cover the elections for Reuters. The Japanese lady, when came to know that I wanted to visit Bamiyan, invited me and gave me the card of her hotel… and said… its heavenly
I promised… I would visit.
A week ago, I visited Kabul for the second time during my stay in Afghanistan... last time on... my perceptions were largely romantic... of a farmer, who had seen ages of parched earth and then as if rain befalls that parched earth... of a traveler, who within a journey of 500 miles or 1 hour flight transcends a millennium.
Kabul, then, was a unknown quantum, so unknown that every step I took brought bewilderment... brought a discovery.
This time around, however, things changed... Aamirjan and Hassan, the Bachha-e-Hazara changed it all for me... places like Wazir Akbar Khan and Shahr-e-Nau spoke a language... a language that I could understand...this time Kabul did not evoke bewilderment… but emotions
Sitting at Kandahar Airport, waiting for ever-procrastinated UNHAS Flight, I started chatting with an Ethiopian Gentleman, who worked for International Organization of Migrants. One look at him, I could tell that he was from Ethiopia... chiseled face...large eyes... and I could tell it... even when I have not met a lot of Ethiopians in my life... even when I have not visited Ethiopia... we discussed about Lake Tana, Addis, Axum, Lalibela... and after a while, he blinked, and refused to believe that I have never been to his country... How Can anybody be a fan of Ethiopia in a world where traveling means- lazing in a Mediterranean beach, Letting your hairs down in a Thai disco or shopping in a Country-Mall of Singapore...
Flight was eventful... I met a Dutch-Namibian Air-stewardess Anita De Vries... with a friendly attitude... She was pretty, affable and yes White... a far cry from other snobbish Air-stewardesses. And when I asked if this flight was a direct flight to Kabul... and not a hopping flight that takes us to Herat, Bamiyan (I wouldn't have minded to see Bamiyan even from air) and sometimes to Islamabad!!!... She raised her eye-brow and said no!!! Buddy we are going to Islamabad, the Kabul aircraft is already gone... and before I could faint at the thought of spending my day in the confines of Islamabad Airport... she burst into laughter and said Sorry! I was joking... So much for an air-hostess!!!... it was as if I was flying with a long lost buddy. We talked about Namibia... and how it was different from South Asia... Alas! Last few days of waking up had tired me so much that I couldn't talk to her a lot. Alas!!! I also forgot all my test and proven, and ever successful, flirts.
Kabul… this time around… was a changed city, living under an unprecedented security cover due to the fast approaching elections and ever increasing specter of the Taliban. I even saw an Armed Personnel Carrier, somewhere therein. My escort, Baljeet, narrated me incidents of rocket fires in last few days… and how Kabul is becoming an increasingly dangerous place to live.
For me, however, Kabul was far from dangerous… this time around, I was trying to read the language of Kabul… wondering how Aamir Jan lived here, or how Hassan rushed after the Kites and became a KITERUNNER. It was strange, but through two, perhaps imaginary characters, Kabul had become a real city for me…
I stayed, yet again in Park, with small rooms, defunct television, out of order telephone… but with a great lawn… which has a few bird cages, full of exotic species of birds… whose one sight emancipates you… relieves you of all the bruises that your psyche has taken by living a prison-like life in Kandahar. I could have, yet again, gone to Safi Landmark… retiring to a five-starred existence… but I chose freedom… that perhaps is the most defining aspect of my person.
For next two days, apart from doing the entire official running up and down… I borrowed a car and a driver from my friend and traveled on the roads of Kabul… keenly watching everything… flipping past through Wazir Akbar Khan… Shahr-e-Nau… and while driving, I almost saw glimpses of the Kite-runners… Kabul, I knew, would never be same again… it is now etched in my memory forever… and I would always be proud to have come here and now… and seen this tragedy of humanity… and perhaps its only hope… through my own eyes.
I went to my friends place for a lunch… and met his Hazara maid and his little son, Fardeen. Fardeen was perhaps the most innocent kid I have ever met… and when I propositioned to take a photograph of his… he almost straightened up like a Sahib… posing for the photograph… I saw glimpses of my son in his eyes… and felt blessed to have met my son… in distant land herein. I asked Fardeen what you want to become… he said Doctor… why? He said because everyone needs a doctor… yes! More so in this land of turmoil… why don’t the West brings more doctors… why people still die of psychological stresses, ulcers, pneumonia and headaches… in this country…
My two days in Kabul were memorable… I did nothing… no sight seeing… I merely absorbed the city… and felt numb at being here. One day, I knew, I have to come back and roam around… without a fear or favour… I have to back-pack… take a pick-up to Bamiyan, Jam, Panjshir, Jalalabad… and Kandahar and beyond… talk with people, sit and have green tea with them… a promise!
While coming back… my flight took de-tour through Bamiyan and Herat… it all, but landed in Bamiyan… while in air… far off I saw the Band-e-Amir… I promised I will be back… the flight went to Herat. On the flight, I met a Japanese lady who lived in Bamiyan… and an English freelance photographer, who was going to Bamiyan to cover the elections for Reuters. The Japanese lady, when came to know that I wanted to visit Bamiyan, invited me and gave me the card of her hotel… and said… its heavenly
I promised… I would visit.
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