Bamiyan Calling
Slowly, but surely… my program for Bamiyan is fructifying… God willing… I will visit Bamiyan, very soon.
Bamiyan, often, is referred to as the most beautiful part of Afghanistan… a country that is so very much bestowed with the natural beauty… with the Hindu-Kush and the Pamirs… with the Sistans of Zabul… the Dashts of Herat and the springs and woods of Badakashan.
Not long ago, while flying from Kandahar to New Delhi… I watched the deserts of Zabul and Balochistan from atop… it was a surreal spectacle… land of two starkly different colours merging into one… I wondered if I could be here… without the fear of thirst… or an enemy land… I wondered if those who plunder this land would ever be able to understand… how much beauty God has endowed upon them… would they ever be able to think beyond… the Jihads… and look what God has given them.
Life has been kind to me… I have come a long way from the madness of 1992, when I used to feel the euphoria of breaking a “disputed structure”… life has shown me places like Syria, the perpetual bad-boy of the world… whose society has preserved the most beautiful Greco-Roman ruins of the world… without bothering that they belonged to a different religion… life has shown me places like Afghanistan… where Talibs destroyed the Bamiyan Buddhas… for it represented a different religion… I asked myself a question… was I really different… just because I spoke English… wore modern dresses… Today! I would be the first person to re-build the disputed structure back… or better construct a symbol of humanity… a grand hospital or university dedicated to studying common human heritage.
Yesterday, I had a dream… I saw myself at the entrance of Petra treasury… I remembered… how, then, teardrops rolled down my eyes. I was seeing something I had dreamt to do for years together… I really do not know how would I react when I would see the empty slots of Bamiyan Buddha… or Band-e-Amir… but am sure… it would be a subtle feeling… of having been there and have done that.
Bamiyan is a difficult place to travel. The land routes are often termed as moderately dangerous… and the air route, an expensive proposition… there are very few places where one can stay in Bamiyan… and most of them are expensive by the standards of what they offer… like that Japanese woman I met on UNHAS flight runs a 3 starred hotel… charging 100 dollars a night.
However, to me, Bamiyan is much more than only Buddha and Band-e-Amir… it is the home of one of the most poignant community of Afghanistan… the Hazaras… who have been intricately linked with the tumultuous history of the country and have been at the receiving end of it for many centuries… and yet, today, they preserve a jest to live… to develop themselves and to excel… today… Hazaras are often quoted as one of the most progressive communities… helped by the Agha Khan Foundation… and some determined effort. Hazara girls are one of the most educated groups in this country… Bamiyan is the only province, where a women Governor is present.
My association with the Hazaras started perhaps before coming to Afghanistan, when I bought a copy of best-seller “The Kite Runner”. Someone told me… that it was a wonderful peep through into the Afghan society. A few chapters and I developed a lump in my throat… when Hassan, the Hazara boy was raped by Assef, the Pathan sociopath. Something snapped within me… and I kept the book aside… Only to be picked by my wife, who read it all… had drops of tears rolling down her face. She said… before this book… Afghanistan was a distant place… but now, somewhere deep down, she feels a connect.
A couple of days before I flew to Kabul for the very first time… I met a middle aged attractive woman… an economist by profession, she had loved the poignancy of “Kite Runner” and had a glint in her eyes, when she heard that I was going to Afghanistan… the land of Pathans and the Hazaras… the land of war… she had one simple request… to find out if Hazara were actually subjected to such condescend in Afghanistan.
Hazaras, I came to believe, had Mongoloid faces… flat nose, yellowish skin, small eyes… all symptoms of ugliness, as per the Pushtoons conventions of beauty. They came from the mountainous regions of Bamiyan… and, most importantly, they worked as the laborers in big cities.
Hazaras, if you ask me, are beautiful people (but then, I have always found Mongoloid/Oriental features to be beautiful, attractive)… like the “Khalaas” (the room service maids, all Hazaras) of the hotel, where I use to stay in Kabul. The first time they saw me, they giggled and whispered… an Indian… a Hindustani… an old lady used to come every morning and evening to my room and ask me if needed something… something was amiss in her eyes… or present. Missing- was the element of master-servant relation… present- was a genuine affection in her eyes. She, at that point of time, resembled my mother, so much. She was the first Hazara that I met…
Somebody told me that Hazaras were also incredibly hospitable people… he told me a story in which a Japanese tourist in the region was robbed while in Bamiyan… and when the local people come to know about it… they helped him out and gave him 2000 dollars as compensation… when they, themselves, are one of the most impoverished community of Afghanistan.
I want to experience the magic of the place… want to be there… stand atop a hill and see where the Bamiyan Buddha stood… see Band-e-Amir… which one of my friends describes as the most beautiful sights in the world.
And sure… one of these days I will be there… and very soon.
Bamiyan, often, is referred to as the most beautiful part of Afghanistan… a country that is so very much bestowed with the natural beauty… with the Hindu-Kush and the Pamirs… with the Sistans of Zabul… the Dashts of Herat and the springs and woods of Badakashan.
Not long ago, while flying from Kandahar to New Delhi… I watched the deserts of Zabul and Balochistan from atop… it was a surreal spectacle… land of two starkly different colours merging into one… I wondered if I could be here… without the fear of thirst… or an enemy land… I wondered if those who plunder this land would ever be able to understand… how much beauty God has endowed upon them… would they ever be able to think beyond… the Jihads… and look what God has given them.
Life has been kind to me… I have come a long way from the madness of 1992, when I used to feel the euphoria of breaking a “disputed structure”… life has shown me places like Syria, the perpetual bad-boy of the world… whose society has preserved the most beautiful Greco-Roman ruins of the world… without bothering that they belonged to a different religion… life has shown me places like Afghanistan… where Talibs destroyed the Bamiyan Buddhas… for it represented a different religion… I asked myself a question… was I really different… just because I spoke English… wore modern dresses… Today! I would be the first person to re-build the disputed structure back… or better construct a symbol of humanity… a grand hospital or university dedicated to studying common human heritage.
Yesterday, I had a dream… I saw myself at the entrance of Petra treasury… I remembered… how, then, teardrops rolled down my eyes. I was seeing something I had dreamt to do for years together… I really do not know how would I react when I would see the empty slots of Bamiyan Buddha… or Band-e-Amir… but am sure… it would be a subtle feeling… of having been there and have done that.
Bamiyan is a difficult place to travel. The land routes are often termed as moderately dangerous… and the air route, an expensive proposition… there are very few places where one can stay in Bamiyan… and most of them are expensive by the standards of what they offer… like that Japanese woman I met on UNHAS flight runs a 3 starred hotel… charging 100 dollars a night.
However, to me, Bamiyan is much more than only Buddha and Band-e-Amir… it is the home of one of the most poignant community of Afghanistan… the Hazaras… who have been intricately linked with the tumultuous history of the country and have been at the receiving end of it for many centuries… and yet, today, they preserve a jest to live… to develop themselves and to excel… today… Hazaras are often quoted as one of the most progressive communities… helped by the Agha Khan Foundation… and some determined effort. Hazara girls are one of the most educated groups in this country… Bamiyan is the only province, where a women Governor is present.
My association with the Hazaras started perhaps before coming to Afghanistan, when I bought a copy of best-seller “The Kite Runner”. Someone told me… that it was a wonderful peep through into the Afghan society. A few chapters and I developed a lump in my throat… when Hassan, the Hazara boy was raped by Assef, the Pathan sociopath. Something snapped within me… and I kept the book aside… Only to be picked by my wife, who read it all… had drops of tears rolling down her face. She said… before this book… Afghanistan was a distant place… but now, somewhere deep down, she feels a connect.
A couple of days before I flew to Kabul for the very first time… I met a middle aged attractive woman… an economist by profession, she had loved the poignancy of “Kite Runner” and had a glint in her eyes, when she heard that I was going to Afghanistan… the land of Pathans and the Hazaras… the land of war… she had one simple request… to find out if Hazara were actually subjected to such condescend in Afghanistan.
Hazaras, I came to believe, had Mongoloid faces… flat nose, yellowish skin, small eyes… all symptoms of ugliness, as per the Pushtoons conventions of beauty. They came from the mountainous regions of Bamiyan… and, most importantly, they worked as the laborers in big cities.
Hazaras, if you ask me, are beautiful people (but then, I have always found Mongoloid/Oriental features to be beautiful, attractive)… like the “Khalaas” (the room service maids, all Hazaras) of the hotel, where I use to stay in Kabul. The first time they saw me, they giggled and whispered… an Indian… a Hindustani… an old lady used to come every morning and evening to my room and ask me if needed something… something was amiss in her eyes… or present. Missing- was the element of master-servant relation… present- was a genuine affection in her eyes. She, at that point of time, resembled my mother, so much. She was the first Hazara that I met…
Somebody told me that Hazaras were also incredibly hospitable people… he told me a story in which a Japanese tourist in the region was robbed while in Bamiyan… and when the local people come to know about it… they helped him out and gave him 2000 dollars as compensation… when they, themselves, are one of the most impoverished community of Afghanistan.
I want to experience the magic of the place… want to be there… stand atop a hill and see where the Bamiyan Buddha stood… see Band-e-Amir… which one of my friends describes as the most beautiful sights in the world.
And sure… one of these days I will be there… and very soon.
4 comments:
I hope and pray that your dreams be fulfilled quickly!
Very nicely written!
BTW, you have pictures of your travels? Would be more enjoyable..
Hoping to read more of the story when your wish is fulfilled.
@Saurabh- Thanks!!!
@ Anonymous- Avoiding photos is a conscious decision on my part!! I want to create pictures through words... lets see if I can :-)
@ Subrat- Pray for me!
Post a Comment