Kabul diaries

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: The conveyor belt at the airport is a lot like life in the cty itself. Kabul is a moth-eaten city with a war-tainted landscape — rumbling and shaky. But the city is intriguing and inviting — many a friendship is offered and currency isn’t a problem — Indian money is acceptable, desirable even. Taj Mahal, Shahrukh Khan, Jalebi — India is well-known and much loved.

The next few days helped me discover the best of the city. Shehr-e-Nau, I found, is Kabul’s hustle and bustle. From ‘Poplino’, the Italian eatery to ‘Herat’, the Afghan kebab resto, here mobile phones jostle for space with money exchangers and book sellers. Anna Seiersted’s ‘The Bookseller of Kabul’ is also located here — Shah Mahmud is an institution. Chicken Street is where the antique shops and the bakeries are.

Not far away is the Ministry of Interior, as forbidding as the other governmental buildings in Kabul. After a bizarre but useful rendezvous there, I head to the Indian Embassy, where all are welcoming and helpful. My work also takes me to the depressing UN compounds and pockets of power that manage the country. Between the UN, aid agencies, the police and the army, the topography of Kabul makes it hard to notice the astounding architecture and the beautiful gardens — Bagh-e-Babur is almost deserted. I visited the Qargah Lake outside Kabul, turquoise and deep, a popular picnic spot for many young Afghans and families. After a lovely tour of the Ka Faroshi Bird Market, my Afghan driver, Ghulam, insisted his mother is the best cook this side of the Panjshir valley. But I settled for pulao rice, cauliflower and spinach curry, British style chunky fries and unlimited Pepsi at a city kebab joint. As I awaited my gosh-e-fil (elephant’s ears pastries), the owner wanted to know if I am married, why I am not, how many children I will have and what they might be called. He was aghast at the possibility they might not have Muslim names. My pastries were lost in the questions. Vegetarians may find the place difficult — after four days of spinach, I felt more like Popeye than ever. But swanky restaurants like ‘Sufi’, nestled behind heavily barricaded walls, offer excellent Afghan food. Cabul Café is popular too.

My reverie is interrupted by the news that Dostum, a rather notorious warlord is being arrested in the city and there will be firing. Unfortunately, the firing takes place outside a friend’s house while I am looking for the address with great difficulty (as Kabul has no house numbers or nameplates).

So, I took a detour and went to the other part of the city where I found Hazara, Tajik and Pashtun children playing. I saw a couple fighting over a shoe and wondered if they will grow up to fight over this country as their forefathers have. Ghulam decided I was gloomy and, ironically, tried to cheer me up with a tour of the Landmine Museum, the European Cemetery, the Russian War Memorial Cemetery and the Kabul stadium, site of the Taliban’s infamous beheadings.

Infinitely more dreary, I decided it was time to eat some chocolate and watch television in my room. ‘A1 Supermarket’, an institution beyond the memorials offers chocolate Magnums (last spotted in England) and reminded me of my university lessons that Afghanistan was a war-ravaged country. The ruins of the Dar-ul-Aman Palace emphasise that sentiment, reminding me how hollow a battlefield is and how the City Walls of Bala Hissar were designed to keep invading forces away but not to combat air strikes. Amidst war, the common man has been left far behind. The Kabul University, the Habibia Girls High School and the various other donor-driven initiatives offer some hope. The Afghans shared about their life and their land with such pride and gratitude that I came back much humbled.

Waiting to board my flight at the Japanese departure terminal, it occured to me that Kabul is addictive and that I will make a comeback soon. And hopefully, so will Afghanistan.