City of Gathering Lights
I was born in Kabul in 1995, when civil war broke out in Afghanistan. My parents, whom I lost in a bomb blast in 2016, told me it was a very challenging time for the family. Being very young, I can’t remember the difficulties my parents had to go through to raise me in those dark days marked by instability and intense longing.
However, when I grew up and started judging things and taking decisions on my own, around 2009-10, I realized that things were not as difficult as they used to be during my parents’ time.
Except in my early years, the Kabul I grew up in was a city built on hope, which gained momentum almost every day, almost perceptibly. After the Taliban’s defeat in 2001, Kabul became a city everyone promised a dream to dream of, and the unrivaled license to follow them. There was no shortage of jobs; It seems that employment opportunities in many sectors have come from the gust of wind and business is booming. It was like any other good city that promises success and happiness to anyone willing to work hard.
fall to bedlam
This spirit of buoyancy was deeply felt by my colleagues and I. Naturally, the generation of my parents, who had suffered so much in the last decade and a half, cherished this better position. They were excited that the economy was finally recovering. My father was a financial advisor and understood money management better than most other professionals. Similarly, when Afghan society was opening up and women were encouraged to go to higher education and contribute to building the economy, my parents had high expectations of me—they wanted me to become a doctor. . Accordingly, I enrolled in an undergraduate medical program thinking that I would make them feel proud of me. In fact, a white coat, a stethoscope draped around my neck, always produced a glamorous image.
I was in the middle of fulfilling my parents’ dream when tragedy struck. I lost both my parents. If I remember correctly, 2015 was a watershed year; Around that time, the situation in Kabul and other regions in Afghanistan began to deteriorate again – the pendulum swing of the country’s oppressed modern history had begun once again towards the pandemic. But no one ever imagined that it would come so far that we would return to the dark days, that a terrorist organization would rule us once again.
dark in the afternoon
I never, never thought I’d have to live a life where terror and terrifying anxiety staggered my every step. I had heard about the brutal methods of the Taliban from my parents and other relatives in the late 1990s. Unfortunately, it seems that the future is making a comeback for us in medieval times. As if the clock had turned backwards for my helpless country, following the call of Satan. I haven’t stepped out even once since the Taliban captured the city on 15 August. You don’t know what is going to happen to you the next moment. The Taliban is now knocking on every door—recording, taunting, threatening, marking future targets. Ordinary Afghans serving as government employees are the most vulnerable.
View from Bala Hisar
I served as a government doctor, so I really don’t know what my fate might be at the hands of the Taliban, or when, they will find out about my work. With my sister, who is five years younger than me, I stay inside all the time. How long we can maintain this voluntary detention, I do not know. We men survive through the ministries of relatives and friends – they are buying all the necessary things for us. The prices of essential goods are skyrocketing. The LPG cylinder which we used to fill for Rs 50 a kg is now above Rs 125. Things like mobile chargers have become a valuable commodity; The shopkeepers are demanding exorbitantly high prices. In a city where chaotic roads lead to unimaginable chaos at the airport, there is no MRP for anything. We live a life touched by a quiet desperation.
(It appeared in the print edition as “The Kabul Diary”)
(Name withheld upon request. As told to Jeevan Prakash Sharma.)
An Afghan woman who has been a government doctor until now
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