AN UNFORGETTABLE TRIP " First day at workshop"

I was lucky to visit Afghanistan recently. I had the most unbelievable trip to Faizabad, Bharak and Jurm , for capacity building of local journalists. You are reading the page six of my diary of that unforgettable trip.
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“Will I be able to recall every bit of the scent and the feeling of my unbelievable existence of here and now, of being part of this culture that was so remote to me until yesterday and perhaps will never be a part of my life again”, I kept asking myself every moment of the day. I was eager to devour as much of that experience I could but unfortunately security conditions had left me under strict embargo. Apart from the morning workshops I had absolutely no permission to go around the place without an escort...

These people, their impoverished, self-effacing life as stark as the mountains all around, the extent of their loss as expansive as the cradles of sand and stone that stretched into oblivion, the hardships they still have to circumvent in the years to come, as jagged as the path they tread everyday - I had to pinch myself to believe that my insignificant smug existence in a teeming city of 7 lakhs or more found such a rare opportunity to come alive to the deepest impoverishment and pain of this century in Afghanistan.

Yet every where I looked around I found an affable , if not smiling, face greeting me with the same curiosity and warmth of a shy village dweller watching a foreigner trying to blend in. I had taken great care to cover my head at all times except when I went to bed and my clothes were most carefully chosen to look like theirs - simple cotton suits - that is what I had instructed to wear, until of course I met Zulia and Farouqa and I gasped at my total ignorance of what a satellite culture can do to any society no matter how remote it was.

I guess every young generation no matter how inaccessible and far flung manages to upset the older generation by carving out a style statement of its own , but the satellite communication does much more. It creates a global cohort of clones who wear the same belts and watches and the same denim jackets to perfectly blend into the global style statement as easily anywhere. So here I was being greeted by 3 women in their blue burkha one minute and the very next minute , as soon as the gates had closed behind us ( and we were within the safety of the four walls of the BDF office ) they had swung into action like superwomen.

Off went their burkha and out came their natty denim/fur jackets from beneath, their white pearl studded polo necks, their fancy black leather coats, their dainty stockings and handbags, sunglasses , mobiles and digital cameras. Was I dreaming or did I reach the wrong destination I wondered for a second. They didn’t look like “poor Afghanis” from any angle. I looked extremely staid if not shabby beside them to say the least.

Even if one in a hundred it said a lot about the kind of exposure available to the Afghan community today in the post Taliban era. Zulia was the perfect epitome of a modern young girl, much more westernised than what I was in many ways. Incidentally her first question onmeetingme was if I had the Microsoft publisher in my laptop to help her design the magazine she was editing for BDF.

I felt so proud of her and so sad for the opportunities I never availed to look beyong my comfort zone, because I had taken it all for granted.