Afghanistan I saw in June/July 1977

The First Prime Minister of United India, Barkatullah commented about the Imperialists in 1915.

”They (British) have been sea-wolves, living on the pillage of the world.

The difference in modern times was their refinement of hypocrisy which sharpens the edge of brutality.”

Afghanistan reporting confirms this hypocrisy has been further refined

Summer of 1977 was as scorching in Lahore as it always is but the political turmoil and social cleavage had made it worse. A year earlier, I had come from hostel life in CCH (Cadet College Hassanabdal) after appearing for FSC examinations. I got good results and was admitted in the premier medical college in Pakistan, KEMC where due to old backlogs the classes didn’t start till February.

I was very excited when classes started in mid February as we were meeting old friends and hoping to make new ones. Then the attraction of wearing an overall and carrying a stethoscope was too overwhelming for a would-be young medico. And then the most important new thing coming in our lives were the 30 gorgeous lady class fellows, this point can only be appreciated by those who have spent 5 growing years totally secluded from the ordinary society in a hostel without sighting a female while there is a deluge of hormones inside.

But this happiness didn’t last and the government closed all educational institutions for the elections after only a week, and they stayed closed for over 4 months.

Pakistan in those days was different as was the rest of the world. ZA Bhutto was the prime minister and a bunch of right wing religious parties had gotten together but didn’t seem to be offering any serious challenge to the popular left leaning ZAB.

Vietnam War had recently ended, bringing many changes in the society. Liberalism was high and materialism was looked down upon. Pakistan was an integral part of the world located on the famous hippie trail.

Lahore in 1977 was full of western tourists. They consisted mostly of the budget traveler types but there were also many who appeared prosperous traveling in VW minivans and other land transports. Pakistan was an important stopover for the hippies on their way to Katmandu, their most coveted place. Many of the hippie movement visitors would stay in Pakistan seeing the easy availability of their requirements, mostly cannabis products.

Interestingly my medical school was located in the downtown of the city, close to the historic shopping district, Anarkali, the verandas of which were home to many Europeans youngsters for months. We became familiar with each other occasionally sharing stories.

Despite many extracurricular activities including swimming, squash and then volunteer blood collection for patients, closing of the schools was still too stressful for youngsters like me used to active lives with hardly anything to do now. That summer I read many books including Hoor and ZaibunNisas of a friend’s sister. I then got hold of Mustansar Tarrar’s travelogue, “Nikley teri talash mein” and that stuck.

Bored of a dull and uninteresting life something had to be done, and I decided to visit Afghanistan. The word Afghanistan holds a special meaning for all living in the Indian subcontinent and particularly to those who call themselves Pathans and I was no exception.

I was 18, recently stretched to over 6’ in height, all skin and bones but convinced of my exceptional confidence and abilities to handle any kind of situation. Friends who wanted to join me in the trip all backed out and I decided to go alone, come what may.

After good intermediate results I was lavishly rewarded by relatives and I amassed Rs.700, which at that time amounted to $70. (It was Rs.10 for 1 $ then). That was lot of money and expenses of the trip were already arranged.

I got the passport/visa arranged and took a train to Peshawar. Settled in a hotel on the GT Road just across the bus station called GTS (Government Transport Service) and got a ticket for Kabul for the next day. I could hardly sleep all night dreaming of going back through centuries of history. That night I dreamt of Babur, Ghauri, Ghaznavi and other greats whose land I was to visit.

Early morning I reached the bus station. It was a silver colored FIAT bus which was labeled Deluxe because it had some kind of head rests attached. Unfortunately due to the rough roads with potholes these headrests made it even more uncomfortable, so they were useless. Interestingly in those days air-conditioning was unheard of in busses or even cars and this Fiat didn’t have it either.

The bus was fully booked and left in time. I got a seat among the latter half, but it wasn’t bad. At that age nothing feels bad or uncomfortable.

The first stop was Torkham which was at a distance of hardly 55 kms and the bus had taken more than an hour.

We went through all the procedures of customs/immigration in Pakistan and then in the Afghan part of the border too. Language changed, traffic changed the track and even the faces changed getting a tinge of oriental features. Later I was informed about Uzbeks and Turkmans.

During these bureaucratic procedures I got time to observe the 50 or so passengers with me. There were around 2/3^rd girls traveling in the bus. There were many Afghan students going back for summer vacations from Pakistan and many from India.

Some were working in India and returning home.

The second largest group in the bus was of Lahoris visiting Kabul to watch Indian movies on large screen. Indian TV had started showing movies by then and VCRs had also arrived but most people couldn’t afford them. Bollywood was popular and people were willing to cross frontiers to watch them.

And then there were many European male and female back packers voraciously reading paperbacks.

Finally the bus left, driving on the other side of the road.

The road conditions were the same but the terrain had changed. It seemed like a barren plateau with little vegetation. There was hardly any traffic with only an occasional strange looking Russian car crossing.

After over an hour’s drive of 80kms we reached Jalalabad and stopped for lunch. I found Jalalabad like some rural town of Pakistani then-NWFP province. There were 2 stroke rickshaws emitting terrible smoke, tongas and the ubiquitous aroma of barbequed beef. People were wearing the same attire that people in then-NWFP wore. They were speaking Pashto and using Pak rupees. I saw women shopping in the bazaar fully confident, wearing the same burqa or chaddar as I had seen in rural NWFP.

I felt at home although the familiarity was a bit disappointing. I had Tikka lunch and loved it.

After lunch the bus was ready to go with passengers freshened after lunch and socializing started.

Most of the Europeans were young although a bit older than me and were planning an extended stay in the Shahr I Nau part of Kabul before returning home.

I met two Pakistani businessmen from the famous Branderath road of Lahore. They weren’t highly educated but were well informed, aware and interesting. They would visit Afghanistan every summer because it was more interesting and cheaper than visiting Murree. Additional advantages for them were the opportunity to watch Indian films on the big screen and buying imported cloth and other stuff which was sold much cheaper than in Pakistan. They were friendly and welcoming and I decided to stay with them initially. During my stay in medical school we stayed in touch and would meet occasionally. I wonder how and where they might be although I don’t remember their names.

After traveling half way the road entered a gorge with hairpin turns and climb. The bus stopped at a small stall among fruit trees selling fresh fruit. Plums and apricots were delicious as was the cool fresh water and breeze.

During this small stay I saw 2 Afghans riding a Honda 175 twin with typical leaking rusted exhausts stop for drinks and then left. Then there was a Sikh family in a beautiful yellowish brand new Mercedes Benz, the kind I had never seen. It was a trendsetting legendary MB 123 that changed the auto industry for ever and is still considered an icon. I felt jealous of both of them and these stuck in the mind of the impressionable 18 years old and I later bought both of them. It is interesting to note how nature and experiences make us and how we overrate ourselves as deciding for ourselves.

We reached Kabul in late afternoon. It was my first time crossing the border and that also alone and all of a sudden had a bout of nervousness and black out. I felt like rushing back home but fortunately this phase just lasted a few seconds and I was fine. I still get this feeling occasionally when I even forget my name.

My Lahori friends knew the city well and we settled in a cheap hotel. The room was modern with amenities and we got it at reasonable price. We settled down and decided to explore the city.

We left the hotel and started walking around Kabul. It was nice and clean and the weather made it even better. There was a cosmopolitan touch with people of different nationalities and features freely moving around. Women were wearing all types of dresses and speaking different languages. There were girls wearing skirts and burqas walking on the same streets. I saw a lot of oriental features and many Russians were also common as were the Russian cars. Then I saw strange noisy machines extracting lovely red carrot juice everywhere, a novelty for me.

I liked the weather of Kabul and the optimistic feel that I was being noticed by the girls.

In Pakistan jeans were rare then and only expensive imported ones were available in the top outlets. I was wearing a cotton trousers that I had got stitched from my favorite tailor at Raja Sahib on the Mall Road after buying cloth from Neela Gumbat.

After a long stroll and much of street food we came back and slept.

Next morning my partners took me to a market where jeans, which were still a novelty in Pakistan, were being sold but I couldn’t buy them due to my limited budget.

On the way we crossed a bridge over a small stream looking like a sewer and was told it was river Kabul. After watching tourist posters with a full blue river it was more than disappointing.

Around afternoon the friends took us to a shopping mall, probably the first I had ever seen. It was owned by Sikhs they knew and they bought unstitched cloth for their families. There were cinemas in the mall and one of them was showing a famous movie Hawas with a lovely song, “Teri galyon mein na rakhen ge kadam aaj ke baad”. I liked the song and specially, Usha Khanna the composer, but always found watching Bollywood challenging. The Lahori friends wanted to watch the movie but I decided to keep on exploring streets of Kabul.