Someone had a good sense of humor to come up with this creative name for a restaurant. The front of the restaurant is now called Shireen Restaurant, perhaps, influence of the Taliban regime.
Orange seller at Chawk-e-Shahr-e-Naw, or the Square of the new city. We spent some afternoons close to the square in markets. One of my colleagues said that during the Taliban regime, they would come to these markets to check out the ladies. Because the ladies wore Burkhas that cover even the face, they would be happy spending hours just looking at their ankles. The extent people to which people go for gratification when they are repressed.
In the square, if you look closer, there's a portrait of President Hamid Karzai, the sculpture of joining hands, and an inscription that says, "Afghanistan is united because of Jihad".
Right outside the solemn Tomb of Khwaja Ansari, there were these children riding a Ferris Wheel, Naagardola as we call it in Bangla. In Bangladesh, we have wooden versions of them, and the last time I rode one was in the 1980s during the Muharraam (Shia festival of Ashura, the prophet's birth), and the fond memory made me instantly happy.
Meanwhile, i caught this picture inside the Tomb. I was trying to capture the tiles, and then found this old man fascinating, sitting along in one of the corridors outside. He was trying to take cover from the sun, and wanted me to go away.
these mud houses are more common in Herat than Kabul. Because of longterm conflict, a lot of families from nearby provinces like Ghor moved to Herat, and Iranian govt and some UN people built these temporary houses on the vast land owned by the government.The most funny incident occurred when we were driving for field visit, and the Afghan NGO partners in the car asked me if I was muslim, and when I hesitantly nodded, asked if I was Shia or Sunni. Keeping in mind that Herat has predominantly Shia population, I sheepishly said Sunni, and then all the men in the back gave me thumbs up. I've never gotten a thumbs up about my religion before.
I sometimes wonder how peace could come to a country where people choose to identify them as Pushtoon, Tajik and Hazara instead of simply being Afghans, and try to relate to you as a muslim by going down to the most divisive elements.
The most profound scenes I've encountered were those I couldn't bear to take a picture. Many of them involve stores selling Afghan Naan, the most revered food item here. Perhaps because of food shortages, the Naan, or the traditional bread is a very desired item. In Kabul, it is common to see people carrying stacks of bread by hand while they are riding a motorcycle. I've seen someone drop a bread on the dusty ground by accident, picking it up, and kissing it. In Herat, I was struck by a 5/6 year old standing outside a store watching intently at the stacks of bread hung outside. I would've brought him one, if only I could communicate. The shop owner tried to ignore the boy, and looked the other way, and it broke my heart.
Then another afternoon two young brothers of similar age were outside, and the older one held two naans in his hand, which were too big for him, and the younger one was crying because he wasn't getting his share. I smiled at the older one, and kept staring while I was passing them. The boy finally relented, partially at my gestures, and gave the bread to the young one. The look of joy on the child's face trying to manage the bread that was bigger than his two palms made me tear up right there, and I had to discreetly separate myself from my colleagues so i could wipe it off. I was thinking of the big endeavour it is to feed my niece, Sara, where one person has to distract her while the other has to put the spoon in her mouth.
It doesn't take much to make anyone happy. And yet we spend so much time and energy making others miserable.
