Rajan Kashyap

As the world comes to terms with the recent sensational seizure of Afghanistan by the Taliban, I recall an ordeal that was endured by my wife and our children, then aged 10 and seven, as they found themselves stranded in Kabul in similar circumstances years ago. Their unplanned stay in the troubled country lasted over two days. For me, there was unimaginable stress. I anxiously awaited their return at the Delhi airport, with no contact with them.

The adventure began on July 5, 1979. Amid political uncertainty, the Soviet Union was in the process of consolidating its hold over Afghanistan. We were returning to India after a year’s stay at Cambridge, where I had completed an academic programme. I had returned to Delhi a day earlier by a different flight. Since we were on a shoestring budget, we had decided that my wife and children would travel by the cheaper Ariana Afghan Airlines, which flew from London to Delhi via Kabul. Imagine my consternation when I realised that they were not among those who arrived at the Delhi airport! The duty staff could provide no clue to their whereabouts. Considering the turmoil in Afghanistan at that time, this was a shock. I was working in the Ministry of Home Affairs, which had sponsored my foreign training. When I flashed my official card, the airlines manager was forced to admit that some passengers had been offloaded at Kabul. He assured me that the airlines had arranged hotel rooms in Kabul for the stay of the passengers. They would reach Delhi by the next flight, which was to arrive two days later.

I was helpless, fearing the worst. It was frustrating, as no form of communication with Kabul was possible. I requested the airlines to deliver a small note to my wife, seeking to reassure her in the trying situation. The note was sent by the Ariana plane returning to Kabul, as I waited in overpowering suspense.

When we reunited, I learnt of their harrowing experience in Kabul. At the dingy hotel, she providentially met a fellow Indian, who was in a similar predicament. This young Sikh inspired confidence, as he escorted them through the nearby bazaar. The children were oblivious to any possible dangers in a disturbed land. On return from the brave walk through the streets, she found that her hotel room had been ransacked. The paranoid security agencies had confiscated two seemingly suspicious items from the belongings, a toy plastic gun, and the note that I had sent from Delhi. The children were disappointed, my son at losing a favourite toy, and daughter at not meeting in the city a single Kabuliwala, like the one immortalised by Rabindranath Tagore in his famous short story. But, heaven be thanked, my wife had found a friend and benefactor from Punjab.