TANGO-The journey to find my balance

My favorite traveling buddy and dear dear friend, Lucy and I decided to go to Buenos Aires for a week over the New year break and study the subtle art of Tango from professional teachers in the tango capital of the world.

Little did I realise that our tango journey was going to be profoundly introspective, more internal than physical; a journey about recognizing our inner core, our balance and our center of gravity. Basics of any dance form. 

What makes tango stand apart from other 'couple' dances is the magical "embrace"; soft and sliding (and not firm and rigid like the waltz) to accommodate the improvisational aspect of Tango.

There is a cliché that Tango was born in the brothels of Buenos Aires. However, a more likely explanation is that the brothels were where people of the upper and middle classes first encountered the dance. Members of Argentina's literary classes - the people who are most likely to leave written evidence - did not mix socially with members of the lower, immigrant classes except in brothels.

The traditional way to learn the dance was that the men would go to "practicas" and dance with other men to learn the woman's part; ie; how to be led. After about nine months they would be ready to learn how to lead. The men would practice in the Practica and go to meet the women at the Milonga. 

The coup in 1955 that ousted Peron had a deep impact on Tango. It was banned by the new Military government and the dance went underground. It was during this phase that someone realised one could make money from creating a show of the Tango dance and thats when Tango became really popular in the international arena. (Apart from the 1913 period when Tango was exported to Paris).

In 1983, the fall of the Military Junta brought a renaissance in Tango in Argentina.

My mum, walter and I in New York City - Summer of 2008

I was first introduced to Tango by my friend, Walter Perez in New York City in 2005. Ironic to say the least, I was not into the dance then. I would go to Walter's classes more as an excuse to catch up with Walter as we would invariably make dinner plans after class.  I re-connected with the dance form in Kabul 6 months ago, when my friend Alan started taking a class for a few expats. I've never missed a single class of Tango. 

Spending eight days in Buenos Aires, reading the history of Tango, hearing anecdotal stories from my teachers (Maria Blanco and Walter Perez) created a deeper appreciation and respect for this art and a better understanding of myself.

The class has become a haven for me in Kabul. That one day in the week when I am transported into another world; into an ambiance that creates positivity, in a dance where I am leaning to be more comfortable with the sound of silence in the "break" between steps that strings each pause together. It makes me forget for 2 hours of the duration of the class, if not more, that the country I live in is full of elements that can do so much (if you only allowed it) to de-stabilize your equilibrium... literally and metaphorically.

I believe, much of the value of the goal is in the journey; so much so, that, I had to come all the way to Kabul to discover the value of tango, be motivated enough to fly to Buenos Aires and find myself learning from Walter who was the person who introduced me to the dance five years ago. I had come full circle.

Sir George Bernard Shaw once said " I don't believe in circumstances. The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and if they can't find them, make them." 

All of us in Kabul chose to come to Afghanistan. Instead of complaining constantly about the situation surrounding us, we have all, in our unique little ways created the circumstances we want to keep our sanity and find our balance. I found tango!

Road to nowhere...

The Darulaman Palace, a European style Palace built by Amanullah Khan in the 1920s is located a mile away from my house. It has been heavily damaged throughout the century. In the 1960s it was heavily gutted by fire, then housed the Kabul Museum (now across the road), followed by the Defense Ministry and was finally reduced to its dilapidated state by heavy shelling of competing Mujahideen factions during the civil war. 

Last weekend, my friends and I made a visit to the Palace, I was under the impression, it would be deserted, due to its pathetic state, however, I was wrong. Not only did the Palace retain its imposing grandeur despite the rubble strewn floors, but it was hustling and bustling with Kuchis who made it their home. 


Kuchis are nomads. For more than 3000 years, the kuchis were pre-eminent transporters and traders and served as a mobile bridge between Afghanistan and south asia. They are self- sufficient people. Their prized possessions include their family, their goats, sheep, camels, donkeys and tents. No baggage, few attachments, free spirits traveling light. I had found some kindred souls!

The Kuchis staying in the Darulaman Palace migrated from Pakistan about three months ago. UNICEF has pitched tents in the Palace courtyard and runs a school for the displaced kuchi children in the day. At first, they were very territorial and refused to let us "curious" tourists in their space. We got talking to them in Dari and Urdu and they gradually let their guard down and offered to have the women come into the palace. So of we went (Sarah-jean, Sara and I) Lucky girls!

I asked one of them if they were happy or sad to be living in a palace. It was ironic to say the least. He said ' We're not materialistc, we don't care about things, we're nomadic people. We migrate from one place to another. Here, we are like birds in a cage.

They were very amused with our cameras and asked us to take photographs of them. We promised to print photos and bring back hard copies in a couple days or so.

Fredrik Barth, a Norwegian anthropologist said once, The wealthiest and the poorest kuchi  (when pushed to extremes of the spectrum ) will tend to settle down and give up his nomadic migratory cycle.  
 “A pastoral family needs a minimum herd size in order to survive. A wealthy nomad, might experience diminishing returns as his herd size increases and may decide to diversify into investing in land and/or into trade. The poorest lose their herds in times of crisis, going into debt and then selling-off animals to pay off the debt.

Waiting in line for drinking water

Years of war and displacement pushed these Kuchis to settle in one place, not out of free will. Being "nomadic" is being stable for Kuchis. 


In contrast, I have always had the luxury of free will. Is it a choice or fate or destiny ? I am not sure. Maybe a mix of everything.


Moving to Afghanistan presented an extreme situation for me on my life continuum that grounded me from within resulting in a deep appreciation for stability. My spirit was never curtailed, always nurtured by my parents, enabling it to experience so much. Today, I realize its value and understand that stability doesn’t have to be at the cost of clipping ones wings.  

Even though my free spirit identified with theirs, I walked away steady... with clarity and comfort on my path of life – however, the kuchis were left standing there trapped in their palace, like birds in a cage; no hope, a few promised photographs and lost on a road to nowhere…





The Lion of Panjshir

Ahmad Shah Massoud , born in the Panjshir valley, also known as the Lion of Panjshir is considered to have been one of the greatest military strategists and charismatic leaders of the second half of the 20th Century. He was known as a natural leader of men, clear sighted and a visionary.

The Panjshir fields

The Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan in 1979 to support the collapsing communist regime which gave birth to a group of freedom fighters who came to be known as the mujahideen. When the Russians left Afghanistan, fighting between factional groups led to civil war.  The Taliban, sponsored and financed by Pakistan, came with the promise of peace and control which soon appeared to be untrue. Massoud and other mujahideen formed an alliance and swore to free their land from this invading force.
Massoud's appeal for help from the west fell on deaf ears. He overestimated his strength and marched on Kabul only to be forced into the northeast corner of Afghanistan maintaining 5%-10% control of the country.

Drive up to Panjshir

In August, I made a road trip to the great Panjshir Valley. The terrain is similar to Kashmir and Ladakh. Many moments during our drive I had to remind myself that it was Afghanistan and not India. The charging river that turns into a torrent in the summer along with the irrigated wheat and maize fields and walnut and mulberry groves make for a very picturesque landscape.

Drive up to Panjshir

The Panjshir Valley

The Tajiks are very proud people and hold high regard for Massoud. It is one of the most safe provinces in the country and is often see as a model province. Massoud united the Tajiks, earned trust from his people by not suppressing them and not forcing them to adopt a lifestyle unlike the government in power. Freedom to his people to express, tolerance and moderation kept his people loyal to him and safe from the Taliban.  Massoud, however, was no saint, he was a warlord, killed many civilians, his reputation undoubtedly is controversial.











Massoud was assassinated on September 9 2001, two days before 9/11. Rumour has it that he was killed by Al-qaeda as he would have been the most potential ally of the international forces to fight the Taliban.

Massoud's Tomb in the distance

It was hard to leave Panjshir and return to Kabul that evening. I was in heaven in the middle of war-torn Afghanistan. I will never know Massoud and I am no authority to decide or claim whether he is a hero or not. Afghanistan is a complex country and there can't be a simple hero. We all need a hero to believe in and Massoud became that belief for his people.  If you live your beliefs you can turn the world around. Massoud could not turn his country around, but he protected the Panjshir valley and his Tajik people.

Eulogy for Ahmad Shah Massoud "Bitter Fruit Falling" by Khalilullah Khalili

 I am the bitter fruit falling upon the earth.
 Thus in the clutches of time I remain.
 O spring of liberty! Your grace, what else it could be
 But to render this bitter fruit sweet?
 The greatest wealth of this world is the company of friends,
 The agony of death:
 Separation from them,
 But since they are all together, the friends,
 Resting deep in the heart of the dust,
 What difference does it make
 Whether alive or dead.
 Out of pain and sorrow destiny has molded me.
 What, Alas, has been my joy from the cup of life?
 Like a candle burning in the blowing wind,
 I tremble, I burn, ... I die.

(translated from the original Dari) 

Massoud's Panjshir

Hope, Love and Ayurveda

There is a dwindling, yet thriving (in their falling numbers) sikh-hindu community in Afghanistan.  Up until the early 90s, there were over 50,000 Sikhs in the country. The Civil war and rise of the Taliban forced most of the Sikhs (who ran the businesses in Kabul city) out of the country. They immigrated in large numbers to Iran, Pakistan and India.

Today, approximately 3000 sikhs live in the country, under a 1000 of which are in Kabul city. Ever so often I drive past the area they live and every single time my driver will point out "look look this is where the sikhs live, they are from your country".

The Sikhs are often asked by fellow Afghans "when are you returning to india". They are not returning to India. Afghanistan is their home and its been their home for centuries.

It traces back to 1834 AD, when Sardar Hari Singh Nalua (a Sikh) was appointed the first non-muslim governer of Peshawar by Maharaja Hari Singh. Dost Mohammad, the Afghan ruler of Kabul attempted to regain his supremacy over Peshawar that he had lost and dispatched his son Akbar in 1837 AD to recover it. He did, after a bloody battle ensued and Sardar Hari Singh Nalua lost his life.  Thus the great Sardar with the terror of whose name Afghan mothers used to quieten their fretful children attained his martyrdom.

One prominent Sikh and his brother run an Ayurvedic clinic in their neighbourhood in Kabul.  A fresh stock of medicines are imported from Pakistan each month.

The ayurvedic healers

As soon as I heard about them, curiosity got the better of me and I was on my merry way to meet them.
We chatted for an hour or so. Talked about India, Punjab and the famous Sikh/Punjabi hospitality.

Ayurvedic Medicines imported from Pakistan

One of the brothers climbed a ladder, scanned a number of bottles with different colored liquids on a shelf, made a quick mental assessment and pulled one out. Handed it over to me and instructed that I take one teaspoon 3 times a day after meals. "It will keep your blood clean, make your face glow and no man will be able to resist you". Suddenly I felt electric, my eyes lit up and I found myself clutching my bottle of magic portion rather tightly.





The four walls of the clinic not only holds a 1000 bottles of Ayurvedic medicine in odd shapes and sizes but has witnessed endless sessions in counseling, therapy, astrology and marriage advice. Patients come in for medicine and leave with a smile on their face, not from the medication but from receiving a 5 star love astrology report.

The faith healer

People want to know their future, the unknown always spikes curiosity in us.  Given the grim conditions in Afghanistan where it looms over us like a cloud of darkness, people don't want to be reminded of the present, they only want to know the happy positive and good things about their future. The little hope they can hold on to. 

"Even in the midst of war and despair, people want to know that they will find true love and marry" they said to me. "It is love that keeps us alive".

Freedom is Beauty, and sometimes, Beauty is Freedom...

Beauty is part of every culture. The power in feeling beautiful is immeasurable.   There are some great stories in Kabul that nurture the beauty of a person inside and out thereby building self esteem and making them feel good. That feeling is liberating, something that cannot be quantified but has a deep impact in the moment and beyond...

I recently met a woman who is running for the Parliamentary Elections in September. During the Taleban Regime, she saved her money and bought one treadmill which she planted in her house. She spent hours each day motivating her women friends to come over and exercise on the treadmill, they lost weight, felt beautiful and it shook off the depression that inflicts so many in warzones. She said she was able to save a few lives. Suicidal rate is high among women suffering from violence in Afghanistan (domestic violence and effects of the war).

Seattle Times Article :Two Afghan women work on mannequins in the docu-mentary "The Beauty Academy of Kabul."

In 2001, a group of American hairdressers came to post taliban kabul to set up the first beauty school. http://www.beautyacademyofkabul.com/  The idea that the pusuit of beauty is an element of democracy and nation building made the school an attractive prospect for beauty industry philanthropists.

Charity Fashion Show -Kabul

Last friday, I participated in a charity fashion show. The founder of a girls school designs clothes that she sells and the proceeds go back to the school. My friends  (English, Korean, American, Kenyan) , an Afghan girl and I participated in the fashion show. The Afghan girl only agreed if she were allowed to keep the hijab on. I admired her courage in stepping out of her comfort zone to participate, yet holding the respect for her culture and traditions instead of defying and rejecting her legacy. It showed her sensibility, maturity and pragmatism.

Charity fashion show

 

The evening was spectacular. In minutes we felt like supermodels,  feeling beautiful as we were watched strutting around like peacocks. The show stopper in my eyes was the Afghan girl. She danced on the ramp, connected with the audience with her eyes and expressed her feminity with reckless abandon, her spirit bursting through the seams of her veil.

Thank you Afghanistan for these moments. This day made me feel beautiful, it made me feel free, empowered, feminine and liberated in the midst of the war. It made me realise it can be done by respecting, not defying local tradition. It was a reminder of the things that make us human. Things that don't matter much, in the larger scheme of things, but empower us beyond measure and loom large when taken away. Things we all have in common...

Charity Fashion Show: Afghan dress with headscarves

Art is Courage

The Strength of a Woman (Work of the Artists )

Last summer I arrived in time for the annual art exhibition organized by Turquoise Mountain Foundation (TMF), an NGO set up in 2006, backed by two patrons, HRH Prince of Wales and HE Hamid Karzai, President of Afghanistan. http://www.turquoisemountain.org  Coincidentally, I arrived this summer just in time for the 3rd annual exhibit.

TMF has an institute for Afghan Arts and Architecture under which it runs several schools. One of which is the School of Calligraphy and painting. Through this program they train and mentor painters on posture, movement and materials. At the end of the year they organize an exhibition of their students best work. 

The two faces of Islam (Work of the Artists)

(Work of the Artists)

We express facets of ourselves through our work,interaction and creativity. The works of these afghan painters for me reflected the turmoil and struggles of the war. It reflected fear, anger, hurt, pain, yet glimpses of hope, faith and courage. It was heartening to meet the artists and talk to them. Some of them had never known they had such talent in their hands until TMF helped them discover it. Others knew but had no avenue to express or be valued for it. 

(Work of the Artists))

Seeing these artists exhibit their talent and win recognition in the form of prize money was such an inspiring and empowering, yet humbling experience. This was a dream come true for all of them. Art requires courage, a lot of courage. Courage to believe in yourself, courage to stay grounded, firm and sincere to the art form and pursue it diligently, drawing strength from the outside world that applauds or recognizes it's worth.

Bagh-e-Babur Gardens (built by Agakahan foundation) hosted the Art Exhibition

I bow down to my brother and to all my friends who are artists, from painters to sculptors to musicians to designers to singers to actors to writers. I have seen many of you struggle, yet persevere through thick and thin and find your own place in the sun. Charles Horton Cooley, an american sociologist, once said, an artist cannot fail, it is in fact a success to be one.

Hamida, Shirin and me at the TMF art exhibit at the Bagh-e-Babur, July 2010

My free spirit

I arrived in Kabul three weeks ago. Even though I've lived here before, I have returned with a new employer and had to undergo standard security procedures and protocol. One such procedure was receiving my BlackBerry and learning how to use the GPS secure locator. This application tracks your movements at all times.

While I was undergoing my training in the office to test how the GPS locator works, I was shown a large computer screen with a map of the area I live and work in Kabul and with one click we narrowed down to our office that displayed all my office mates in the office as it should. However, I was not on the screen. After several attempts to scroll up and down the enlarged digital map of the office to find me, my security head clicked on my name. Seconds later, we followed the navigator outside the office, 300 miles away on a mountain top... thats where the GPS secure application picked up my Blackberry signal. Confused and bewildered, my security folks suggested they keep my Blackberry for 24 hours to make sense of this confusion. Never had it happened before. I laughed and thought to myself "this BlackBerry has my name on it. My free spirited soul cannot be contained... welcome to Afghanistan, Rima ! "