The Fall of Kabul: Stories from the Taliban Takeover

Excerpts:Q. What was the genesis of this trip? Why did you go there despite everyone advising you against it? A. Well, that’s a question I get asked very often. Frankly, I never thought about it that way as a journalist. Being from a neighbouring country, I felt it was my moral duty to be there when history was turning a page.

If not then, when? As I mentioned in my book, I didn’t want to sit in Delhi and simply follow international media. They were reporting well, I have nothing against them, but this was our neighbouring country. I felt it was my duty to go. I never thought of it in terms of being a woman or travelling alone. At that time, I expected my photo editor to accompany me, but since he didn’t get a visa, I was left with just my mojo kit and myself. Four years later, I feel what I did then has stayed with me for a long time. Had I not gone, I would have felt incomplete as a reporter covering foreign policy and international relations. In my 20–21 years as a journalist, I’ve always believed that reporting from the ground, hearing voices that are usually unheard, makes all the difference. Otherwise, you’re only relying on secondary sources. That was the main idea, nothing else. And when I landed, I knew I had made the right decision.

Risky, yes, but a great learning experience for me. Q. There's a sense that one gets upon reading the book that you have been fascinated with Afghanistan for a very long time. A. Yes, it has always appealed to me in terms of history, so to say. I’ve been a history student, and I still believe I am one. I’d been reading about the Great Game, the Anglo-Afghan War—things that always fascinated me. I think that was also one of the main reasons I came into journalism in the first place. I never wanted a fixed job or fixed hours. I was never the kind of person to lock myself in. So, more than geopolitics, yes, you are right—the region itself has always fascinated me. Politically correct or not, as a journalist you need to be everywhere. I had been to Pakistan as well, to understand how that country operates and thinks, and why tensions exist today. That was also one of the reasons. And the fact that in this 20-year war—the Americans first wanted to oust the Taliban, then to capture Osama bin Laden, and eventually handed the country back to the Taliban—all of it was quite fascinating from a journalist’s perspective. Q. Your book reflects a deep understanding of Afghanistan as a place that has never been conquered, where the land itself reigns supreme. How did your experiences shape this perspective? A. Frankly speaking, I have always been an avid reader. I’d been reading about Afghanistan from early on, and even as a journalist what fascinated me most was our neighbourhood. The stories in this region—Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Nepal, Bhutan—are endless. I was in high school when the Bamiyan Buddhas were demolished, during the Taliban’s first tenure, and then 9/11. Somehow, I’ve always found myself where history was unfolding.

My first job after graduation was with an American firm, and I was in the US when 9/11 happened. We were in Virginia, about to travel to New York that weekend. I saw firsthand how 9/11 changed American society. I was fresh out of college, doing job training, and was even told not to wear Indian dresses because people might mistake me for Pakistani.

I was too young and naive to fully grasp what was happening, but I realised how the global geopolitical axis was shifting. Earlier, during my final year in 1999–2000, the Kargil War happened. A few months later, I went to Pakistan for a Delhi University student exchange to see Indus Valley sites. So yes, the pull of history, my interest in the region, and the books and journals I read—all of it led me to Afghanistan, not just Kabul but beyond. Q. As a conflict reporter, and a woman, how did it feel with the arrival of the Taliban and their extremely conservative attitudes toward women? Do you still reflect on those moments, four years on? A. Well, yes, I do. My family reminds me often, especially my son, who is now a teenager. But when I was there, I wasn’t thinking of anything else—only that I had to report properly from the ground, not shape stories to fit what the world wanted to hear. For example, in Mazar-e-Sharif around the Blue Mosque, I spoke with women covered and accompanied by husbands or sons. This was 10–11 Aug, just before the takeover. Many told me: “Let the Taliban come. We’ve been ruled by the Americans for 20 years—what did they give us? At least the Taliban are our brothers.” I reported that, and it upset some, including the Afghan ambassador in India. But it wasn’t about supporting the Taliban—it was about reflecting ground voices, even of women who felt nothing would change, as poverty and inequality already defined their lives.

That was my learning—that there was acceptance too. And as a journalist, I wasn’t thinking, “I’m a woman, I’m alone.” I thought: I’m here, risking everything. I have to go back. I had promised my son, born in Aug, that I’d return before his birthday—and I did. That was my motivation, along with the support of my family. Most of all, I wanted to return with truthful stories that would matter not just then, but 10 or 20 years later.

If anyone wants to understand what happened, they could look at my book—a small record from an Indian lens, as a woman journalist. There may be thousands of books, but at least this one tells the truth from a different perspective. Q. When writing this book, how did you decide what to keep in and what to leave out?A. I was not an independent journalist then—I was representing a media outlet. So I had to keep in mind the political sensitivities back home. The Indian govt was strongly supportive of the republic and President Ashraf Ghani.

In fact, until 14 Aug, when I spoke with Indian officials in both Kabul and Delhi, there was still a belief that some deal with the Taliban might happen, that power would be shared, and Kabul would not fall.

But when I landed on 8 Aug, my first video report and story said clearly that the Taliban was everywhere, and you could feel the palpable tension Afghans were living in. Kabul felt like a bubble of elites living in an echo chamber, unwilling to see what was happening outside.

It was obvious the Taliban would take power within days. And by 14 Aug, Ghani fled, leaving the country in collapse. I remember calling my editors on 14 Aug night, saying we should run a breaking story that the Taliban would enter Kabul within three days. But they were upset. Indian media was speculating on successors to Ghani—names that were not realistic. From Kabul, I kept telling them these names wouldn’t hold, but they wanted to run them anyway. So yes, many things I couldn’t report then, and many things I left out to avoid putting my organisation in a spot. The book gave me space to say what I couldn’t at that time. And my larger point is this: whether it’s Afghanistan, Bangladesh, or Sri Lanka, we often judge situations based on limited reports, while the reality on the ground is usually very different. Q. It’s almost as if you wrote the first draft in a rush to get it out as you remembered it. But the passion, urgency, and even moments of anxiety in your writing remain true to your experience, don’t they? A. Yes, exactly. After a couple of days in Kabul, I realised my camera person couldn’t make it, so I was alone and unsure when I’d return.

My plan was to stay a month and cover the formal withdrawal of American troops on 31 Aug—like the iconic images of Soviet tanks leaving in 1989. But by 10–11 Aug, it was clear nothing like that would happen. The withdrawal was chaotic, hasty, and then bloodshed followed at Abbey Gate. It seemed like only the Americans and the Taliban knew the plan, while the world, including India, was caught unprepared for the collapse.

That anxiety was real, because I wanted to cover Afghanistan in a big way—something like Life or Time magazine reportage. Instead, I was watching things unravel fast. Still, I managed an interview with Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, something no Indian journalist had done before. I had imagined him as a fearsome figure, “the Butcher of Kabul,” but in person he was polished, courteous, and made me feel at ease. His studio team even lent me lights and cameras since I only had my mojo kit.

He answered everything until the interview had to be cut short—by 15 Aug morning, the Taliban had entered Kabul. So yes, that was the anxiety—whether I’d manage the interviews and stories I had planned. My editor had given me assignments, I had my own list too, but events kept shifting. That uncertainty and urgency—that’s what comes through in the book.