Kabul - The Journey Begins

Standing in line to check in at the Delhi airport, I can't help but notice the luggage people are carrying. Some Afghans are importing home appliances. Some others with kids are carrying folders of medical records from Delhi hospitals. A Sikh couple is holding bags brand-named: COMBAT!

The Safi Airline flight is nice and sparsely populated. They don't serve coffee. “It's too short a flight,” says the steward. A reminder of how close Kabul is to Delhi.

The plane flies over Islamabad and then, suddenly, the earth rises up in rocky folds. Then the great peaks of the Hindu Kush, a few dusted with snow at the top. As the Boeing bird approaches Kabul it flies over brown mountains and hills, wrinkled by ages of unsparing elemental fury. This is visibly tough country -- a valley wedged about 6000 ft above mean sea level in the Hindu Kush ranges. Imagine warriors on horse and foot passing these sentinels centuries ago. Once they crossed them, they were in Hindustan. Now there is another country in between.

The plane banks left and Kabul comes into view. Kabul is brown and ochre. Earthy.

As we step out of the plane thunderous clackety-clack of a heavy helicopter lifting off hits the ears. It is a sound that stays with you, because it is there 24X7. Chopper traffic is heavy over Kabul. They ferry men and supplies to the scattered bases of various international aid agencies and armies that have made Afghanistan their home for the past decade. Now many of them want to go home -- where they belong.