The longer this drags on, the more people will die, and those who remain alive will grow angrier and more vengeful. My scramble in this war is about keeping my humanity, even my sanity, and writing this piece is part of that effort.
by Anwar A. Khan
I hope people in Ukraine and Russia survive this bodkin warfare. I hope the beautiful, peaceful, happy world I once knew will come back.
Our immediate family and I are no strangers to 1971 war pushed forcefully on us, our people by Pakistan like a scallywag state in collusion with the mighty Uncle Sam. Still, we are shocked and almost broken by this one – Russia-Ukraine war. It's louder, more violent, and more meaningless; and the level of horror people are experiencing in their villages and witnessing in cities and towns like Mariupol, Kharkiv, Chernihiv, Bucha, and others is so much greater.
The longer this drags on, the more people will die, and those who remain alive will grow angrier and more vengeful. My scramble in this war is about keeping my humanity, even my sanity, and writing this piece is part of that effort.
The newspaper photos are from places in Ukraine that I visited during the past several years as a part of my job with a local private business house. A lot of these places have now been bombed or shelled. The the photographs represent the new reality that didn’t exist when these photos were taken. I dream that one day I will visit these spots again without fearing bombs, forced deportation to West European countries, or death.
I sit at in front of my multi-screen computer set-up, watching several live feeds: a camera near Kharkiv; a broadcast from inside Kyiv; and a couple of news channels. The days leading up to the war have been stressful. Being a news junkie, I've been following the build-up in minute detail, checking every video of military equipment and personnel being moved around us, looking at the maps showing troop positioning. I am clearly seeing America like a monster’s demeanor towards this unwarranted war sitting at a far distance safer place to sell its sophisticated arms and ammunitions in terms of multi-million US Dollars and get other extravagantly benefits.
On 24 February last, Vladimir Putin went live telecast. He rants and raves, and officially declares the start of his horrible war. On another feed, I watch a huge explosion in Kharkiv: The sky lights up in a mushroom of smoke and fire. On yet another, I see huge fireballs in the sky over Kyiv.
This is real. The worst has become reality. I run up the stairs to wake up my niece who once studied in Russia and Ukraine. She's asleep with an iPad next to him blaring some random Ukrainian radio station. “Wake up, call uncle, Kyiv is being missiled,” I tell her as quietly and calmly as possible, trying not to scare her too much.
I feel like I am about to completely collapse: Totally disheartened, in despair, I cannot eat or sleep. I feel weak and can't force myself to do any work. But work has to be done – a lot of it. Her friends and their families were then there. They were able to escape Kyiv. The entire household is turned upside down in preparation for the worst.
It's beautiful and sunny. The first hint of Ukrainian spring is in the air – warm sun kissing the surface of their skin; earth that will soon be ready to bloom is starting to breathe.
The days turn dreary and the bombardments grow closer and more numerous. There is constant smoke and fire in the distance; reports of Russian troops moving in closer and closer; the stomach churning pain of endless doom scrolling. l still can’t comprehend that what I’m seeing on my screen seems to me, is not far away – a few minutes on a car. I don’t know what or how to feel.
The days have fused into each other. It all feels like a big lump of undifferentiated time – people’s new life there after this hell has been unleashed. However, my resolve has strengthened. Seeing how people there brave enough, are fending off the war-mongers fill me with strength. I've regained the ability to eat and sleep. I start focusing more on doing what I can.
Our area is almost overrun. Tens, if not hundreds, of Russian tanks and vehicles are roaming around. The stiff Ukrainian resistance in the rest of the country couldn’t halted the Russian war machine. Around people there, there are constant battles. Somewhere not far from people something is constantly shooting. The sieged people hear explosions day and night.
Working outside is scary. When the explosions are close, people run to the basement to hide. Before the war, they didn't even lock their doors and cars, and here some people sitting outside with a big bucket full of keys trying to find the right one to lock the backdoor and garages.
There is more and more grim news from the villages and areas around those people, which we read online or hear through word of mouth.
We hear about people being killed simply for stepping outside. It seems Russian soldiers now have orders to shoot and kill civilians. I don't know if my loved ones will make it out of this alive, but an onslaught so unfair and unjust cannot ever prevail.
The Russians are trying to push through to encircle Kyiv. We can hear heavy combat: the exchange of gunfire, large calibre automatic weapons, artillery. It’s non-stop. Large smoke plumes go on for miles. The smell of burning chemicals and gunpowder is in the air. After dark, the sky is red with fire. Explosions reverberate more violently in the quietness of the night.
The sound of jet planes roars by. Minutes later, there’s a news report that a neighbouring city was bombed hard. Was it those planes?
The first few days of the war, waking up was very painful. For that millisecond before reality set in, I was still okay. Then, it would fall on me like a tonne of bricks: I wasn’t waking up from a nightmare – I was waking up into one.
Now, waking up is a bit easier. I’ve grown used to the sounds of explosions outside in 1971, and I keep telling myself, ‘those are our guys shelling, so I’m safe’. I have no way of knowing this for sure, but thinking it makes me feel better.
My friend, Borysko Andriy, sit with his younger sisters and younger brothers at the kitchen table discussing the news and the latest situation while they drink warm cups of chocolate milk. Coffee, tea, and almost all other household comforts – even basic necessities – are in very short supply. Medical supplies are even worse. Even feminine hygiene products are in short supply. People send requests and coordinate with each other on messaging apps to try to provide for people’s needs, and the local administration helps where it can.
He had a conversation with a neighbour who is in the know about the situation around us. “We are the front line now, aren’t we?” I asked. “We are,” he replied. “There are so many Russians around us, you can’t even imagine.”
The fighting feels louder and angrier. Shells fly overhead more often. A large missile explodes right above them. Wreckage rains from the sky and lands on our neighbour’s property across the road. Thankfully, it’s just debris – nothing explosive and only damages the roof of their barn.
At 10:17pm, he goes outside. There’s an eerie sound – a deep, deep, bassy growl, as if the earth was an angry monster. He can’t tell what it is. It could be tank engines, or it could be something else. But it doesn’t stop. It’s a solid, constant layer of sound in the background. Every now and then, the sounds of huge explosions can be heard on top of it. The air looks like it’s on fire.
He wakes up the next day with that sound still in his head. He will never forget it. To him, it’s what the apocalypse sounds like.
I hate what this war has done to people. In the past, whenever I observed war in 1971 and later on conflicts in countries after countries, I always felt sorry for the people in them – the innocent ones dying for no reason and the armed ones fighting each other for little to no reason. I felt sorry that those people were in that situation, regardless of whether I thought they were fighting on the right side or wrong side. I wanted to hope that they were just people who had been deluded, but that they had been good at some point and still had good in them.
But no more. Through media outlets, I look at the bodies of dead Russian and Ukrainian soldiers. I listen to the intercepted phone calls. There are hundreds of them, intercepted by Ukrainian intelligence. They are posted on YouTube and other platforms. Russian soldiers bragging to their mothers or romantic partners about how they stole them a nice mink coat or a 500- watt blender. It’s like they are real 21st century barbarians like America’s barbarous crimes Uncle Sam committed throughout the world.
-The End –
The writer is an independent political analyst based in Dhaka, Bangladesh who writes on politics, political and human-centred figures, current and international affairs
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