THE LAST FLIGHT OUT: WITNESSING THE FALL OF KABUL THROUGH A JOURNALIST’S EYE

Some books give facts, while others leave a strong impact. But this one pulled me into a place I’d never thought much about and made me feel deeply connected to it. The Fall of Kabul: Despatches from Chaos by Indian journalist Nayanima Basu is one such book. Written with urgency, honesty, and fearlessness, it is not just a record of the Taliban’s return in August 2021.

Starting with Karl Marx’s quote, “History repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce,” which Nayanima often heard from her mother while growing up, the real meaning of this line played itself out right in front of her eyes on the day when the Taliban came back to power, while the world watched in silence. It felt like watching someone suffer while everything around them was falling apart. That old pain was still present. As a reader, especially one who has never known war, I was unprepared for the weight of these pages. Maybe that is what gives it meaning. This review is not written as a detached analysis; it is written as a reflection by someone deeply moved, sometimes disturbed, and ultimately awakened by what Basu offers. The book has its flaws, but those are what make it feel honest and unfiltered.

NOT JUST A WAR REPORT: THE WEIGHT OF A FALLING CITY

Basu landed in Kabul on August 8, 2021, with no idea that she was walking into the last days of a republic. A few days later, the Taliban took over Kabul. What comes next isn’t just a list of events; it’s her journey of watching everything around her fall apart, including people’s beliefs and hopes. “And as time proved, every decorated promise fell flat as the Taliban

gradually gained control of the country, taking it back to the dark ages.” She does not write from a hotel balcony; instead, she writes as she moves, with worry close behind her. In the chapter “Will I Die Tonight?”, her near-death experience at Kabul airport is described in prose that is direct but deeply haunting. She does not exaggerate or over-describe things. But you can feel the quiet fear in her words, like she knows she might not survive. What makes Basu’s writing different is not just her access or courage, but her honesty. She admits feeling afraid, uncertain, and angry. But she does not run away. That, in itself, is resistance.

A WOMAN WRITING FOR WOMEN WHO COULDN’T

This book is not branded as feminist, but it doesn’t need to be. Every page breathes it. As a young Indian woman, Basu sees how the regime is silencing and erasing women. One day, Kabul is full of women in shops, schools, and offices. “There was Afghan culture, yet there was also an American way of life, where women enjoyed freedom and where jobs were being generated.” The next day, they vanish, not into thin air, but into silence. Seeing women suddenly disappear from public life was more upsetting than I thought it would be. It left a noticeable emptiness. Instead of repeating old stories about Afghan women, Basu shows how they survive, speak, and keep going, despite everything. Some are poets. Some are professionals. Some are fighters. Most are just trying to live, and that should be enough to matter. When I read their stories, it only gave me nostalgia, taking me back to my high school, where my economics lecturer taught us Jean Paul Sartre’s way of describing life, which is, “Life is B, C, and D. B represents birth, C- choices, and D- death. By this, he meant that in between birth and death, there is always C, which is a choice⁵, and there lies hope for everyone until their last breath; people still had faith and dreams in their tearful eyes, which struck my heart. A guy told Nayanima that even if he was killed, his paintings would remain somewhere, continuing to depict Afghanistan as a land of beauty, a land of peace I honestly struggled to explain how I felt after reading that. It was a mix of sadness and helplessness. As a woman reader, I felt the quiet pain in her observations, but also the strength. She does not preach. She pays attention. The fact that one of her senior officers in the embassy asked her whether she i

ntended to become “lady Danish” made her realise that no one would offer any help to her within the embassy. This moment showed how deep the stereotypes ran, and it honestly made me uncomfortable. I felt like something needed to change in the way people think there.

BETWEEN A NOTEBOOK AND A NATION’S GRIEF

Basu’s strength lies in how she combines journalistic detail with poetic rhythm. Her descriptions are rich but never fancy. She notices the fruit sellers, the children in markets, the servants at the hotel where she had been staying, and the abandoned streets. The book is full of such moments that are not part of any war report, but they are part of the war. Her interviews with figures like Gulbuddin Hekmatyar and provincial governors add credibility. But even more powerful are the voices of unnamed Afghans, the taxi driver, the man with a phone full of Bollywood songs, the woman who hands her a prayer bead. These small stories of a taxi driver, a woman with prayer beads, stuck with me more than any facts or data ever could. They made the war feel real. Her analysis of the political collapse is simple but sharp. She holds the Afghan government, the United States, and Pakistan equally accountable and argues that the Afghan state did not fall; it was never truly built on Afghan terms. Unlike some Western writers who either blame Afghans or turn their pain into dramatic stories, Basu tries to just show things as they are.

WHAT THE BOOK LEAVES YOU WITH: FROM INDIFFERENCE TO DEEP CARING

After finishing this book, I didn’t come away with just knowledge; I came away with a feeling, like I had been there myself. This book doesn’t give every answer. It does not try to predict the future or offer policy advice. It does not try to solve anything, but it tells the truth of what happened, and sometimes that’s what matters most. As someone who knew almost nothing about Afghanistan before reading this, I did not expect to feel so connected by the end. It made me care in a way I didn’t expect, and that’s something I don’t usually feel while reading nonfiction.

IN THE SILENCE OF COLLAPSE, ONE VOICE WROTE IT DOWN: HER WORDS STAYED

There are many books on Afghanistan by foreign journalists, most of them men. Basu brings a different lens. Not just because she is Indian. Not just because she is a woman. But because she listens. She doesn’t try to explain Afghanistan to the world. She lets Afghanistan explain itself through its people. As I read, it stopped feeling like a report and started feeling like a record of people’s real lives.

ONE JOURNALIST. ONE CITY. A MOMENT THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

The Fall of Kabul is not perfect. But it holds real truth. To be honest, the book didn’t provide all the answers I was looking for, and perhaps that is a good thing. It made me pause and reflect instead of just moving on. I used to think journalism was just about reporting facts without emotion, but this felt different. It was honest, raw, and kind of personal. And if you think Afghanistan is just some faraway country with nothing to do with you, this book makes you feel otherwise. Slowly, it pulls you in and makes you feel something real for the people in it. After Kabul fell, Basu’s story stayed with me. It helped me understand something I had never even thought about before, a book that I’ll carry long after I’ve closed it.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Basu, Nayanima. The Fall Of Kabul: Despatches From Chaos. New Delhi: Bloomsbury India, 2024.