I have very fond memories of my childhood in Afghanistan, largely because my memories, unlike those of the current generation of Afghans, are untainted by the spectre of war, landmines, and famine.

Soon, he would become an adult. And when he did, there would be not going back because adulthood was akin to what his father had once said about being a war hero: one you became one, you died one.

You say their stories, it is gift they give you.

Kabul was very popular with the hippies in the Sixties and Seventies. It was very quiet and peaceful.

The story of what has happened to women in Afghanistan, however, is a very important one, and fertile ground for fiction.

In many parts of the world, a man's accusing finger always finds a woman. But I think we need women to solve the problems that men create.

Gone. Vanished. Nothing left. Nothing said.