In Kabul's historic quarter, silence replaces traditional folk songs

His great-grandfather, a musician at the court of the Afghan Emperor 150 years ago. His father was a well-known singer and maestro. Bakhsh carried on the family tradition, performing and managing an instrument repair shop.

Until now. The 70-year old had to stop playing music and make his shop a convenience store selling soda.

Six months ago, the Taliban's invasion of Afghanistan has left Kabul without a music scene. The instruments that used to fill the streets of Kucha-e-Kharabat are gone. They were packed by their owners and moved on, putting at risk a centuries-old musical heritage from Afghanistan.

Many have been forced to leave because work is scarce due to the country's economic crisis and fear of the Taliban. Although the Taliban government has not officially banned music, musicians claim that individual Taliban fighters have taken matters into their hands and targeted them, stopping performances and breaking instruments, because they believe music is "haram," which is prohibited by Islamic law.

Nazir Amir Mohammed wept as he said goodbye to his family on a recent afternoon. He was met by a minibus that was waiting to transport him and the other musicians to Iran. There they will be able to practice and share their knowledge with the next generation.

His rubab, a traditional instrument similar to a lute, was hidden in a bag between layers of clothing. It took Mohammed 10 years mastering it.

He said that the Taliban had come to this street and told them music was not permitted. His income was derived from performing at weddings, concerts, and parties, as did most street residents. That is all gone.

People who remain have adjusted to new realities. The street's instrument repair shops have been transformed into small stalls selling chips and soda, or clothing. Many traditional instruments, including harmoniums, lutes, drums, and harmoniums, are kept in hidden places or even buried.

In Kucha Shor's bazaar, which means "Noise Street", instruments are also gone. Shopkeepers now sell kites as a national pastime. The famed music school in Afghanistan, Afghanistan's only one, is now empty. Its pupils and teachers have been evacuated. Outside, the Taliban guard.

Kucha-e-Kharabat's classical music traditions are passed down through the generations. They date back to the 1860s, when Sher Ali Khan, an Afghan emperor, invited Indian masters into Kabul to enrapture Kabul’s royal court.

Afghanistan's unique music fusion is the result of the convergence of two cultures. Afghan folk songs are mixed with Indian classical music. Afghan music, like Indian music, is an oral tradition. The youth learn for years from a single master called an ustad and then carry on their tradition.

Bakhsh's great grandfather, Ustad Khudabakh was one of the first Indian masters who responded to the emperor. Bakhsh, who spent his entire life in music, now sells sodas to make a living. He makes about 100 afghanis ($1) per day. Bakhsh's main customers are worshippers at the mosque nearby.

The shop's former life is now a shell of a harmonium filled with rags. He said, "I don’t know where the guy who asked me to fix it went. He must have gone."

He said, "We don’t have any other skills. Music is our life." "We don’t know how merchants work, and we don’t even know how weapons are used to rob people."

Fearful residents are afraid of Taliban fighters.

Zabiullah Nuri (45), was carrying his harmonium from his shop one month ago when a Taliban patrol spotted him.

"They beat me, and took my instrument. He said that they had broken it with their guns, and sat in his house holding the remnants of his harmonium.

Nuri sold his TV to make ends meet.

He said, "Everything is done, my entire life has changed."

Issa Khan (38), was about an hour into his engagement party at a private residence when a group Taliban stormed in. He was also told that music was prohibited by the militants.

After that, he stopped playing.

Mobin Wesal's home still plays folk songs. The 35-year old singer brings life to the salon, which is empty except for the instruments he has hidden in the corner.

Pashtu's favorite Pashtu song is "Teacher please don’t fail me in the exams." I am an idiot because of love."

He said that he was part of a new generation Afghan musicians who breathed life back into their culture by adding new lyrics and creative styles to the art form.

His younger son sat attentively, listening intently. Wesal motioned toward the boy, "I won’t teach him." He would be in danger.