No flags, no women, and the ghosts of Bamiyan: India’s quiet reckoning with Taliban

In a scene heavy with irony and history, India’s cautious engagement with the Taliban reached a new threshold on October 10 as External Affairs Minister S Jaishankar met Taliban-appointed Foreign Minister Amir Khan Muttaqi at Hyderabad House in New Delhi.

The meeting, stripped of flags and formal protocol, marked India’s most visible acknowledgment yet of Afghanistan’s new power brokers — even as the ghosts of past enmities lingered.

At the Afghan embassy, minutes before Muttaqi arrived, tensions ran high. An Afghan staffer stormed out clutching a flagpole, vowing to prevent the Taliban banner from flying. “Let the Indian government officially recognize them first,” he said, refusing to see the Taliban’s emblem rise over what had long been the last bastion of the ousted republic.

For over three years, the embassy in Delhi had symbolized quiet defiance — still bearing the insignia of the Islamic Republic of Afghanistan, led by the now-exiled Ashraf Ghani government. But with Jaishankar’s meeting, Delhi has effectively opened its doors to Taliban diplomats, signaling a pragmatic shift in policy rooted in regional realities.

Inside Hyderabad House, the optics were carefully calibrated. There were no flags of either side — avoiding the fraught “Republic versus Emirate” question. Muttaqi was addressed as Afghanistan’s foreign minister, a diplomatic middle ground that allowed India to engage without recognizing.

At the Afghan embassy, however, symbolism spoke louder than words. When Muttaqi faced the press — an all-male gathering, with women journalists barred entry — his delegation quietly pulled a small Taliban flag from their bag and placed it beside him. Behind him loomed a painting of the Bamiyan Buddhas, the ancient statues blown up by the Taliban in 2001.

Afghan staffers, watching the press conference from another room, said they had offered to host the event at a hotel to avoid such confrontations. “We had tea and snacks ready, but we didn’t feel like serving them,” one staffer said bitterly.

Muttaqi dismissed criticism of his regime’s treatment of women as “propaganda,” insisting, “We have Shariah, and everybody has rights.” He claimed Afghanistan was safer now than before 2021 — “no protests, no killings, people are happy” — even as global watchdogs continue to document severe human rights abuses.

He went on to assert that no terror groups operate on Afghan soil, denied the presence of Jaish-e-Mohammed or Lashkar-e-Taiba, and vowed not to allow foreign bases in Afghanistan. Muttaqi also made an economic pitch: reopening the India–Afghanistan trade route via Pakistan’s Wagah border and expanding cooperation through Iran’s Chabahar port.

“The Foreign Minister said we can now send diplomats to New Delhi,” he revealed, hinting at India’s quiet approval of Taliban representation.

But the symbolism of the day remained unmissable. As Muttaqi left, he skipped the main embassy entrance — where the old Republic’s flag still fluttered — and slipped out a side exit. The keys to the embassy and its accounts remain with diplomats loyal to the former government, a reminder that while power has changed hands, legitimacy remains contested.

For Delhi, the meeting was a delicate balancing act between realpolitik and principle — engaging a regime it does not officially recognize, in a region it cannot afford to ignore.

And as the Taliban’s small white flag stood beneath the painted gaze of the Bamiyan Buddhas, it was clear that history, however buried, still has a way of staring back.