S even years ago, during a very different time, in a very dif- ferent Afghanistan, a medical student named Daoud Sediqi was bicycling on campus when he was stopped by the Taliban's whip- wielding religious police. The young man immediately felt an avalanche of regret, for he was in violation of at least two laws. One obvious offense was the length of his hair, the student had allowed his locks to grow shaggy . His other transgression was more serious. If his captors searched his possessions, they would find a CD with an X-rated movie. "Fortunately, they didn't look; my only punishment was to have my head shaved because of my long hair," recalled Sediqi. Now at age 26 one of this nation's most well known men, is not a warlord or a mullah, but a tel- evision celebrity - the host of Afghan Star, this nation's Ameri- can Idol. Break-away Since the fall of the Taliban in late 2001, Afghanistan has been devel- oping in fits and starts. According to the government's latest surveys, only 43 per cent of all households have nonleaking win- dows and roofs, 31 per cent have safe drinking water and seven per cent have sanitary toilets. But television is off to a phenome- nal start, with Afghans now engrossed, for better or worse, in much of the same escapist fare that seduces the rest of the world. Teletalkies Dramatic and overbearing soap operas, television chefs preparing meals that most people would never afford and talk show hosts wheedling secrets from those too shameless to keep their troubles to themselves. Each night, people in Kabul obey the beckoning of prime time much as they might otherwise answer the call to prayer. While women watch their favorite shows at home, men make TV a communal ritual. In one restaurant after another, with deft fingers dipping into mounds of steaming rice, patrons sit cross-legged on carpeted plat- forms, their eyes fixed on a televi- sion set perched near the ceiling. Profound metaphysical ques- tions hover in the dim light: Will Prerna find happiness with Mr Bajaj? Or for the intra-family and extra- marital warfare waged on Tulsi, the nickname for a show whose title lit- erally means Because the Mother-in- Law Was Once the Daughter-in-Law. Says Saad Mohseni, cheif of Tolo TV the channel that dominates the , market. "People love the soap operas. We've just bought the rights to 24, the American show." What's playing? Reality shows pluck everyday peo- ple off the streets and transform them with spiffed-up wardrobes. Quiz shows reward the knowl- edgeable: how many pounds of mushrooms did Afghanistan export last year? A contestant who answers correct- ly earns a free gallon of cooking oil. Sediqi is about to begin his third season with Afghan Star. He has never seen American Idol and said he had never heard of his American counterpart, Ryan Seacrest. In response to all criticism against the channel, Mohseni calm- ly responds, "With democracy comes television. Get used to it."