Ukraine War: 'Torch, Sleeping Bag, Power Bank Part of My Survival Kit in Kyiv'

'In my two months in Ukraine, not a day has passed without the wailing of air raid alerts,' writes an Indian man.

The immigration officer, puzzled, spent 20 minutes confirming my destination. “Kyiv? Are you sure that’s where you’re going?” he asked, disbelief etched across his face. Somehow, I managed to convince him —and myself. 

(Photo Courtesy: Parthiva Bhaumik/Altered by The Quint)

The decision to move to Kyiv wasn’t made in a single moment. Moving to a nation entrenched in conflict, its name flashing across headlines filled with destruction, missiles, and despair, has been antithetical to everything I have known.

After Class 12, I enrolled at Delhi University for my undergraduate, but dropped out within a year due to homesickness and struggles with mental well-being which proved I couldn’t thrive away from home.

The following year, when I moved to London for my undergraduate studies, I carried the same apprehensions — but somehow, I adapted.

Now, from that hesitant student who once struggled to adjust, I was making my most uncharacteristic move yet — relocating to war-torn Kyiv in Ukraine, far from any comfort or familiarity.

The author in Kyiv, Ukraine.

(Photo Courtesy: Parthiva Bhaumik)

'A Job Opportunity That I Couldn't Turn Down'

In June 2024, I applied for a job as an analyst at the Tony Blair Institute for Global Change in Kyiv. At a Big 4 firm where I was working, I felt stalled by the comparative lack of adrenaline in my role. What I wanted was to work on issues with a direct and immediate impact.

After a series of assessments, the institute sent me the job offer in September 2024. I had three months to prepare for what lay ahead.

My family, ever supportive yet understandably anxious, struggled to reconcile my decision with the war-torn reality of Ukraine.

Ukraine, suddenly, became the centerpiece of family discussions in our home in Kolkata. For a family unconnected to diplomatic circles, words like “Kellogg,” “NATO,” and “Kharkiv” felt foreign on our tongues.

But dreams, as I quickly learned, don’t unfold easily. Even the practicalities of the visa process felt surreal. When I applied for my work visa, the Ukrainian officials were stunned — no one had applied for one in years.

Each step was a reminder of how unusual my decision was, and yet, with every form I signed and every hurdle I crossed, my resolve only deepened.

'Am I Ready for This?'

On 3 January 2025, I arrived at the Kolkata airport, my heart weighed down by questions: "Am I ready for this? Is this the last time I’ll see home as I know it?"

Even the immigration officer, puzzled, spent 20 minutes confirming my destination. “Kyiv? Are you sure that’s where you’re going?” he asked, disbelief etched across his face. Somehow, I managed to convince him — and myself.

With Ukrainian airports closed due to the ongoing conflict, my route was unconventional: a flight to Warsaw, the capital city of Poland, followed by a gruelling 13-hour train ride into the heart of the nation.

On a snowy January night, I sat in a cramped compartment of the Ukrainian Railways, crossing the Polish border at Rymachi.

(Photo Courtesy: Parthiva Bhaumik)

Passengers spoke in muted tones of missiles and loss — realities that felt surreal to me. A soldier checked my passport, his calm presence juxtaposed with the tension in the air.

When the train finally pulled into Kyiv at 5:12 am on 5 January, the city was cloaked in darkness, its quiet streets stirring from curfew.

A Ukrainian soldier hugging his partner.

(Photo Courtesy: Parthiva Bhaumik)

A local taxi driver navigated the empty streets with casual ease. As I checked into my hotel, exhausted, I knew this was just the beginning. Kyiv, stood before me — and I was unsure how to play my part in its story.

Since I had arrived in a war zone, I underwent an extensively intensive HEAT (Hostile Environment Awareness Training) soon after.

The training was designed to equip us with critical survival skills, covering battlefield evacuation, treating massive bleeding, reacting to gunfire, grenades, drones, and missile attacks, identifying and avoiding landmines, and navigating extensive battleground scenarios environment.

'Torch, Sleeping Bag in My Survival Kit'

The day finally arrived, and I joined the organisation. In my role as an analyst, I work alongside the Ukrainian government to develop policies and devise strategies in some of the most critical areas of governance.

Our work spans public investment management, private investment attraction, human capital development, and de-mining each cornerstone for Ukraine’s recovery.

My onboarding kit reflected the gravity of my new reality: a super-powerful torch capable of cutting through pitch-black nights, a military-grade medicine pouch, a high-capacity power bank, a sleeping bag, a fire extinguisher, and a classic Nokia 105 — practical tools for a place where survival sometimes hinges on preparation.

(Photo Courtesy: Parthiva Bhaumik)

In my three weeks here, not a single day has passed without the wailing of air raid alerts. The system is meticulous, warning of incoming threats and categorising them — UAVs, ballistic missiles, or MiG fighter jets.

Ballistic missiles are the most terrifying, demanding immediate and urgent shelter. These warnings reverberate through the city, reminding everyone of the delicate balance between life and devastation.

Buildings with underground bunkers and the Soviet-era metro stations serve as sanctuaries, a chilling reflection of Kyiv’s tragic past. This is a city that has always lived in the shadow of conflict.

Messages warning of air raids in Kyiv.

'Destruction at My Doorstep'

One particular incident occurred in the wee hours of 18 January. I woke to a deafening explosion — the kind that doesn’t just shake buildings but reverberates through your soul.

Reports of destruction poured in as the city reeled. Lives had been lost, neighbourhoods reduced to rubble. Yet, as morning arrived, I stood by my window and saw something that defied logic — life moving forward.

People navigated the debris-strewn streets, exchanging quiet “good mornings” as though the night hadn’t torn apart their world. Schools, hospitals, and institutions had been attacked, yet the city refused to give in. This wasn’t resilience born of choice, but of necessity.

Personally, it’s been more than just the war — it’s the way it consumes every aspect of life, even psychologically. The constant alerts and weekend escalations disrupt sleep, fray nerves, and make working in a high-pressure environment particularly difficult.

It feels like a defiance of every comfort zone I’ve ever known, as though life in Kyiv is designed to strip away the familiar and replace it with a sharp, unrelenting reality.

(Photo Courtesy: Parthiva Bhaumik)

But even amidst the chaos, it took me longer than two weeks to truly discover the beauty of Kyiv — its people. Over time, I came to realise the extraordinary kindness and resilience of Ukrainians.

Despite three years of war, they smiled, opened their restaurants and bars, and embraced life with a spirit that seemed to defy the very existence of the conflict around them.

It reminded me of the pandemic — how after a year, many of us began to prioritise living in the moment, aware of life’s fragility and unpredictability. Here, that mindset isn’t just a choice; it’s a way of survival, stretched to its absolute limits.

I’ve heard stories of people losing their homes, livelihoods, and loved ones. Death is not a shocking event here; it’s an inescapable part of life. The explosion that jolted me awake that night killed three people.

Hope Remains Alive Through Community Bonds

Walking through the heart of Kyiv, past Maidan Nezalezhnosti, the famed Independence Square, I am often reminded of my differences from others. People of colour are few and far between here, yet strangers greet me kindly, offer help, and smile brightly when they notice me trying to speak their language.

Each day, I am reminded of just how small and insignificant my position feels in the face of such immense devastation. The work I came here to do hasn’t yet fully taken shape, and what I’ve shared is nothing more than the quiet observations of someone trying to grasp the enormity of a reality far beyond their own.

I often question the practicality of my strength — how many days, or weeks, or months I can actually stay here. The people around me, who have lived through this war for three relentless years, exude resilience I can’t begin to match.

I, on the other hand, am still learning how to adjust to a life that challenges every comfort and certainty I’ve ever known.

What I do know is that Kyiv, in all its scarred beauty, is teaching me lessons everyday no classroom ever could — about resilience, humility, and the quiet power of moving forward, one small step at a time.

(All 'My Report' branded stories are submitted by citizen journalists to The Quint. Though The Quint inquires into the claims/allegations from all parties before publishing, the report and the views expressed above are the citizen journalist's own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for the same.)