Exit the Taliban, enter James Bond and Iranian soaps

"We had shelves at home with secret places carved out behind, where we kept the tapes," Mr. Sharifi says. "It was a miracle that I was never caught."

Today, his inventory lines one wall of his shop. The latest James Bond film, "The World is Not Enough," and other Hollywood releases, are outnumbered by Indian titles with alluring women on the covers. They share space with sugary fruit-juice boxes, detergent, and cans of Pepsi Cola. His co-conspirators were a number of Pakistani travel agents who ferried videos, and even the Taliban themselves, whom he says he bribed at checkpoints.

Business is booming. Sharifi rents 40 to 50 tapes per night, he says, at about 50 cents each. But cash wasn't the only reason he began this line of work. "I was so bored, and there were so many like me - we couldn't do anything we wanted," Sharifi says, as customers outside his shop eyeball film posters. "I needed money, but it was against the Taliban. That's why we did it."

Change is evident almost everywhere in Kabul. Afghan TV began broadcasting again on Monday, with women newsreaders returning to the airwaves (the Taliban had banned women from work outside the home) wearing only headscarves, not the previously required head-to-toe burqas.

Not even a Harry Potter première in New York or London could match the enthusiasm of crowds outside the Bakhtar Cinema in downtown Kabul this week. Rioting broke out Monday when the theater opened. In the first three days, some 3,000 people have crammed the dusty hallways and big auditorium of the cinema - lending an odorous air of suffocation as Afghan and Indian films played scratchily on the big screen.

"People love the cinema very much, and we were very sad and depressed during these five years," says Hossein Ahmadi, the ticket taker who hid five of the movie "pie tins" in his own home. His eyes twinkle at the thought of the return of his celluloid heroes.

The building was one of 17 cinemas in the city that have been locked for half a decade. Now, a long string of bikes owned by moviegoers are lined up outside. Guards at the entrance frisk every ticketholder. Numbers are issued, and patrons must handover brass knuckles, switchblades, radios - even Kalashnikov assault rifles - at the door.

Upstairs, the projector clatters with the sound of the silver screen era; projectionist Mohamed Yassin - until days ago, selling trousers and shirts on the street - is back at his old job.

"Many people love to watch films; we don't have any other amusements," he says, rewinding the movies manually, "dusting" the film as it pulls through his fingers. "This is the place people come to have fun."

But as Afghans crowd into the dark cavern of the theater - eager to escape the harsh realities of their nation after two decades of war - what is it they choose to watch?

An Afghan-made film called "Horouj" ("Offensive") - about mujahideen fighters on the battlefront.

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