Despite relentless Russian attacks, life in Kharkiv endures underground

KHARKIV, Ukraine – In the war-ravaged city of Kharkiv, where the echoes of air raid alerts are commonplace, an unlikely sound filled a dimly lit underground garage on a recent morning: the soaring voices of soprano and baritone singers.

Every few moments, the singers were interrupted by the impassioned commands of their director, Mr Oleksii Duhinov, as he paced a makeshift stage during a rehearsal for Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s The Marriage Of Figaro.

“You’re standing like a stone!” he shouted at a baritone, grabbing his shoulders as he urged him to gesticulate more while singing. Nearby, fellow performers watched with amusement, seated on rows of black plastic chairs on a grey concrete floor.

This was the new stage of Kharkiv’s National Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre, now operating dozens of feet underground in a garage where lorries once delivered costumes and scenery.

The grand auditorium several floors above, which once held 1,500 people, has been largely empty since Russia invaded Ukraine in February 2022.

When the opera reopened in April 2024, it moved all performances to the garage, which has the advantage of doubling as a bomb shelter. The adaptation is necessary for survival amid relentless Russian assaults on Kharkiv, which is just 40km from the border with Russia.

“This is our new reality,” Ms Veronika Koval, a mezzo-soprano who is in The Marriage Of Figaro, said outside the opera house as air raid sirens blared in the background. “It’s war, but no one is going to stop us from living because of that.”

More than 30 months of fighting has taught Kharkiv how to live amid the constant threat of bombings. In the latest attack, on Sept 15,

at least 41 people were wounded when a missile struck

an apartment building in the city, according to the regional authorities.

They also said that a 94-year-old woman was killed in the attack.

This resilience is manifested in a curious blend of life above and below ground. On the surface, dance shows continue in public squares, and skateboarders still glide across plazas, defiantly embracing normalcy.

Underground, a new way of life has emerged, imposed by the Russian attacks, with schools set up in subway stations and rock concerts held in basement bars.

Utopia Bar, a cocktail bar, opened its doors in a basement about six months ago.

Mr Ihor Huzhva, the founder, said he had specifically chosen an underground location to help ensure that “our customers feel safe”, adding, with a touch of pride, that the basement was originally a bomb shelter during World War II.

The name Utopia, he noted, refers to the “ideal civilisation” that the bar offers, relatively free from the dangers lurking above ground.

“I feel super safe here. I come here knowing that nothing will happen to me,” Mr Huzhva said as he served cocktails in front of rows of liquor bottles lit by a thin orange light. “When I step outside, it’s a different story. There can be explosions and constant alarms.”

To be sure, many Kharkiv residents still cherish their life above ground.

On a recent evening, small groups of revellers made their way to Che, a fancy bar in the city centre, its neon signs flashing in the darkness that had descended on the area because of power outages.

Mr Arsen Kulikov, 28, who was sipping a mocktail, said that Che was one of the last venues in Kharkiv where people could party late at night. “Even if there’s an opportunity to hold events underground,” he said, “most people still prefer to be above ground.”

Mr Kulikov and his friends said people often ignored air raid alerts now, choosing to stay outside rather than rushing to bomb shelters. The alerts have become too frequent to be carefully heeded, they explained, recalling one in July that lasted more than two days without interruption.

“People can’t live like that,” Mr Kulikov said.

That is also the approach taken by Finaribba, a private school in Kharkiv that holds classes above ground, unlike most schools.

In June, it organised a graduation event outdoors, despite the risks, with the children spending the day playing with balloons. Other schools also held outdoor graduation ceremonies; at one, girls in blue dresses and boys in white shirts danced in a public square.

“Children need to see open spaces, light and nature,” said Ms Marina Bessonova, the head of Finaribba. “Life is uncertain, and danger can arise at any moment, whether you’re walking with your child, driving to school or going to the supermarket. Therefore, keeping a child underground all day in a school doesn’t make sense and is not beneficial for their overall well-being.”

After a summer lull, which residents greeted with relief, Russian attacks on Kharkiv have resumed in recent weeks, with devastating effect.

The city’s Palace of Sports, home to a 4,000-seat arena, was destroyed, according to Ukraine’s National Olympic Committee.

A shopping centre, along with various stores and cars, was also damaged, Ukrainian officials said.

A battery commander with Ukraine’s 42nd Separate Mechanised Brigade, which has been deployed to the Kharkiv region to repel Russian ground assaults there, said Russia was using a wide range of weapons to strike.

The commander, who asked to be identified only by his call sign, Bureviy, according to military protocol, said that included powerful guided bombs loaded with hundreds of pounds of explosives, Lancet drones, often referred to as “kamikaze” drones, and 152mm howitzer guns.

In Lyptsi, a village some 24km north of Kharkiv that Russian troops have tried to seize, Bureviy said his unit had been struck by four Lancet drones in just two days.

Mr Maxim Rozenfeld, an architect, said life in Kharkiv had become “a merry-go-round of happiness and sadness”, where residents savour the rare days without attacks only to be plunged into mourning when a strike devastates a residential area.

For Ms Daryna Sokolova, 27, a drawing and painting teacher, the war has drastically changed her work. She said her studio was forced to close in May after a shell struck nearby, leaving her without a space to teach.

This summer, she organised drawing sessions with her students in subway stations, seeking refuge underground from the shelling. There, they drew commuters seated in trains, bringing a moment of lightness to faces often drained from the frequent attacks.

“This is an attempt to do something more or less positive and bring people together,” Ms Sokolova said.

Over the summer, in an effort to lift the spirits of Kharkiv’s schoolchildren, the City Council invited Mr Kostiantyn Bocharov, a famous Ukrainian singer and songwriter who goes by the stage name Melovin, to perform at graduation ceremonies, which took place in the Opera Theatre’s underground garage.

The event was a big success, with students enthusiastically singing along as Melovin took the stage, their phones capturing every moment.

“When they shouted and applauded, they didn’t just do it for 10 seconds before waiting for the next song,” Melovin said in an interview afterwards. “They shouted and chanted for three or five minutes.”

Melovin said Kharkiv residents craved concerts and any other kind of event that could help them “feel a semblance of the life we had before the war”.

“Do you understand?” he asked. “We want to be in those moments when things were good.” NYTIMES