Hanif had not reported to work for almost two weeks. He was missed but minor queries brought him back. Only within a week did he announce his engagement to his first cousin with beautifully ornate cards depicting a bride and bridegroom in western attire. The cards were scripted in Dari. There was a buzz in the air, the younger folks were in discussion what music would be played and who could out dance the other.
It sounded strange to my ears. But my curiosity and enthusiasm mounted by mid day and I knew I had to attend the party taking into accounts all odds that were clouding up. The odds were great! The party was late in the evening followed by dinner. That meant, the driver had to be lined up with the armoured car which should be packed as a can of sardines. And we had to come back by 11pm.
Basir arrived sharp at 7pm. Upon entering the car, the strong French perfume enveloped me. I was pleasantly surprised to see that he had traded his dark blue working suit to a white embroidered shalwar kameez and a leather jacket. He was almost bubbling by the time we picked up two of my other companions of the evening. We zipped towards the wedding halls on Shar-e naw only to be confronted by a tall glittering Eiffel Tower, roadsides lined with cosmic red and yellow palm trees and other worldly objects. The car was driven through a highly secured gate and up to the portico of a happening 5 star complex.
I quickly drew up my rather large rough shawl around my head and body and trudged in my boots up the few steps, escorted by suave, clean shaven, dashingly dressed young men. Within seconds I was whizzed up in a glass elevator to a very large hall. There was glitter, there were beautifully dressed women in western slinky gowns and coiffure hair glistening with gel and glitter, there were more lights and there was a live band playing heavy metal modern Afghan music. The whole place looked like a casino in Las Vegas!
Young girls and boys of the immediate families were engaged in fantastic rhythmic movements which could easily put our Bollywood to shame. My eyes took a while to harmonize to the surroundings and I felt sloppy in my rough clothes and ashamed at my presumptuous conclusions. I couldn’t imagine that I was standing in the middle of Kabul – it was surreal.
Afghanistan recorded as the second poorest country in the world as per the Human Development Index 2008, expects its bridegrooms to pay not only for their rather lavish engagement parties and weddings but also the bride price, all the expenses of the bride including 2 sets of clothes and accessories for the engagement, 3 sets for the wedding party including decorations, artificial flowers, clothes, lavish dinners etc.
The engagement party can cost upto $10000 USD while the wedding can exceed $20,000. Each wedding and the pre nuptial ceremonies exemplifies the best of Afghan culture, hospitality and grandeur often leading to competition among families which only burdens the bridegroom to live in debt for years after the ceremonies. Hanif works as a driver earning about 600 USD a month. His wedding will be in two years time after he is able to save money and take care of his already large family. He looked splendid in a sherwani and his bride in matching ghagra choli ensemble. The background to the receiving platform of the bride and bridegroom was also coordinated as were the cousins of both the parties.
The weddings are remembered for many years. The engagement feast had been ordered for a 1000 people complete with Kabuli (rice with chopped fried carrots and raisins and chunks of red meat), a yellow tinted rice, boiled spinach, Ashak and Mantoos (dumplings stuffed with leek and meat, doused in a sauce of sour curds), nan-e-afghani, fried brinjals with sour curds, roasted chicken, firni (milk with corn flour different to the version we know in India), grapes, bananas, and cans of sprite and coke.
Later the bride and the bridegroom changed after dinner and got into another set of snazzy clothes to cut the three storied engagement cake. I was told that the ceremony lasted beyond mid night. My team mates and I of course got home before curfew time. As I drifted to a relaxed sleep I realized that I had enjoyed the visuals, the sounds, the heartfelt greetings and hospitality which were all quite familiar.
It was 6 AM as I woke up to the sound of muffled crackle and Phut! Phut! Phut! Phut! It somehow sounded familiar to faint memories of childhood in Kolkata. I knew it was the crack of pistol shots and something bigger. The sounds were close almost in the alley behind us, as I ventured out of the room to be greeted by my housemate who mentioned that it was friendly fire!
As I was still in the relaxed engagement party mode of last evening I almost wanted to believe him, yet something within me said that things were not right. The guards said some people were firing in the air which was soon refuted by SMS and radio messages that said that there was a terrible incident in the city of a UN guesthouse which was under attack.
The minutes passed into hours and the hours passed to a day with complete lock down and complete movement restrictions. It was a sad day as news filtered through. As I stared into the garden in full blossom with a multitude of roses my eyes strayed to the sacks of saw dust kept under the garden shed – my mind raced to find nooks and crevices where I could hide my self during an eventuality.
As evening crept in, our house came together to discuss the events of the day, the elections and the embargo. Each having a theory. We retired only to be woken to the rattling of the chandeliers. Out again into the garden to join in the nervous laughter as it seemed that the radicals and the earthquake did not want to leave us in peaceful slumber. As we shivered in the garden, Mustafa our cook brought in cups of green tea and a pleasant smile to soothe our frayed nerves. What seems chaos to us is a way of life for Afghans – the majestic weddings and occasional family picnics on Fridays continue amidst the elections, the attacks and the lock down.
(Incidences are real while all names used are fictional)