Couples and wedding hall owners who exceed the legal limits would face fines or prison sentences.
But with the bill just now being reviewed by lawmakers, Azimi still felt pressure from friends, cousins and colleagues to show off his new wealth at the Uranuse Wedding Hall, which was blanketed with lace and flowers and fake snow during last week’s celebration. As is customary in Afghanistan, only men attended that event; a party for women would be held the following day.
Not long ago, someone of Azimi’s stature would have held a modest party in his home. But after the Taliban was expelled in 2001, strict wedding regulations disappeared andstandards began to change.
Parties remain divided by gender, but the venues have become larger and gaudier. Pop stars are hired to headline events. Dresses have become more revealing — another controversy the law aims to address by mandating a slew of “monitoring committees” composed of politicians and bureaucrats.
“People are returning to Afghanistan from outside, and they’re introducing a new culture,” said Hashimzai, the deputy justice minister. “Our purpose is to bring some discipline back to the society.”
But that push for discipline has met with resistance, with critics calling it unjust and logistically untenable.
“Why should the government tell people how to spend their money?” said Mohammed Salam Baraki, the owner of Uranuse. “If they pass this law, it will only facilitate corruption. I’ll have to pay off the inspector to allow more guests in.”
The population of Kabul has more than doubled in the past 10 years to 5 million, as Afghans have fled dangerous provinces and refugee camps in Iran and Pakistan for the relative safety of the nation’s capital. Some have prospered, but most remain as poor as they’ve ever been, sometimes living in tent cities just outside of the wedding halls.
For Afghanistan’s nascent middle class, the city’s wedding halls have come to symbolize their aspirations. Ajmal Wahabzada, 28, watched as Azimi was showered with confetti and thought instantly of his own wedding.
“It was also at a wedding hall, but nothing like this. This is really impressive,” he said.
Enamullah Arman, a boyish 22-year-old who works as a sales coordinator for a telecom company, spent much of the party filming dancers and musicians on his cellphone.
“This is exactly what I want,” he said. “I’ve already saved $800.”
Not long after a stream of men finished greeting Azimi, a shaggy singer started crooning about love.
“I’ll always remember you,” he sang in Dari.
Men began dancing, twirling in circles with arms outstretched. A videographer sprinted around from table to table, following the groom’s brothers as they looked for guests whose hands they hadn’t yet shaken.
Azimi sat on his purple perch, presiding quietly over the affair. Neon blue lights flashed over his head.
“We still have three more parties to come,” he said. “This is just the beginning.”
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