Judgement day for brides

Dawn heralds the start of Eid in Tashkent

By Catherine Davis in Tashkent

A silent tide of people flowed through the empty streets. Illuminated against the still dark sky, a blue dome, which drew us onwards, towards it, like a mysterious force.

Many of the crowd wore the traditional knee-length gown, tied at the waist against the winter cold. Our breath hung in the frosty air. Each person strode purposefully forward, prayer-mat tucked under-arm, or folded in a plastic bag.

When the mullah's voice faded away, the last prayer over, the reverent tranquillity was suddenly broken

Around the mosque, the largest in the capital, roads were closed. Police stood like sentinels, at strategic points. Line after line of mats appeared - carefully laid out on the road in front of the mosque. Inside were several thousand already. Only the screeching birds broke the silence. And the traffic lights continued to change.

When the mullah's voice faded away, the last prayer over, the reverent tranquillity was suddenly broken. Roadside stalls sprang into action. Brightly coloured lollipops, nuts and pasties - all were on hand for the eager crowd, now freed from their month of fasting. Sons looked expectantly at fathers for their holiday gift.

Elsewhere in the city, as dawn broke, Eid brides were getting ready. For the next three days, they knew they'd be on show, scrutinised by family, friends and neighbours.

Veiled figure

I climbed the stairs to the appointed flat. The apartment's steel door stood ajar, and, as I pushed it open, a veiled figure bowed three times. The young woman stood under an arch outlined by flashing fairy lights. I held out a bunch of pink carnations, and wished her happiness for the future. My companions did the same.

The figure drew back the veil, smiled shyly, and ushered us to another room. It seemed all table. A wall-to-wall spread of elaborate goodies: sugared peaches, a meringue castle, special breads. We squeezed along the narrow gap left between wall and table, to find a seat. Our hostess, meanwhile, poured tea.

People will notice not only the bride's manners and clothes but also the standard of the feast laid on

This is no casual cuppa. A lot hangs on how the new bride serves tea. How she receives her guests, in general. In keeping with local custom, our hostess passed round tea in tiny bowls, one hand lightly touching her right elbow, as a mark of respect. Then she quickly returned to her post by the door, to welcome more guests.

She also changed her dress. An Eid bride should wear a different one to greet each new group of visitors. "How many do you have?" I asked later. About 80 was the reply. "Some should be new, specially for today", she said, "like this one". She stepped back to show off her gown: Black velvet, beaded and gold-embroidered.

The Eid party is the first opportunity many people have to judge the quality of a new bride. That's why how she performs is important.

There are expectations to be met. People will notice not only her manners and clothes but also the standard of the feast laid on. It's the bride's family who provide it. Her relatives start cooking about a week beforehand, and should bring a certain number of dishes. Around 40 is considered acceptable. Thirty is borderline.

One bride told me she borrowed money from her husband so her parents could provide an adequate feast. Everything reflects not only on her family, but her in-laws, also. If there's too little food on the table, neighbours could say: "The bride's family is poor".

"What happens if you don't perform well enough?" I asked one girl. "Then my mother-in-law can always remind me how I've shamed her family," she whispered. Then she added. "But when they judge you in a good way, you'll feel very proud."

Keeping up appearances

It's open house, morning until early evening. Three older women arrived after me. They didn't know our hostess but came to have a look. "She'll always remember this day," said one. "She must show she respects her husband's parents like her own. This is an Uzbek tradition. Young girls will also come here to see the bride. They'll want to be like her. They'll watch and learn how things should be done."

As if on cue, five young girls did appear. Giggling and nudging each other, they sat huddled together. Eid is a public holiday, so there's no school. Girls compete with each other to see who's visited the most Eid brides. The real kudos, I'm told, comes from remembering all the names.

Despite the underlying stress, these parties are festive occasions. Our Eid bride was anxious but apparently happy, too. She was a gracious hostess and put slap-dash manners elsewhere to shame. In these communities, reputation is important. But for those who lack the means to fund the appropriate party, keeping up appearances is an additional burden.