Kishore Singh: All for a 'holy' cause

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After a six-hour, bone-rattling journey across what must be the worst highway in India, I found myself on the ghats of Haridwar, awestruck by the enterprise that seems to flourish in this riverside town. Hinduism here is pure commerce. While my brother-in-law and his wife negotiated the price for the rituals that would guarantee salvation for his father's soul, a coterie of touts insisted they would do the same task far faster and for less provided he was willing to bring his custom their way.

Haridwar, in fact, is a great lesson in value for money where you pretty much get what you pay for. So, having agreed on a suitable price, while my brother-in-law and sister-in-law left to perform the ablutions that are part of the exercise, I watched the river gush past the ghats, carrying offerings of flowers, clothes, hair "" all of it to be netted only a few yards downstream to be recycled again, and yet again: the flowers delicately rearranged in little leaf boats for the evening aarti, the clothes to be sold as seconds in haats, the hair used for making wigs...

In Haridwar, they don't leave you in peace, not for one moment. Men in official-looking clothes wandered amidst the scores of bewildered looking pilgrims, accosting them to offer them the services of their "trust", provided they were willing to put down a donation first for "feeding orphans", "caring for widows", "building a temple"...take your pick. Little girls carrying thaalis would put dots of vermilion and turmeric on your forehead before demanding charity "for little girls", giggling and pocketing the money with a slyness at odds with their age. There was the usual gaggle of rural India "" ear-cleaners and masseurs and trinket-sellers flogging impossibly tacky watches and "goggles" and toys.

In the river, women dispensed with modesty to take a dip in the cold waters, and men stripped down to their underwear to follow suit, scooping up palmfuls of "holy" water, while next to them, urchins rinsed used teacups and plates, and women washed their clothes. Priests performing the mandatory pujas for the thousands who flock to Haridwar, bathed images of gods in the same water, scooping up the soapy suds in little tumblers to offer for sipping as part of the prayers.

Standing midstream in the roiling current, a teenager with a nylon rope cast one end weighted down with rings of magnets into the river, pulling it up repeatedly to remove any coins that may have attached themselves to the magnets. It was clear his diligence was paying rich dividends; it also helped that he had positioned himself just downstream of the spot where priests asked the devout to add some coins to their offerings to the river!

But too much commerce is mind-numbing, and after a while I opened my laptop to read emails and respond to them. Having exhausted all work possibilities, I decided to spend the time waiting for my brother-in-law by Googling sites on Haridwar, Hinduism and so on. Some time into the effort, I was poring over images of the ten avatars when someone dropped a few coins in front of the laptop. Before I could react, or protest that I wasn't an impoverished mendicant, the pilgrim had moved on. Amused, I tossed the coins into the river where, no doubt, they were picked up by the intrepid teenager with his magnets.

Though I continued to work on my laptop for some time after, no one else seemed inclined towards charity. But I am sure if I chose to, there is money to be made for my efforts in Haridwar "" and all in the name of god.