On the way to Muzaffarpur from my nanihal there is Dumariya Ghat Bridge, considered sacred for reasons unknown to me. As we were approaching the bridge I told ma that the bridge you threw coins from was coming. She laughed. So did I. She knew I was being sarcastic of this ritual of throwing coins in river in the name of faith. She took out few coins and threw it in the river when we were on the bridge, a practice I have seen her following ever since I started making memories. She must be doing it even before that. Then she narrated how papa used to frown whenever she asked him to slow down the car to throw the coins. He used to say if throwing few coins is going to bring good luck then why didn’t she took out all her jewelry and threw them in the river.
I guess the humor that I find in some, or rather most, of the rituals is something as hereditary as my receding hairline. :D