On U'khand's kanwar corridor, food licence rule revives old fears

Time of India

20 hours ago

Haridwar: Days before the annual pilgrimage begins, a rule requiring all food vendors in Uttarakhand's kanwar corridor to display their licences and registration certificates — documents that include names and ownership details — has triggered panic among a set of shopkeepers.
Muslim-owned eateries and stalls, some in business for decades, now find themselves hesitating. Not because the paperwork is new, but because its visibility might cost them their customers, and possibly their safety.
"If our names are up there, why would the kanwariyas stop at our shops?" asked Farman, who runs a modest eatery in Jwalapur's Indira Basti. Around him, others nodded. They weren't contesting the law.
Their worry was simpler: that in the charged atmosphere of a religious procession, identity could quickly become a liability.
In Haridwar and nearby Roorkee, Muslim artisans have for years crafted the kanwars themselves, fastening cloth and sequins, sometimes adding miniature shrines. "Even those are being avoided now," said another resident, who asked not to be named. "So, they wear red vests, carry towels—anything to blend in."
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It is not lost on anyone that the rule requiring licence display is an old one. Officials cite the Food Safety Act of 2006. "This is routine," said Haridwar DM Mayur Dikshit. "It has nothing specifically to do with the kanwar yatra. No one will be asked about their name or religion."
On the ground, though, perception moves faster than policy. The vendors said the implications of the govt mandate are anything but routine.
"There are around 50 to 60 artisans from Meerut who come here every year to make the palaki kanwar. People love it, they buy it. So why won't they buy food from us?" asked Ahsan Ansari, a local municipal councillor. The question sounded rhetorical, but behind it lay the assertion that commerce and faith have, for long, existed side by side in this city.
Piran Kaliyar, a few kilometres from Roorkee, is one of the places where this tension is most palpable.
The Ganga canal cuts through it, and along the left embankment, for a stretch of about three kilometres, local Muslims set up stalls during the yatra. They sell tea, fruits, and offer first-aid. In past years, the dargah of Alauddin Ali Ahmad Sabir, the 13th-century Chishti saint after whom the town is named, even hosted fruit stalls for pilgrims.
Last year, there were nearly a hundred such setups. This year, hesitation has taken their place.
Shah Ali Manjar Aijaz, the Sajjada Nasheen of the shrine, did not mince words. "The rule is good in principle," he said. "But the effect is that kanwariyas may avoid our stalls. Worse, if anything happens — some incident, a brawl —we could be blamed because our names are on display." He paused, then added, "It's a kind of exposure we didn't ask for."
The atmosphere in Rishikesh, another key point on the yatra route, is less tense.
The stretch from there to the Neelkanth Mahadev temple has no Muslim-run stalls. "We don't expect any issues here," said Lakshman Jhula SHO Santosh Paithwal. "Still, we're preparing as per the directive."
Elsewhere, reactions have been polarised. Hindu Raksha Sena, a hardline outfit, hailed the order as a necessary step to protect "religious sanctity." A delegation thanked chief minister Pushkar Singh Dhami and handed over a memorandum to city magistrate Kusum Chauhan.
Their concern was not about licences or business, but about faith, and how it should be "protected" during the yatra.
But in places like Indira Basti and Piran Kaliyar, faith isn't the problem. The unease is quieter, the kind that rises when people feel seen not for what they do, but for who they are. A fruit vendor near the dargah, folding up his stall before dusk, said, "We've been serving them for years. Now we're afraid they'll walk past."