In mid-April I traveled to Seemandhra, part of the southern state of Andhra Pradesh, soon to be divided into two states after a vote by Parliament earlier this year. Thanks to a quirk of the election cycle, it was in the midst of intense campaigning for simultaneous state assembly and national parliamentary elections. Although candidates for state elections are limited by federal law to spending $47,000 on campaigning, a few I spoke with said they planned to spend between $1.5 million and $2 million. One aspirant said that three-quarters of his expenses would occur on the last four days of the campaign, on house-to-house distribution of cash and liquor.

Parliamentary candidates, whose spending is capped at roughly $116,000, were reportedly spending 25 times that amount. When I asked one important party broker just how much candidates were spending in his district of West Godavari, he replied flatly: “As much as they can possibly get their hands on.”

A United States diplomatic cable made public by WikiLeaks reported that, in 2009, a candidate in Tamil Nadu paid approximately $100 per voter ahead of a special election by distributing cash in envelopes that were delivered to voters’ houses tucked inside their morning newspapers, along with the party’s voting slip.

In one neighborhood I visited during Gujarat’s December 2012 elections, the incumbent state legislator had instructed owners of neighborhood kiosks to provide complimentary cellphone charging, courtesy of the candidate. A candidate from a rival party, catching wind of the scheme, instructed kiosks to do the same — but for a slightly longer charge — on his own dime.

Voters, however, mostly told me that they couldn’t be “bought”; they took from all parties but voted their conscience on Election Day. When I repeated this to a state assembly candidate, he told me that I misunderstood. He was not “buying” votes with cash handouts, but buying into the game; to distribute cash did not guarantee victory, he reasoned, it kept one competitive. “If money is distributed, voters might give you a chance. But if money is not distributed, you are finished.”

The obvious thing to do would be for all candidates to stop giving money, but enforcing such a pact would be difficult. One small-business owner from the city of Rajahmundry recalled that during the 2009 assembly elections, a candidate from the Telugu Desam Party called a summit meeting with his two major rivals. He proposed a truce: Rather than throw away their money, how about collectively agreeing to nominal cash handouts on the eve of elections? The T.D.P. candidate’s rivals fell for it, and agreed to the nominal amount, while he went on to hand out more and promptly won the election.

The deluge of money in India’s political system is shaping more than just the nature of competition; it’s also having an effect on who gains entry into politics in the first place, as parties rely more on candidates who can pay their own way. The country’s politicians are increasingly being drawn from four demographics: political dynasties, criminals, industrialists and celebrities. Common to all, of course, are deep pockets.