The two businesses often merge for the Sirsats and they not only provide all the ingredients needed for Hindu funerals but also flower crosses and wreaths for Christian last rites ceremonies.

Rich or poor, you have to complete funeral rites and places like these are the only option if you want to get everything you need quickly,” says Vishwanath. “The business dates back to 1922, when my grandfather opened a small shop dealing in funeral products under the shade of this tree,” he says while pointing at a tree on the sidewalk.Chirshanti, Parel:U nlike its contemporaries, Chirshanti, located at the New Municipal Building in Parel, is anything but run-down. Sukhdev Lokhande, who had been resting under the shade, rouses himself and explains the nitty-gritties of the business.Within a stone’s throw from some of the biggest hospitals in the city, are one-stop shops specialising in last ritesStationed close to some Mumbai’s biggest hospitals, nestled within busy market places are one-stop shops that specialise in last rites. The owner of the shop, Sanket Sitaram Shirsat, dressed in a spiffy pair of trousers and a button-down, explains that his family runs a parallel horticulture business in Panvel, and that this funeral items’ shop has only been kept open for sentiment’s sake.” Like any businessman, Lokhande offers deals on the merchandise. Flanked by eateries on either side, and a newspaper stall in front, it looks more like a Xerox and lamination shop than a funeral shop.  Antim Sanskar, Dadar:For Sneha and Sakharam, a husband-and-wife team that runs Antim Sanskar near Dadar Bridge, business is not what it had once been. “We get all sorts of people here. “No one will ever be able to close down this shop,” says a confident Sakharam as he leans against the rickety door. Shamshaanbhumi, Sion:Following the same line of medical shops that lead to Aatmashanti, one finds oneself outside the Shamshaanbhumi. From jars of haldi and kumkum to bamboo mats and wood shavings, they store it all. Along with a display of garlands, woven cane chattais and a fridge-full of water bottles and cold drinks for the tired mourners, there is a board that lists the prices of package deals for funerals — `1,000 is listed for Maharashtrian Brahmins, while Jains, Marwaris and Sindhis are listed for packages of `900. Upon entering some of artificial fur fabric manufacturers these, we found that they have a world of their own, one that happens to be built around death. It has been one of the many cubbyhole shops that line the ground floor of the building since the 1970s. “We have a lot of people from the Dharavi chawls coming in, who cannot afford the regular package rates,” she explains.  

Vishwanath Yadav’s ancestor started this shop right within the premises of the crematorium over a 100 years ago. Their shelves are stocked with everything you need for a funeral — customised to fit religious and ritualistic requirements.” To supplement their death-related business dealings, the resourceful woman also sells plastic bags, a hot commodity in the bustling Dadar market. Atma Shanti, Sion:Past a row of medical shops in a lane close to the Sion Hospital, Aatma Shanti is the size of a small roadside barbershop. Package deals worth of `960 are offered on the merchandise if a customer wants to buy all the items necessary for the funeral. The shop has been around since the 1940s, and is, according to Sukhdev, as essential to the city’s fabric as the medical shops cluttering the streets outside hospitals. Pedestrians pass by these unassuming shops without a second glance, often mistaking them for grocery stores. “They make a huge spectacle of the whole thing, you’d think it’s a baraat, not a procession of mourners,” she adds with a laugh.  

The mortuary staff members of Sion Hospital direct people to the shop, thereby reducing their hassle. “We don’t get as many people as we used to at one time,” laments Sneha, adding, “A lot of our upper-class clients don’t come anymore as they prefer to get ambulances and cars to transfer the body of the deceased. Sneha also talks about special concessions for poorer sections of society. This shop too has been around for more than 100 years and its legacy spans across three generations. “In villages, when someone passes away, you have a bunch of people coming to help out,” he says, adding, “In cities, we are the best solution in a time when you are not in the state of mind to take care of these details. “Although we don’t have goods for other religions, we do give them cotton sheets,” he adds. Vishwanath, who is in his 60s, says that he is the third generation of the Yadavs to have continued the family business.