The morbid maths is seared in Iqbal Mamdani’s memory. “Only 20% of Mumbai’s 80 or so crematoria were working. Each had two electric furnaces that worked in shifts,” he says. “There were too many bodies and too few machines.”
Like many people all over the world, Mamdani’s second life began during COVID-19, amid the flames of loss, desperation and unforgettable life lessons. “We are always taught that the bond between parents and children is the strongest, but I saw parents refuse to claim the bodies of their children and vice versa,” says Mamdani, 54.
Shortly before the pandemic barrelled through our lives in 2020, he had exited a decades-long career as a crime reporter to join his brother’s travel business in Mumbai. When a Muslim taxi driver died of COVID-19 and was cremated as per the municipal rule, instead of being buried, the community protested. The Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC) quickly revised the rule to allow burials. But who would do the job?
Right to dignified death
Many extraordinary groups across the country performed the last rites for strangers during the pandemic. The beauty of Mamdani’s story is that, even after the Coronavirus subsided, his team kept working. They had seen first-hand how migrants from across the country were drawn to the City of Gold, the name given to the megapolis by British writer and historian Gillian Tindall in his 1982 biography of the city. Tindall’s story too was about dreams and death. “So far, we have either buried or cremated 6,000 bodies,” he says. “The unclaimed are mostly from villages but even when the police manages to contact their families, they often don’t have the money to come.”
Mamdani also realised that many migrants, who had travelled to the city to educate their children or younger siblings, ate only once a day so they could send more money home. “They may eat a banana flattened between two slices of bread or Parle G biscuits with tea as the day’s only meal.” It was this that prompted his team to start distributing 400 food packets every day.
During COVID-19, the right to a dignified death was an endangered idea, prompting several high courts to remind people that the right to a decent funeral was enshrined in Articles 21 and 25 of our Constitution. “The traditional belief in our country is that unless the last rites are performed before the burial/cremation, the soul of the deceased shall not rest in peace. This belief… also has an emotional and sentimental aspect,” the Calcutta High Court said.
Mamdani and his friends sourced abandoned ambulances, which they hauled to mechanics and, with help from the police, soon had a fleet of eight charity ambulances. “Four were for patients and four for the dead,” he says. Some 200 Muslim volunteers worked in shifts, spreading themselves across the length and breadth of the city, from Churchgate to Palghar and Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST) to Taloja and Kalyan-Dombivli.
Beyond religion
At first, the group catered to only Muslims, but someone noticed the other unclaimed bodies in hospitals. The staff said many families were scared and refused to cremate their loved ones. Cooper Hospital was the first to use Mamdani’s help. A senior police officer ordered police stations to cooperate with the team and they quickly learnt about the cremation practices of India’s majority community. The police and the railway police were grateful for the help.
Now, the 12-member team cremates or buries 100-125 bodies every month. About 80% are Hindus. It says a lot about prevailing societal divisions that Mamdani feels it necessary to specify that though the bodies are taken by Muslim men to the crematoria, the last rites for Hindus are performed by Hindus. It is also evidence of the fact that the two communities are closely bound in almost every aspect of daily Indian life, from birth to death.
Mamdani always sees the bright side. He is ‘bade papa’, the oldest among four brothers in a joint family that looks up to him. His parents were always helpful souls, his mother continues to aid those in need. “We were always told that the city and country you stay in is yours, that you should live together in harmony, that you don’t harm your family even if you disagree. You take your family along with you,” he says. “Our team is very far from the divisive discourse. We believe that it is our duty to offer our help to all human beings. All citizens should help each other.”
The smell of decomposing bodies in hospitals and mortuaries is an all-pervading, unenviable part of this work. The day we speak, four bodies have come in, all of Hindu men. “8/4/2024, 26/1/2024, 16/4/2024 and 18/4/2024,” he says, listing the dates of demise. Yes, sometimes it takes four to six months for the police to trace a family.
The only perk in this job is the blessings and gratitude from people. And the good wishes of those who have passed on. “We get dua from the dead,” Mamdani says.
The author is a Bengaluru-based journalist and the co-founder of India Love Project on Instagram.
