FAITH leaders have revealed how they are coping with funerals amid the Covid-19 pandemic, as restrictions mean many are unable to perform traditional religious rituals.
In view of the strict measures implemented by the government in recent weeks to contain the spread of coronavirus, funeral directors and faith leaders have been advised by Public Health England (PHE) to restrict the number of mourners who attend funerals and to maintain a minimum of two-metre (sixfeet) distance between individuals.
PHE also confirmed that only members of the deceased person’s household or close family members should attend the last rites.
Speaking to Eastern Eye, Gurpreet Singh Anand, managing trustee and president at the Central Gurdwara in west London, admitted that mourners have had to adapt to the new measures. “People are adjusting, (but) it varies from person to person,” he explained. “Some are okay with it, and understand, but others are not okay with it. But I think most have seen that funeral directors have been very helpful and they are making sure the body is treated and dressed correctly.”
Many religious groups have had to adapt their traditional last rites to follow official guidelines. For instance, when a body is released from hospital to the mortuary, it is placed in a sealed plastic bag which cannot be removed. Therefore, some traditions carried out by Sikh and Hindu mourners, such as washing and tending to the body of a loved one, is not permitted.
Within the Islamic tradition, funerals of loved ones must take place within 24 hours, but there have been reports of Muslim funerals being delayed due to the strict guidelines and increase in demand for funeral services.
However, some local authorities have sought to resolve the issue. For instance, Oldham Council recently announced a volunteer system which would enable Muslim funerals to take place over a weekend.
The scheme is overseen by two volunteer deputy registrars who are contacted by undertakers to issue burial forms and arrange death registration within 24 hours.
As places of worship expect hundreds of mourners to attend funerals, they have also had to change the way in which people can pay their respects. Many have begun to live-stream the proceedings, including the Central Gurdwara. “We are doing what we can with technology to help the situation,” Anand explained.
There have also been reports of mourners struggling to bury their loved ones, as demand has risen for funeral services in recent weeks.
Former chief crown prosecutor Nazir Afzal has been vocal about the challenges of organising last rites for his brother, who died earlier this month.
“My brother is spending his sixth day in an undertaker’s fridge because the coroner’s office has an enormous backlog,” Afzal said on Monday (13). "Then we have to find him a burial slot and then we have to lower him into the ground ourselves.”
Anand said he had heard similar reports of people being unable to bury their loved ones as services were too busy, but explained the problem could be down to inconsistencies in government guidelines.
For instance, local authorities were currently controlling the number of people who could attend funerals at crematoriums. While some were restricting attendance, others were allowing larger numbers of up to 20 people to be present.
“That puts a strain onto the crematorium which is allowing more people to come as they are usually booked up because people are trying to do their funerals there,” he explained. “The ones which only allow two people or no people are sitting idle, so I think rather than let local authorities decide, governments need to intervene and come up with something consistent.”
Elsewhere, some services have been banned altogether. In Bradford, the local council announced that because of the risks of spreading the virus, funeral services at Bradford Crematoria would be suspended. The council admitted the measure had caused “enormous distress” to families, but said it was put in place to protect the public, funeral directors and bereavement services staff, and was in line with other local authorities and the advice given by the medial authorities.
In response to Eastern Eye, a spokesperson from BAPS Shri Swaminarayan Mandir in London said it was adhering to government guidelines. They confirmed there were restrictions on how many could attend; safe distances had to be maintained; and individuals with symptoms of coronavirus, or who were part of a household where someone had symptoms, or were vulnerable to severe infection should not attend the proceedings.
(With Charlotte Green of Local Democracy Reporting Service)
Jay's grandma’s popcorn from Gujarat is now selling out everywhere.
Ditched the influencer route and began posting hilarious videos online.
Available in Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala, all vegan and gluten-free
Jayspent 18 months on a list. Thousands of names. Influencers with follower counts that looked like phone numbers. He was going to launch his grandmother's popcorn the right way: send free bags, wait for posts, pray for traction. That's the playbook, right? That's what you do when you're a nobody selling something nobody asked for.
Then one interaction made him snap. The entitlement. The self-importance. The way some food blogger treated his family's recipe like a favour they were doing him. He looked at his spreadsheet. Closed it. Picked up his phone and decided to burn it all down.
Now he makes videos mocking the same people he was going to beg for help. Influencers weeping over the wrong luxury car. Creators demanding payment for chewing food on camera. Someone having a breakdown about ice cubes. And guess what? The internet ate it up. His popcorn keeps selling out. And from Gujarat, his grandmother's 60-year-old recipe is now moving units because her grandson got mad enough to be funny about it.
Jay’s grandma’s popcorn from Gujarat is now selling out everywhere Instagram/daadisnacks
The kitchen story
Daadi means grandmother in Hindi. Jay's daadi came to America from Gujarat decades ago. Every weekend, she made popcorn with the spices she grew up with, including cardamom, cinnamon, and chilli mixes. It was her way of keeping home close while living somewhere that didn't taste like it.
Jay wanted that in stores. Wanted brown faces in the snack aisle. It didn’t happen overnight. It took a couple of years to get from a family recipe to something they could actually sell. Everyone pitched in, including his grandmom, uncle, mum. The spices come from small local farmers. There are just two flavours for now, Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala. It’s all vegan and gluten-free, packed in bright bags that instantly feel South Asian.
The videos don't look like marketing. They look like someone venting at 11 PM after scrolling too long. He nails the nasal influencer voice. The fake sympathy. “I can’t believe this,” he says in that exaggerated influencer tone, “they gave me the cheaper car, only eighty grand instead of one-twenty.” That clip alone blew up, pulling in close to nine million views.
Most people don't know they're watching a snack brand. They think it's social commentary. Jay never calls himself an influencer. He says he’s a creator, period. There’s a difference, and he makes sure people know it. His TikTok has around three hundred thousand followers, Instagram about half that. The comments read like a sigh of relief, people fed up with fake polish, finally hearing someone say what everyone else was thinking.
This fits into something called deinfluencing; people pushing back against the buy-everything-trust-nobody cycle. But Jay's version has teeth. He's naming names, calling out the economics. Big venture money flows to chains with good lighting. Family businesses with actual stories get ignored because their content isn't slick enough.
Jay watched his New York neighbourhood change. Chains moved in. Influencers posted about places that had funding and were aesthetic. The old spots, the family ones, got left behind. His videos are about that gap. The erosion of local culture by money and aesthetics.
"Big chains and VC-funded businesses are promoted at the expense of local ones," he said. His content doesn't just roast influencers. It promotes other small food makers who can't afford to play the game. He positions Daadi as a defender of something real against something plastic.
And it's working. Not just philosophically. Financially. The videos drive traffic. People click through, try the popcorn, come back. The company can't keep stock. That's the proof.
Daadi popcorn features authentic Gujarat flavours like Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala, all vegan and gluten-free Daadi Snacks
The blowback
People unfollow because they think he's too harsh. Jay's take: "I would argue I need to be meaner."
In May, he posted that he's not chasing content creation money like most people at his follower count. "I post to speak my mind and help my family's snack biz." That's a different model. Most brands pay influencers to make everything look perfect. They chase viral polish, and Jay does the opposite. In fact, he weaponises rawness and treats criticism like a product feature.
The internet mostly backs him. Reddit threads light up with support. One commenter was "toxic influencers choking on their matcha lattes searching their Balenciaga bags." Another: "Influencers are boring and unoriginal and can get bent." The anger is shared. Jay simply gave it a microphone and a snack to buy.
Jay's success says something about where things are going. People are done with curated perfection. They can smell the artificiality now. They respond to brands that feel like humans rather than committees. Daadi doesn't sell aspiration. Doesn't sell a lifestyle. Sells popcorn and a point of view.
The quality matters, including the spices, the sourcing, and the family behind it. But the edge matters too. He’s not afraid to say what most brands tiptoe around. “We just show who we are,” Jay says. “No pretending, no gloss. People can feel that and that’s when they reach for the popcorn.”
Most small businesses can't afford to play the traditional game. Can't pay influencers. Can't hire agencies. Can't fake their way into feeds. Maybe they don't need to. Maybe honesty and humour can cut through if they're sharp enough. If the product backs it up. If the story is real and the person telling it isn't trying to sound like a PR script.
This started with a list Jay didn't use. The business took off the moment he stopped trying to play by the usual rules and started speaking his mind. Turns out, honesty sells. And yes, the popcorn really does taste good.
Daadi Snacks merch dropInstagram/daadisnacks
The question is whether this scales. Whether other small businesses watch this and realise they don't need to beg for attention from people who don't care. Right now, Daadi keeps selling out. People keep watching. The grandmother's recipe that was supposed to need influencer approval is doing fine without it. Better than fine. Turns out the most effective marketing strategy might just be giving a damn and not being afraid to show it.
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