Pramod Thomas is a senior correspondent with Asian Media Group since 2020, bringing 19 years of journalism experience across business, politics, sports, communities, and international relations. His career spans both traditional and digital media platforms, with eight years specifically focused on digital journalism. This blend of experience positions him well to navigate the evolving media landscape and deliver content across various formats. He has worked with national and international media organisations, giving him a broad perspective on global news trends and reporting standards.
AT LEAST seven crematoriums and graveyards in India's western city of Surat saw a more than three-fold rise in the number of cremations and burials last month compared with a year ago, suggesting many more Covid-19 fatalities than an official tally.
The data, gathered from site visits and logs reviewed by Reuters, shows the facilities buried or cremated more than 6,520 bodies in April 2021, up from about 1,980 in April 2020, in the early part of the first wave of coronavirus infections.
Official data for the district of Surat, home to about 6 million people, indicates however that a total of only 585 Covid-19 deaths were recorded for both the city and district in April this year.
The discrepancy between the number of deaths recorded by the crematoriums and graveyards and those officially linked to the virus raises questions about the accuracy of Surat's fatality data at a time when healthcare experts have raised concern about significant underreporting of Covid-19 deaths across India.
Surat municipal commissioner Banchha Nidhi Pani said large numbers of patients had come from outside the city, inflating the figures from the city's crematoriums and graveyards.
"The increase in the number of deaths can be largely attributed to this," he said.
State government data shows 1,205 probable Covid-19 deaths in Surat in April were those of people from other places, he said.
There were reports that several major cities were reporting far larger numbers of cremations and burials under coronavirus protocols than official Covid-19 death tolls.
The new figures, from all of the large facilities in Surat, are among the most comprehensive for an Indian city to date.
They tally with media reports from hospitals and death certificate data across the state of Gujarat, home to Surat.
Divya Bhaskar, a Gujarati-language newspaper, reported 123,873 death certificates were issued in the state from March 1 to May 10, up from 58,068 for the corresponding period last year. Registered deaths in Surat rose by a similar amount.
Gujarat’s junior home minister, Pradipsinh Jadeja, said in response that the state government had a transparent online system of issuing death certificates, and the disparity could stem from delayed reporting in the same 2020 period because of a coronavirus lockdown nationwide.
'Tsunami of bodies'
At Ashwini Kumar crematorium, the largest in the city best known for its diamond-polishing industry, there were 3,129 cremations in April, according to trustee Prashant Kabrawala.
That is up from about 1,200 in April 2020.
Nine gas crematoriums, capable of processing a body every 45 minutes, worked non-stop, with some relatives not being given time to pay their respects, he said.
"It was like a tsunami of bodies," said Subash, a senior official at the cremation ground, who declined to be identified by his second name.
"We were going to collect bodies from hospitals every 25 to 30 minutes. Even at night the surge did not stop."
At Kurukshetra crematorium, the city's second largest, furnaces ran for so long without a break that a chimney collapsed because of overheating.
White smoke bellowed out of three chimneys as bodies were being burnt.
The facility cremated more than 100 bodies a day on several days in April, according to records.
At a crematorium in the Umra area - the city's third largest - Reuters reviewed data showing 212 bodies were cremated in April 2020. This year, it rose to 874.
The trend was the same at four Muslim burial grounds, where workers have had to hire mechanical excavators to keep up with demand.
At the Gore Gariba Kabrastan, the oldest and largest graveyard in Surat, the number of burials jumped to an all-time high of 91 in April this year, compared with 19 in the same month last year, according to Aiyub Mohamed Yacoobali, secretary and managing trustee of the site.
"The average number is around 20 a month, but this April has been extraordinarily harsh," he said.
The graveyard employs four permanent grave diggers but had to hire two more due to the unprecedented rush for burials. Even that wasn't enough.
"The six grave diggers were working non-stop, but the situation was still unmanageable," Yacoobali said.
"We had to hire a JCB in April to dig the graves," he said, referring to a mechanical digger.
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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