largest Christian cemetery – A half column intricately carved with young shoots stands over one of the graves at Mumbai’s Sewri Cemetery, established in 1864. Cut abruptly at an oblique angle, it symbolises a life cut short — that of a young man in his twenties who tragically died in a hot-air balloon crash. All around are similar half stumps, marking the graves of children and youth — lives that ended before their time.

This is Mumbai’s largest Christian cemetery, set in a prime residential pocket and flanked by towering skyscrapers. I am here for a walking tour organised by the Archdiocesan Heritage Museum (AHM) — located in Goregaon and home to a repository of Christian artefacts dating back to the 16th Century — in collaboration with the Don Bosco Youth Services Centre, as part of their Heart to Heart series.

Each month, the series explores one of Mumbai’s churches through an architectural and historical lens. This edition, however, is being held at the Sewri Cemetery. The fee is ₹100, and updates are shared on AHM’s social media pages, where interested visitors can register via a Google form.

Our guide, Joynel Fernandes, director, AHM, tells us that he and his team have spent the past week documenting motifs, cleaning graves, and researching notable figures buried here. Over three hours, we cover barely a quarter of the cemetery.

Much of it remains unexplored, and the AHM team has only just begun piecing together the stories behind the graves — most of them bearing distinctly Victorian influences. “Tropical diseases and plague caused high mortality among the English, with only one in four returning home between 1770 and 1834,” Joynel begins.

“Burial grounds in densely populated areas led to air and water contamination. The rocky soil meant graves couldn’t be dug deep enough, and dogs and jackals often attacked corpses.

To address this, the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC) acquired the Sewri estate — originally proposed as a botanical garden (now Rani Baug, Byculla) — and Sir Arthur Crawford, then Municipal Commissioner, oversaw the construction of the new cemetery. ” Today, the cemetery spans 40 acres, maintained by the BMC and serving multiple Christian denominations. My own grandparents and great-grandmother lie buried here.

As we walk, Joynel draws our attention to the artistry on the gravestones — the motifs, crosses, and carved pillars that speak of faith, remembrance, and the craftsmanship of another era. The walkthrough We learn to recognise the different styles of crosses scattered across the cemetery: the Latin cross, the trefoil or budded cross, the fleur-de-lys or lily cross, and the ornate Celtic cross. Each carries its own history and symbolism.

The Latin cross, the simplest and most familiar form, represents the cross used at the crucifixion. The trefoil cross, associated with Gothic architecture, features three lobes at each end symbolising the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and is often seen on European cathedrals from that period.

The fleur-de-lys cross, rooted in French heritage, was used by the French monarchy and symbolises purity and royalty. The Celtic cross, of Irish origin, is distinguished by a circle at the intersection of its arms and often adorned with intricate knot-like carvings — a reminder of eternity and interconnectedness. Some crosses bear additional motifs — flowers, anchors, doves, cherubs, or urns — each with a distinct meaning.

Flowers signify the triumph of life over death; lilies, purity and resurrection; anchors, steadfastness; urns, the soul; and doves, peace or the Holy Spirit. We tread carefully along the narrow, muddy paths, warned not to step on the graves — some surprisingly recent. Joynel points to an obelisk — a tapering stone pillar — explaining that in Greek mythology it represents the sun god Ra, while in Christian symbolism it points heavenward towards God.

This particular one commemorates those who died in the Second Boer War (1899–1902). Once noticed, similar structures seem to appear everywhere, rising quietly across the cemetery.

An hour and a half in, we move towards the marble memorials. A tall angel towers over one grave, a star on his head marking him as an archangel.

In one hand, he holds lilies, suggesting Gabriel, but his other arm is outstretched as if wielding a sword — perhaps Michael, the protector. Despite the ambiguity, he watches over the soul below, his wings intricately carved like scales. It is mid-morning, and the sun’s rays barely make their way through the thick canopy.

A few blocks away, a grieving family solemnly partakes in the funeral of a loved one. The muddy ground is carpeted with fallen leaves. A lone peahen tiptoes through a grove of trees, while above us, parrots and cuckoos call, and squirrels scurry away.

Nearby, a woman clings to a cross that bears the inscription “Simply to the cross I cling. ” The grave, however, belongs to a man — the woman is likely his wife, seeking solace in faith.

At another site, two marble angels stand guard over a tomb, eyes downcast in eternal mourning. A wreath carved into the stone symbolises eternal life. Further on, we pause before a memorial showing what appears to be a man tenderly holding a woman, both gazing heavenward.

The sculpture, our guide explains, reflects the Victorian era’s fascination with mourning art, a time when high mortality rates inspired families to commission elaborate funerary monuments as expressions of faith, grief, and hope. I am gently corrected: the man is, in fact, an angel guiding the woman’s soul to heaven. One of her hands rests upon her heart as he clasps the other, leading her gently toward eternity.

In another carving nearby, an angel lowers a trumpet — a symbol of mourning — as he escorts the soul heavenward. The grave of Julia Ann, from Bath, England, carries an unexpected local touch. The two figures flanking her tomb resemble dvarpalikas, female gatekeepers commonly found at temple entrances.

Unlike the angels, dressed in single-piece robes, these figures wear two-piece garments — a blouse and a full-length skirt, perhaps a ghagra. Their facial features and fine detailing suggest they were carved by a local mason, blending European and Indian aesthetics into a single, cross-cultural expression of faith.

By now, the air is heavy and the group visibly weary. Three hours later, vast sections of the cemetery remain untouched.

Joynel reminds us that Sewri Cemetery is a quiet storyteller of Mumbai’s layered history. “From administrators and soldiers to architects, priests, and ordinary citizens, these graves tell the story of Mumbai,” he says. “While a few names stand out, most belong to everyday Mumbaikars resting side by side.

It’s also an open gallery of funerary art — angels, obelisks, and inscriptions that still whisper of faith, love, and loss. ” If you visit on All Souls’ Day, November 2, take a moment to admire the artistry that adorns these graves, and perhaps whisper a prayer for the souls long forgotten.