I still remember this chai guy near my hostel in Hyderabad, back when I was broke and too proud to call my parents for rent money. His stall was basically a steel cart, one wobbly bench, a battered kettle that hissed like a pressure cooker, and a cash box that was literally a tiffin box. But every evening? That spot was packed. Suited office folks, auto drivers, random students like me, all queued up with coins and, eventually, UPI scans when Paytm blew up. That man probably made more profit in a day than I did in a week at my first software job. And that’s when it hit me—street businesses aren’t “small,” they’re just… visible.
You don’t need a fancy storefront or a 10-page business plan. You need footfall. People walking by, hungry, bored, curious, holding their phones and ready to tap that QR. That’s why the best street business in India isn’t always the one with the biggest cart or the loudest jingle. It’s the one that shows up consistently and knows the timing—like momo carts outside tech parks at 6 pm sharp or pani puri stalls that magically appear near tuition centers.
And yes, you can start with ₹10k. Maybe ₹50k if you’re feeling bold. There are government loans like PM SVANidhi, basic FSSAI registration for food stalls, and these weirdly simple permits that nobody talks about because… idk, bureaucracy sounds boring, right? But once you figure it out, you’re unstoppable. Stick around; I’ll tell you exactly what you need to get legal, get funded, and get people lining up for whatever you’re selling.
1) Street Business 101: What counts as a ‘street business’ in India?
You know how when you’re walking down a busy Indian street and you see that guy selling roasted corn next to a lady with a basket full of flowers, and a chaiwala yelling “cutting chai!” while balancing ten cups on a tray? That’s basically the street business scene right there. Street vendors are… honestly, they’re the heartbeat of every city here. A “hawker” is just a fancy word for the person who shows up with their cart, stall, or even a mat on the footpath, selling whatever they’ve got—food, phone chargers, sunglasses, plants, you name it. I used to think they were all “illegal” because I once saw municipal officers chase this poor pani-puri guy away, but turns out there’s actually a whole system for this.
So yeah, street vending is legal in India (yep, I was wrong). There’s an actual Street Vendors (Protection of Livelihood and Regulation of Street Vending) Act, 2014. I had to Google that name like three times because it’s so long, but it’s important. The Act basically says vendors have rights, cities must create vending zones, and you can’t just evict someone without due process. There’s also something called a Town Vending Committee—think of it like a small local jury made up of officials and vendors themselves, who decide where stalls go, how many can operate, and who gets a certificate of vending. That certificate is like your golden ticket to set up shop without looking over your shoulder all day.
I didn’t know any of this back when I bought samosas from that same pani-puri guy who got chased away. He looked so tired. Now I realize, he probably didn’t have his vending certificate. Makes me mad how much paperwork there is for people just trying to survive. But anyway… yeah, street vending isn’t just some random free-for-all. It’s a legit hawker business in India, but you gotta play by city rules if you don’t want your cart flipped over.
2) Permits, Licences & Finance (must-have section)
Alright, so this part is messy. I mean, nobody tells you this stuff straight when you’re actually trying to start a street cart. I learned the hard way. There’s this idea that you can just buy a thela (cart), slap on some pani-puri, and boom, instant business. Nah. The reality is paperwork. And standing in lines. And being told to come back “kal.” And then you’re suddenly Googling “Street Vendors Act” at midnight wondering why you didn’t just get a desk job.
A. Legal basics (where I almost gave up)
The Street Vendors (Protection of Livelihood and Regulation of Street Vending) Act, 2014 is basically your golden ticket. It says you can’t just be thrown out because some cop doesn’t like where you parked your momo cart. You get something called a Certificate of Vending—proof you exist. The catch? You apply through your city’s Town Vending Committee (TVC). They decide your vending zone.
Some cities are chill; others… let’s just say “bureaucracy.” Delhi has zones mapped out; you pay fees and follow their timing rules. Mumbai, similar story but stricter with “hawking pitches.” Indore? Their Sarafa Bazaar night market literally opens only after 10 PM, and now they’re pushing vendors to use induction cooktops to avoid fire risks. Imagine frying jalebis on induction. Welcome to India.
If you don’t get this certificate, you risk daily harassment. That’s not me exaggerating; I’ve seen vendors cry over fines. Don’t skip it.
B. Food business? FSSAI is waiting.
If your cart serves anything edible, you need FSSAI Basic Registration. Even pani-puri water counts. Don’t roll your eyes; inspectors will fine you for a dirty bucket but also for missing this piece of paper.
- Under ₹12 lakh yearly turnover? Basic registration (₹100/year).
- ₹12–₹20 crore? State licence (₹2,000–₹5,000/year).
- ₹20 crore+ (lol if your cart makes that) → Central licence (₹7,500/year).
Here’s a quick table to burn into your brain:
| Turnover Level | Licence Type | Fee (₹) | Validity |
|---|---|---|---|
| ≤ ₹12 lakh | Basic Registration | ₹100/year | 1–5 years |
| ₹12 lakh – ₹20 crore | State Licence | ₹2,000–₹5,000 | 1–5 years |
| > ₹20 crore | Central Licence | ₹7,500 | 1–5 years |
The online form is actually easy; uploading your Aadhaar and shop details is harder because half the time, the site crashes. But hey, carry a printed copy once you get it. It’s like a VIP pass with inspectors.
Read More: Best Street Food Business to Start in India 2025.
C. Money (a.k.a. PM SVANidhi saved my life)
I thought loans meant paperwork nightmares. Turns out, PM SVANidhi is actually designed for vendors. Collateral-free. First loan is ₹10,000; pay it back on time, next is ₹20,000. Third is ₹50,000. You even get 7% interest subsidy if you pay on time. They’ve extended the scheme till March 31, 2030. That’s a whole decade.
How I did it (and you should):
- Check if you’re eligible. You need that vending certificate or a letter of recommendation.
- Apply. Either online or through your city’s ULB (Urban Local Body). Honestly, easier if you visit the ward office.
- Loan disbursal. They send it straight to your bank. Took me 2 weeks.
- Digital cashback. If you accept UPI payments, you get up to ₹1,200 cashback yearly. That’s like… free extra samosas.
My checklist (pin this to your fridge):
- [ ] Get Certificate of Vending from TVC.
- [ ] Apply for hawker licence in your city.
- [ ] Register with FSSAI (even if you’re selling tea).
- [ ] Open a bank account (basic zero-balance works).
- [ ] Apply for PM SVANidhi loan.
- [ ] Get a QR code stand. People hate carrying cash now.
I wish someone had told me all this upfront. I spent weeks bribing chaiwalas at the municipal office just to get information (not proud, just honest). So, yeah. If you’re starting out, do the boring stuff first. The cart, the stove, the chutney recipes… all that’s fun. But this paperwork? It’s the only thing standing between you and peace of mind when a cop comes around asking questions.
Would you like me to also write this section with links and callout boxes (like a proper blog) while keeping the raw vibe?
3) 25 Best Street Business Ideas (clustered)
Alright, so here’s me, sitting with this list of “best street business ideas in India,” and honestly? It feels less like writing a guide and more like rummaging through memories of standing by some chai stall at 10 pm, bargaining over a ₹20 plate of momos that probably wasn’t clean but man, it hit the spot. That’s what street business is. It’s chaos, it’s cheap, it’s everyone hustling because rent is insane and people still need snacks, keys, or a new screen guard. So, I’m just gonna tell you about these 25 ideas the way I’d talk to a friend who’s tired of their 9–5 and low-key wants to quit.
A) Food & Beverage (Top 10)
- Tea/Coffee Stand (Irani, ginger, masala, whatever’s hot)
You know what’s wild? There’s literally no time in India where chai doesn’t sell. Morning rush, office breaks, midnight college hostels, weddings even. You don’t need a fancy setup—half these guys run it off a kettle, a stove, and a plank of wood.
Starter kit: Stove, kettle, cups, counter, milk, tea leaves.
Cost (ballpark): ₹10k–₹30k depending on if you’re renting space or just a footpath.
Why it works: Because everyone drinks chai. Even those “I only drink coffee” folks sneak in a ginger chai when nobody’s watching.
Upsell tip: Biscuits. Always biscuits.
- Vada Pav / Samosa / Kachori Cart
Mumbai taught us carbs + chutney is unbeatable. These stalls earn back their daily stock by noon and double it in the evening.
Location: Near bus stops, train stations, colleges.
Cost: ₹15k–₹50k for a cart + gas + starting stock.
Weird truth: The oil smell is free advertising.
Upsell: Add a ₹5 chai. Watch your crowd double.
- Chaat / Golgappa Stall
This one’s emotional. There’s something about standing around a cart, pani dripping down your hand, someone yelling “ek sukha do!” It’s culture.
Starter kit: Cart, big pots, masala box, puri stock.
Cost: ₹15k–₹25k to start.
Pro move: Keep clean water, customers notice.
- Dosa–Idli Tiffin Cart
South Indian breakfast at ₹40 a plate. People will queue. If you can nail sambhar consistency, you’ll have loyal customers forever.
Setup: ₹25k–₹50k (griddle, batter containers, gas).
Hack: Morning office rush. 6:30 to 10:30 am is your goldmine.
- Egg Rolls / Frankies
Portable, filling, cheap. This one works near IT parks and tuition centers.
Cost: ₹20k–₹35k setup.
Extra money tip: Late-night service. Trust me, hungry bachelors will bless you.
- Momos & Dumplings Cart
Momos blew up in every city. If you’ve got good chutney, you’ll make bank.
Best location: Metro exits, office streets, malls.
Cost: ₹15k–₹25k.
Observation: Steam rising from a momo steamer pulls in people like a magnet.
- Sandwich & Toast Cart
Cheap bread, butter, cheese. That’s it. Add an OTG, you’re in business.
Cost: ₹20k–₹30k setup.
Upsell: Oreo shakes or cold coffee. Easy ₹40 extra per order.
- Sugarcane / Fresh Juice Cart
Seasonal but crazy demand in summer. Yes, you’ll be sticky. Wear an apron.
Cost: ₹30k+ (because juicers aren’t cheap).
Why it works: People trust “fresh” over packaged drinks.
- Corn, Peanuts, Seasonal Snacks
Low investment, low risk. Roadside bhutta roasting smell is nostalgic marketing.
Cost: ₹5k–₹15k.
Pro tip: Perfect for monsoon evenings.
- Kulfi / Ice-Cream Pushcart
Seasonal again, but you can roam. Festivals and fairs are jackpot.
Setup: ₹20k–₹40k.
Secret: Keep a small cooler for “special” flavours.
B) Quick Services (7)
- Key Duplication Micro-Kiosk
Every housing society needs a key guy. A bench, a machine, that’s it.
Cost: ₹20k+ for a machine.
Bonus: People will trust you with shoe polish, lighters, and random odd jobs.
- Shoe Repair & Polish Nook
Old-school but steady income. My school shoes survived 5 years because of these guys.
Investment: ₹10k max. Skills matter more than looks here.
- Watch Battery/Strap Change Desk
One of those “always needed but no one thinks about it” businesses.
Setup: ₹15k–₹25k.
Add-ons: Keychains, rings, or ₹50 sunglasses.
- Mobile Screen Guard & Accessories
These stalls print cash near metro exits. People will pay ₹100 to avoid a cracked screen.
Cost: ₹30k–₹50k initial.
Pro hack: Sell cheap cases at ₹150 that cost you ₹40.
- Two-Wheeler Wash / Detailing Stand
Find a parking lot, rent space, charge ₹50–₹100.
Cost: ₹25k (jet spray, water tank).
Upsell: Waxing, helmets, gloves.
- Photo Print & ID Lamination
Still relevant because paperwork in India is a nightmare.
Setup: ₹30k–₹50k (printer, lamination, photos).
Smart tip: Offer instant passport-size photos.
- Tailor/Alterations Pop-Up
Near hostels, colleges, or office hubs. Fast turnarounds make loyal clients.
Cost: ₹15k sewing machine + small table.
Funny truth: You’ll get odd jobs like fixing curtains and school uniforms.
C) Light Retail (8)
- Mobile Accessories Kiosk
Think ₹100–₹200 items, quick turnover. This is gold if you get a mall corner or footpath stall.
Cost: ₹40k stock + ₹20k for setup.
Trick: Stock quirky stuff. People impulse-buy more.
- Used Books & Study Guides
If you’re near coaching hubs, you’ll be a hero. Students love cheap second-hand books.
Cost: ₹20k initial.
Personal note: Half my engineering books came from these stalls.
- Plants/Flower Stand
Morning temple rush, Valentine’s Day, weddings—you’ll have business all year.
Setup: ₹15k–₹30k.
Smell factor: Fresh flowers sell themselves.
- Sunglasses, Caps, Belts
Summer markets love these. Seasonal stock rotation is key.
Cost: ₹25k.
Hack: Bulk buy from wholesale markets like Sarojini or Fashion Street.
- Imitation Jewellery & Hair Accessories
A must-have near ladies’ hostels, shopping streets.
Setup: ₹20k.
Fun fact: Women will bargain hard but still buy.
- Festive Decor (Rakhi, Diyas, Garlands)
Pop-up season stalls. Low cost, high margin.
Setup: ₹15k–₹20k.
Warning: Don’t overstock post-festival.
- Toys & Balloons
Park vendors make ₹5k+ on Sundays just from kids.
Setup: ₹10k.
True story: Kids will drag parents to you.
- Local Handicrafts
Tourist spots love these stalls. More art, more margin.
Cost: ₹30k+.
Tip: Network with local artisans, not wholesalers.
So yeah, these are the best street business ideas in India that don’t need MBA degrees or massive loans, just grit and a little patience. The money? It’s there. A ₹20 chai becomes ₹50 if you throw in ginger, ₹70 if you serve it in a fancy clay cup. Food stalls can make ₹3k–₹5k a day easy, accessories even more if you’re in the right market. None of this is “easy money,” though. You’ll sweat, argue with cops over permits, and your cart will probably get stolen once if you’re careless. But these businesses? They feed families. I’ve seen guys go from pushing a momo cart to renting a shop in 5 years.
If you’re serious, start small, pick one lane, and watch the crowd. People will literally tell you what to sell if you just listen.
4) Choosing a Spot: Footfall & Timing Framework
You know what’s funny? Nobody tells you that the “perfect spot” for your cart is mostly just you standing somewhere awkwardly for an hour, counting strangers, pretending you’re waiting for someone. That’s what I did when I tried to sell chai near a bus stop back in 2019. Fifteen minutes. That’s all it takes to figure out if it’s worth your time. Literally just count people walking by, scribble a tally, and try not to look creepy. Do it on a Tuesday afternoon, then again on a Saturday evening, because weekdays and weekends are two completely different planets.
I learned this the hard way. I once set up shop at a busy junction thinking “this is it.” But it turns out those folks were just passing through, rushing to catch trains, and nobody had time to stop for a snack. Zero sales. Zero. That’s when I realized footfall doesn’t mean “lots of people.” It means “people who have time and space to pause.” Outside coaching centers at 6 pm? Gold. Metro exits where folks are already scrolling their phones? Amazing. Office corridors during chai break? Heaven.
And don’t ignore competition gaps. Sometimes a quieter street corner beats the packed market because you’re the only momo guy there. Or the only person selling sugarcane juice while everyone else does cold drinks. Also, know that cities have rules that can completely ruin your plan if you don’t check. Like Indore’s Sarafa market—yeah, it opens after 10 pm and now they’re banning LPG for carts, pushing everyone to use induction cooktops. Sounds random, but imagine investing in gas stoves and then being told you can’t use them.
So yeah, best location for street business isn’t just “where the crowd is.” It’s this mix of timing, legality, and knowing your audience’s patience level. Walk around your city at weird hours. Watch where people stop. Watch what they’re holding in their hands (are they carrying bags, wallets, phones?). I swear this one time I picked a spot only because there was a streetlight nearby that made my cart glow. Sold out in two hours. Some of this is math, some of it’s just vibes.
Read More: What is a Sole Proprietorship?
5) Money Math: Costs, Pricing & Profits
I still remember the first time I thought I’d make money selling chai. I had this old blue kettle, borrowed ₹3,000 from my cousin, and a rickety table outside the bus stop. I was so sure I’d earn ₹1,000 a day. Nope. I barely made ₹280 because I’d priced it too low and forgot to include milk wastage. And sugar. And, oh, gas. Everyone forgets the gas.
Numbers matter. Like… actually matter. And street food profit margins can be wild. If you’re selling pani-puri, your raw cost per plate is literally peanuts—well, chickpeas—but then you lose half the puris to sogginess and, bam, your margin dips. A sandwich cart makes you feel like a chef, but veggies go bad fast, and cheese prices can kill your spirit if you don’t buy wholesale. And screen guard kiosks? No food mess, but one wrong peel and that ₹40 sheet is trash.
Here’s a rough table (don’t come yelling if your city is different):
| Item | Avg COGS % (of price) | Typical Selling Price | Daily Break-Even (approx) |
|---|---|---|---|
| Chai (tea glass) | 25–30% | ₹10–₹15 | ~80–100 cups |
| Pani-Puri (plate) | 20–25% | ₹20–₹30 | ~50–60 plates |
| Veg Sandwich (per piece) | 35–40% | ₹40–₹60 | ~40 sandwiches |
| Screen Guard Kiosk (phone) | 40–45% | ₹80–₹150 | ~15–20 installs |
It’s not “rocket science,” but yeah, those numbers can keep you up at night. I’ve sat there at midnight, counting ₹10 notes, thinking, “Why am I sweating over ₹1,200 profit?” But then UPI came along. You know those little QR stands? They’re magic. People tip more, buy two chai instead of one. Folks don’t think twice when they’re not digging for coins.
And ONDC’s a thing now. I met this momo guy in Hyderabad who’s on ONDC. He gets random orders from people sitting in offices a kilometer away. He earns more than me, and he doesn’t even own a shop. It’s like the internet just showed up and said, “Hey, you want to sell from a cart? Sure.”
So yeah, before you dream about ₹5,000 a day, do your math. Count your COGS, factor in your time, electricity, the ₹10 plastic stool you’ll replace every month. Profit margin street food India isn’t a mystery, but nobody’s handing you a calculator when you’re wiping sweat at 9 p.m.
And if you’re curious about “how much a tea stall earns per day”… it depends on your hustle. Your spot. Your smile. And honestly, your QR code.
6) Ops & Hygiene Checklist
You know what nobody tells you about running a food cart? It’s not the recipes that’ll make or break you. It’s whether someone walks up, takes one look at your stall, and decides, “nah.” I learned that the hard way, man. Back when I thought a bottle of sanitizer was enough, I had this pani-puri cart that looked like a crime scene after rush hour. Oil splatters, paper cups flying. And the stink of wet cardboard. I’d still brag about my secret chutney. No one cared.
So yeah. Ops and hygiene. It’s boring but it’s everything. Get gloves. Not those floppy supermarket ones that rip mid-service; the thicker kind that don’t stick to your sweaty hands. Hair caps—even if you think you don’t shed. I thought I didn’t, then a customer fished out a strand from her samosa. I wanted to die. Keep a covered bin—rats love open bins like I love chai. And a water can. Not the tiny bottles. A proper 20L jug with a tap, because washing your hands in a puddle behind the cart isn’t cute.
Here’s the part nobody wants to talk about: LPG cylinders. Some cities are cracking down, pushing vendors to switch to induction. Makes sense—fires, explosions, you know. Induction stoves feel weird at first, like cooking in a spaceship, but at least you won’t blow up your chai stand. Always check local vending rules; they’re messy, but better than paying a fine. And please, a fire extinguisher. Even if you think it’s overkill.
Oh, and FSSAI. You need that number on display, even if you’re just selling roasted peanuts. Costs a few hundred bucks, but it’s your “I’m not poisoning you” badge. Print it big. Customers notice.
Running a hygienic street food stall in India isn’t glamorous. It’s gloves that smell like Dettol and a routine of wiping tables till midnight. But it’s also how you get regulars. Hygiene isn’t fancy, it’s survival.
7) Marketing & Growth
Man, I used to think running a cart was just… stand there, make chai, take cash, done. But no, apparently you’ve gotta become some weird mix of chef, salesman, and influencer. I remember this one guy at the tea stall near my college – he had this bright yellow cart and a laminated sign that said, “We’re on Google Maps.” And I laughed because like, who’s searching “masala chai” on Google? Turns out… everyone. Students would literally type “chai stall near me” and end up at his cart. I watched his line triple in a month. That’s when I realized being “findable” is basically half the game. Google Reviews? Oh man, they help. People love to tell strangers where to eat pani puri like it’s a Michelin restaurant.
I tried to copy him once. Took these shaky, sweaty Instagram reels of me pouring chai in slow motion – looked like I was spilling soup. Nobody cared. But then I posted a random clip of my cousin holding the kulfi cart umbrella during a storm, and it blew up. That’s when it hit me: people don’t want ads, they want… chaos. Honest chaos.
And these tiny things matter. Combo pricing, like “two samosas + chai = ₹25,” or giving out that “5th chai free” card with a silly stamp, people love collecting that. Festivals? Set up near a temple during Diwali, sell anything sweet, you’ll feel like you’re running the highest profit business in the world. Even if you’re just selling corn on a stick.
Marketing isn’t some big “campaign.” It’s… talk to your regulars, stick a QR on your cart, post the funny stuff. Half the people buying don’t even want food, they want a vibe. So give them one. The money follows.
8) City-wise Shortlist (optional, SEO bonus)
Alright, so here’s the thing about street businesses in India… they’re like the city itself. Messy, loud, alive. Every place has its own flavor, its own rhythm, its own little quirks. You can’t just slap a “Top 10” list and call it a day. I’ve walked through enough markets, been elbowed out of enough chai lines, and burned my tongue on pani-puri that was way too spicy to know that.
Mumbai? Oh god, Mumbai is speed. You’ve got seconds to decide between a vada pav and a frankie because the guy behind you is already yelling his order. There’s this one dude near Dadar station who somehow balances a tray of pavs in one hand and slaps chutney with the other, like he’s conducting an orchestra. Juice stalls there? Lifesavers. The kind where you gulp down a sugarcane juice so fast your brain freezes but you don’t care because the train’s coming in 30 seconds. If I were to start a business there, I’d probably sell chai shots. Just chai. In tiny cups. Cheap, quick, perfect for that city.
Delhi-NCR is a whole different beast. It’s… bold. Momos are everywhere. I mean, even the tiniest lane has some kid steaming momos next to a coaching center. Chole-kulche is like currency here, and those egg rolls outside universities? Dangerous. I used to stand in line after tuitions, broke but desperate, and that one egg roll guy in Karol Bagh remembered my face. Sometimes he’d add extra chutney. That’s Delhi hospitality for you.
Kolkata? Ah, Kolkata is slow. In a good way. Tram bells dinging, phuchka stalls where the vendor will test you. “Kemon ache jol?” he’ll ask, and you’ll nod like you know, and then your mouth is on fire. Jhal-muri with mustard oil is an experience. Rolls there aren’t like anywhere else. They’re dripping, greasy, perfect at 11 pm. If you want to open a stall in Kolkata, sell what locals already love, but give them something they didn’t know they needed. Like chai in clay cups, still warm from the kiln.
Hyderabad is late nights. Techies crawling out of offices, chai shops buzzing at 2 am. Irani chai and Osmania biscuits—those two have gotten me through some bad days. And kebabs? If you’re not marinating meat right outside your stall with smoke hitting people’s faces, are you even in Hyderabad? I once sat outside a kebab cart in Charminar and just… stayed. Two hours. Watching. Eating. It felt like the whole city passed by me.
Indore? That place knows how to hustle. Sarafa Bazaar flips into a food street at night, like magic. One second you’re buying jewelry, the next, there’s jalebi frying in front of you. Surat and Ahmedabad are similar—quick snacks, busy streets, but cleaner. Fafda, jalebi, khaman. Gujarat has a way of making even street food feel… organized. Chennai? Filter coffee heaven. Just serve that with hot idlis and you’re golden. Bengaluru? Hipster central. Organic juice stalls, vegan dosas, QR codes everywhere. You can start a stall there and be on Instagram before you even get a stove.
Honestly, India’s street business scene is like International Business on steroids. Small vendors run empires without even realizing it. A pani-puri guy in Pune probably has a better daily turnover than a fancy café owner. There’s something deeply beautiful about that. And terrifying. Because one wrong location, one bad review, and poof. But that’s the game.
Sometimes I think about starting a cart myself. Maybe sandwiches. Or kulfi. Or just chai shots. I’d sit on a plastic stool, count crumpled notes, and smell the rain mixing with dust. That’s the thing about street businesses here—they’re not just business. They’re stories. Yours, mine, the city’s.
9) FAQs (schema-ready)
Alright, here’s me… just talking. No neat intros, no shiny formatting, just me, tired at the kitchen table, trying to explain this because I’ve been exactly where you are, Googling “best street business in India” at 2 a.m. and wondering if I’m totally losing it.
You asked if street food is legal. Yeah… technically. There’s this Street Vendors Act, 2014, which, if you’ve ever read a government document, feels like it was written by someone who’s never seen a dosa cart in their life. You’re supposed to have a vending certificate from your local Town Vending Committee. They’re like the unofficial gatekeepers of where you can stand, what time, whether you’re allowed to use that little LPG cylinder (fun fact: some cities are banning those and pushing for induction stoves—because of course they are).
And if you’re cooking? FSSAI registration. Sounds scary but it’s literally filling a form and paying like ₹100 for basic registration if you’re under ₹12 lakh annual turnover. I used to think it was only for restaurants, but no, even pani puri carts are supposed to have it. Most don’t, honestly, but if you want peace of mind, do it. Nobody tells you this stuff when you’re just setting up a cart under a flyover because rent is too damn high.
Then there’s the PM SVANidhi loan thing everyone’s uncle talks about at weddings. It’s real. You can actually get ₹10k, repay on time, get another ₹20k, then ₹50k. No collateral. They even give you cashback for using QR codes (UPI, Paytm, whatever). I know a guy in Hyderabad who started with a tea stall, paid off his loan early, and now he’s running two carts. It’s been extended till 2030, which is wild because most government schemes die quietly. You go to the portal, apply, or just ask at your municipal office—be ready for some blank stares from clerks though.
If you’re broke (been there), yes, you can start with ₹10k. Tea, boiled eggs, roasted corn. ₹20k? A chaat cart, maybe momos if you can find a good spot near colleges. ₹50k is like big league in street biz—mini tiffin setup, sandwich griller, some branding even. Don’t overthink “International Business” strategies; honestly, street food in India is its own MBA.
Women solo ops? Respect. Honestly, I’ve seen more aunties selling idlis at 6 a.m. and feeding half the street than dudes managing restaurants. Smaller, simpler menus. Fixed timings. A cart parked in front of their own house. Start there. It’s safer, and people trust “aunty’s food.”
GST? Not unless you’re making over ₹20 lakh a year. You’re probably not, yet. Bookmark that for future-you.
I don’t know if this makes sense or if it’s too much. I just… wish someone told me this stuff when I first thought about selling sandwiches at a bus stop. It’s messy, it’s exhausting, but it works. People always need food. Or a new phone cover. Or chai at 10 p.m. That’s business.