As migration, distance and cost reshape family life, grief too has gone digital, from Kashmiri homes and Bihar’s floodplains to India’s first online condolence platforms.

Srinagar, Jammu and Kashmir: In Kashmir’s quiet villages, where families once gathered under wooden roofs to share their grief, mourning is now finding its way through phone screens.

Across Ganderbal, Baramulla and Kupwara, families sit around kitchen tables, holding smartphones to offer prayers for the dead. What was once communal, marked by presence, food and touch, is increasingly mediated by technology.

The reasons are simple but heavy. Travel is costly, migration has scattered families, and in remote areas, even reaching a funeral can take hours or days. For many, a video call has become the only way to be part of loss.

“Flying relatives home for a funeral would’ve cost more than I earn in months,” said Ghulam Nabi Dar of Baramulla. “We held the prayer on a video call instead. It helped, but I still felt alone without them beside me.”

“I couldn’t travel to Delhi because the roads were blocked,” said Safiya (name changed), a 43-year-old of Zainpora, near the Jhelum River. “My cousin had died there. I climbed to the roof, held my phone high, and could barely catch the signal. I finally saw him on the screen. I prayed and cried for hours.”

Digital mourning surged during the pandemic and never truly receded. Tools like WhatsApp, Zoom and Google Meet now aid in hosting condolence prayers. Imams, priests and relatives join from different cities or countries.

“Last winter, the snow had trapped us in our home for days,” said Aijaz of Kupwara. “My son didn’t know a certain prayer he had to recite at a relative’s ritual in the next village. I couldn’t be there because the roads were blocked, so I recorded the whole prayer on my phone and sent it to him to memorise. Later, I watched a video of him playing the exact recording on a speaker there. I was surprised but felt like I was part of the ritual.”

“In 2021, my brother died in Dubai,” Bashir Ahmad of Kangan in Ganderbal told 101Reporters. “Doctors advised against travel. We opened a video call and prayed for him. I cried, but I also felt peace because I saw him.”

Anthropologist Dhuri Saxena said this shift is changing how communities grieve. “Mourning has always been about presence,” she said. “When it moves online, some of that intimacy is lost. But it also allows memory to travel beyond the village, reaching relatives far away.”

Platforms of remembrance

In recent years, this adaptation has led to the introduction of new players, catering exclusively to facilitating funerals digitally.

Shradhanjali.com, India’s first online memorial platform, now formalises digital mourning. Families can upload photos, prayers and tributes in local languages.

“People thought we were encashing grief,” said co-founder Vivek Vyas. “We had to explain that we’re creating a business of memories.”

While most users are urban, Vyas said some rural families also use such services. “Those communities are emotionally more connected to remembrance,” he said. “We haven’t reached them deeply yet, but their need is stronger.”

For many others, accessible tools like WhatsApp remain the main link. In villages with weak networks, families climb rooftops or gather in courtyards searching for a signal strong enough to connect with distant kin. Payments to imams or priests are now made online; funeral prayers are often streamed through a single phone placed near the body.

For families separated by migration, online mourning is a bridge.

Families said digital mourning has become both a necessity and a form of connection.

“Even though we were miles apart, I could see my relatives’ faces and share our grief,” said Imran (name changed) from Kupwara, recalling a virtual condolence gathering attended by relatives from Delhi, Bangladesh and Srinagar. “It made me feel that we were still together.”

But not everyone is at ease with this change.

“In our time, mourning was not only prayer,” said Haji Yousuf (56) of Wagoora, Baramulla. “It was sitting together, sharing stories, helping the family with food and comfort. Now, boys and girls recite Fatiha on a screen. They send flowers through apps. I do not say it is wrong, but it feels hollow. Rituals are not only words, they are warmth.”

Cover photo - Image of Tasbeeh and a phone app (Photo sourced by Parsa Tariq, 101Reporters)