There's life after death

Ifonly that dry-ice-filled bubble called heaven had a cellphone network, SarayuSrivatsa would have received an SMS in June 2004. The text message, typed in allprobability with one finger, would have updated the architect-turned-writer onwhat the weather up there was like. Perhaps it would have even rhymed. After allthe night before her love Dom Moraes died in his sleep, the 65-yearold poet hadasked Srivatsa to teach him how to text. "I'm going to die soon, but I want tobe able to send you messages," the cancer-afflicted Moraes had quipped before"promptly" succumbing to a heart attack the next day. Srivatsa, who every yearsprinkles some soil from the poet's Mumbai grave in England's Odcombe (where hewished to be buried), hasn't received any communication from Moraes so far. Buta few months ago, the late poet did startle a lot of his relatives and familymembers by sending them a friend request on Facebook. In hisblack-and-white profile photo, with a strand of hair falling over his right eyeand his wide-eyed little son in tow, Moraes looked like he had just been granteda time machine. "Many of his friends, including author William Dalrymple, leaptout of their skin when they saw that their late friend had added them onFacebook," says Srivatsa, who had to assure them that she was the culprit behindthat haunting page. Srivatsa started the account for Moraes' nearand dear ones to reconnect with him. "I didn't want it to be a data resource butsomething more personal. So I created an account instead of a community page,"says Srivatsa, who was sure that Moraes, if alive, would have reacted toFacebook just like he did to every piece of technology, including the electronictypewriter, cellphone and the internet. "He would have cursed it at first, butquickly warmed to it. I'm sure he would have had a blast on Facebook," saysSrivatsa, who couldn't believe the response to the page. Some didn'teven know of the poet's death and wrote back saying, "It's nice to hear from youafter long," while others like photographer Pradeep Chandra, who had attendedMoraes' funeral, simply pretended that he was alive. "Where are you, Dom? Wemiss you," they often posted. This was exactly the kind of Last Pretence (alsothe title of her first work of fiction) that Srivatsa was looking for whilecreating the profile of her late companion - an illusion that she wants todeterminedly continue. Like Srivatsa, several other Facebook users are ensuring that their deceased loved ones do not abandon their virtual space at least. So, through memorialised profiles (where status updates are removed and the page is open to public viewing) where there's no mention of 'heavenly departure' dates and there are dozens of happy photos and videos, the dead now make their absence felt on the modern way of life called Facebook. They rekindle memories that are at once comforting as well as depressing to loved ones, who type quick messages, through their tears, on the walls of these newly unreachable recipients. Every time, 21-year-old mass media studentDivya Naik - who lost her best friend Shalak Kulkarni in a train accident lastyear - posted an emotional message on his profile page, her sister would say,"What's the point? He's never going to reply." But for Naik, rationality was adifficult state of mind to achieve at a point when she was dealing with thedisappearance of her "extremely caring" college friend who died while crossingthe railway tracks in April last year. For Naik, Kulkarni's Facebook page was arefuge. "Wish you were here, " she would write through a blur of emotion.While everyone posted formal condolence messages on Kulkarni'smemorial page for the first few weeks, now only a handful of genuine friendspost regularly. They include Kulkarni's girlfriend, Priyanka, who still writesto him on anniversaries, college festivals, presentations and other importantoccasions. One particularly poignant wall post from her reads thus: "I can sooomuch relate to P. S. I Love You. . . every time i see it or read it. . . i wishu left a letter for me. . . and den i wish. . . wat d hell!!! U shudnt b gone. .. u dont deserve it. . . . miss you!!!!" In the assurance of thisnew collective medium of sharing grief, family members, too, feel less lonely intheir misery. On March 13 this year, the profile page of the gregarious,fun-loving Devprasad Rajkumar Samuel was flooded with birthday wishes from hisfriends. But Samuel was no longer around to say thank you. At the age of 30,during a camping trip in Canada, where he was posted for work, he drowned. Soonafter his untimely demise, his friends and family created a memorial page onFacebook to "collect our memories and thoughts of our loving Dev/Sam/Prasad".Here, childhood buddies get nostalgic about kite-flying competitions and singingsongs aloud till late at night. Many others have posted videos of Dev strumminga guitar and singing Leaving on a jet plane. The photo albums are full of happymoments of his life. "What really works about a Facebook page for a friend wehave lost is that it lets us share one another's grief, pictures, memories andstories which keep the person alive," says a friend. Pavit Singh'smemory is also being kept alive by his kin but for a different reason. ThroughPavit's Facebook page, created on May 5 after his death in a car accident inChennai, his cousins are rallying for a cause. "We have launched the Pavit SinghSeat Belt campaign online as this seemed like the best way to get people fromacross the world to meet and talk about him as well as learn about road safety,"says Chatrik, Pavit's cousin who manages the page along with Harshdeep. Friendsthough stick to personal messages of loss. Dedicating poems, videosand songs leads to gradual closure. "If tears could build a staircase/ Andmemories a lane/ I'd walk my way to heaven/ And bring you home again," says onewall post on the 1, 805 friends-strong memorial page of the feisty, red-hairedShawn Khambatta. Six videos on this page show the 21-year-old aspiringadvertiser playing with a fire twirl, singing a Beatles song and dancing in hisroom. "Shawn, it seems, once said that he wanted to be 21 forever," recalls agirl who studied in the same college as Khambatta in Australia. Unfortunately,his wish was granted. He died just a week before his 22nd birthday, leaving onlyevidence of his zest for life in the form of photos, videos and writing on thewall. Karan Ashar made a video based on a Lamb Of God song that hisfriend Vinit Nair had wanted to make before a fatal bike accident at NaviMumbai's Palm Beach Road rendered it an incomplete dream. Nair and Ashar werepart of an amateur film-making group in college called 'Noobs At Work'. "We evenwon a lot of awards for our music videos and short films. Vinit wanted to becomea director," says Ashar, who is the coowner of the memorial page, where heuploaded photos from their project meetings that no one knew existed. "Hisbrother and cousins have also joined the page and comment regularly," saysVishad, who created the page but now finds the idea of a memorial page strictly"superfluous". "Except for those living far away, who want to convey theircondolences, this medium doesn't really serve any purpose," he says.However, such memorial profiles do serve as expressions of love,feels Delhi's Parakram Hazarika, who created a profile called 'Miss You Kaushik'for his friend Kaushik Dev Chaudhry who died in a road accident. "Through thisFacebook page I wanted his friends, family and acquaintances to come togetherand pay tribute to our friend. Many who know Kaushik feel weird about the page.But I feel it's a great way of expressing respect." Ironically, Chaudhry wasnever a social networking butterfly - it was only in death that he found himselfa space on the interface that today boasts of connecting many in life andbeyond.Follow us on Twitter for more stories