‘Ah. I knew there’d be some catch to this rapid response time.’

‘Listen, this is really important, Rusty. My grandmother has found her long-lost brother—and he’s Pakistani.’

‘Nice one. My grandmother has also found her long-lost Pakistani brother—and he’s Imran Khan. Howzat?’

‘I’m serious, Rusty.’

‘Have you hit your head on something hard, Jai? I know it’s not waking hours for you, but you’re not making any sense.’

‘I know it all sounds crazy, but it’s true, Rusty. And now I have to figure out a way to get many more people like my grandma and her brother to reconnect with their family and friends whom they had to leave behind in the Partition.’

Jai stared at the computer screen waiting for Rustom’s reply, while Rustom let this sink in.

‘Okay. This is huge. And slightly crazy. But send me the photographs. I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Thanks, Rusty!’

Jai grinned happily.

A little while later, Rustom had sent Jai some options for captions over an email. Jai read them aloud to himself.

‘Option 1: They drew a line, but they couldn’t divide us.

Option 2: Some bonds defy all borders . . . ’

He had barely finished reading the first two options, when Rustom messaged.

‘So, what did you think of them, Jai?’

‘Did you think of these yourself, Rusty? Or are they “borrowed” as usual?’

‘You just concern yourself with using the captions that you like. You ask way too many unnecessary questions, instead of thanking me for taking the time to support all your daft schemes.’

Jai grinned and placed Rustom’s captions alongside the poster that Badi Ma had written on and took a photograph. Then he created a Facebook page called ‘Peace-ing It Together’, uploaded the photograph and went back to bed.

The Little Green Dot

A few days later, Jai woke up to at least three dozen messages from Rustom, who was waiting for Jai to show up online.

‘What’s wrong with you, Jai? I’ve been waiting for ages!’ messaged Rusty, the minute he saw a little green dot appear next to Jai’s name.

‘Rusty, you do you realize there’s a four-and-a-half-hour time difference, don’t you?’ Jai typed back, rubbing his eyes.

‘Well, wake up, sleeping beauty, and check out the storm.’

Jai looked out of the window. It seemed like a perfectly calm day—there was barely even a breeze.

‘Where’s the storm? In New Delhi?’

‘On your Facebook page, Jai! Indians and Pakistanis and Bangladeshis from all over the world have been posting on your new Facebook page.’

‘About what?’

‘About that poster you posted. Of your Badi Ma and her brother. Now they’re all posting photos of people and possessions they left behind in the Partition. Some people have started a “Guess Where I’m From?” quiz and . . . ’

‘What quiz?’ wrote Jai, clearly unable to keep up with all these developments.

‘A quiz where they’re posting random photos of people and places and food from both India and Pakistan and asking people to guess which country the photo is from.’