What The Eyes Don't See

22 | The Boy in the Photograph

The social media silence on Deep Mishra was remarkable.

The two were sitting in Shanaya's house now, their shoulders rubbing against each other as they searched for him on her laptop. Sitting behind them, on the single bed at the end of the room, was Gina, Shanaya's roomie. Gina had giant headphones on her ears as she listened to music while texting her boyfriend.

They searched for Deep Mishra on Facebook, and then on Instagram, and even on Twitter. Facebook threw up about a hundred names, and it took them a while to go through each of those profiles. None of them matched him. They found a couple of ghost profiles—profiles with no images and not a single post. One of those could have been their guy, but what was the way to tell?

"How can a guy in his twenties not be on social media in this day and age?" Anay asked.

"I don't remember him much," Shanaya said as she went on tapping her trackpad. "He was a reserved shy sort of guy. You know how it was in our school back then. Boys and girls did not talk much with each other. I know him a bit because I was in charge of daily attendance. But what about you, man? You are a guy. You might have talked to him at some point."

"Might have. I talked to everyone. But who remembers?"

They went on searching, and nothing came up. "Let's look for our other classmates," Shanaya said. "Maybe someone will know."

"You look. I have totally lost touch." He stood near the window and lit up a cigarette. He got busy throwing smoke rings in the air, and avoiding looking at Gina directly, when Shanaya suddenly let out a cry.

"What's that?" Anay said, rushing up to her.

"Look who I found," Shanaya said, pointing at the picture of a man in his fifties. Anay squinted at the picture. "Don't you remember him? Ashok Dubey. He's Ashok sir, ya! Our History teacher."

"Oh yes... I remember him now. He looks so different with all the grey hair."

"He does. And look... he's in Mumbai now. In fact..." Shanaya looked at the pictures on his profile. "...these places are all familiar. Oh, wow! He's in Malad. That's very close. Let me message him."

"Are you sure it's a good idea?"

"What's the harm? And Ashok sir is the best bet, ya. He knew not only every student's name but also their father's name. I am sending him a friend request. And... sent."

Shanaya came up and stood by Anay near the window. He didn't look at her. His gaze was fixed on the skyline of the city. In the fading darkness of the early evening, the skyline looked like an organism itself, that consumed millions like him every day, presenting them with new troubles constantly. Was it the city's way of ensuring who survived and who perished?

"We'll get through this, Anay," she said.

Her words gave him hope. He knew very little could be done by anyone, but it was comforting to know there was someone.

A notification alert popped up on the computer. Shanaya ran to check, and shrieked, "He accepted my friend request, ya!"

She sat down and quickly sent a message.

'Hello, sir. Do you remember me? It's Shanaya.'

Instantly, there was a message being typed. Shanaya almost squealed and grabbed Anay's hand. But Anay realized that her excitement wasn't because they had found a thread to solve his mystery; it was because she was chatting with her schoolteacher of fifteen years ago. Why did reconnecting with the dead and buried past make people so happy?

His message was long and grammatically correct, typical of a schoolteacher.

'So good to hear from you, Shanaya! Of course, I remember you. How are you doing, beta?'