Chapter 27

"Why don’t you go for the party?" Cynthia asks. They’re sitting in the hall beside the Christmas tree, drinking wine and listening to carols.
"I don’t feel like mom," Mark replies.
"It’ll be a good change, Christmas is to celebrate, not to sit around with your mother and sulk."
"Nothing else seems better."
"You’ll never know until you try."
"Mom, please don’t force me. I don’t want to go."
"Alright!" She walks to the table to pour some more wine in her glass.
"Mom?"
"Yes."
"Do you ever miss dad?"
"Never."
"Did you love him?"
Cynthia takes time to answer this question. "Yes," she says softly.
"And now you don’t?"
"I don’t think I give it too much thought. I’ve just accepted that he isn’t around and he’s never going to be either. I’ve moved on."
"Was it easy? To let go I mean?"
"It never is. But one has to," she says. "You can’t hold on to the non-existent. You have to seek your own happiness."
"If he came back to you today…?"
"No Mark. As of today, I hate that man. I have only anger for him," she says. "But then again, the anger, the hate… it’s nothing but a self-inflicted emotion towards him to keep me strong."
"So, you still love him?"
"No, I hate him, from the core of my heart," she says as she wipes off a tear. "Anyway, why are we talking about this? You tell me… what is it that you deeply wish for this Christmas," Cynthia says, desperate to change the topic.
Mark thinks for a while and says, "I wish that there is indeed life after death and that I can see her and be with her once I am dead."
"Mark!!!" Cynthia screams. "Stop talking nonsense."
Mark is taken aback. "What?" he asks, surprised.
"If you ever talk like that again, I will take the living hell out of you," she says, obviously very angry.
"You asked me what I wish for!"
"There is just no point talking to you! You just go on and on about the same thing. She’s dead, Mark. Dead. And now you’re talking about dying so that you can meet her! Do I mean nothing to you? Does no one but you mean anything to you?"
"Mom, I didn’t mean it like that."
"No Mark, how can you be so selfish? You’ll crave to die for someone who’s dead, but you won’t live for people who are alive and love you…" she begins to cry.
"Mom, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I really am," Mark says, coming near her and sits around her on the floor. "I’m sorry mom. Please stop crying," he says gently. "Okay, I’ll tell you what I really wish for? I wish you find the most good looking and sexy date, and then, the next week, you find an even better one."
Cynthia laughs lightly, happy that her son still retains his sense of humour. "You really think I can’t stick around with someone long enough na?"
"Of course you can, a week is more than enough."
"Shut up Mark."
"See, you look so good when you’re happy and not crying your guts out," he says sweetly to his mother.
"So do you Mark," Cynthia all but cries again.
Hesitatingly, he replies, "I am happy."
"Really Mark?"
"Mom, please, not again."
"Mark, will you give me something I ask for today—as a Christmas gift?"
"What?" he asks watchfully.
"Go for the party. Will you do that much for me?"
"What, you have a date coming over or what?" he says, with his head tilted to a side.
"No, I don’t," she laughs. "But seriously, I want you to go. Will you?"
"Yes," he says, sighing. "Now stop sobbing and get drunk. By the time I get back, I want to see you totally sloshed!"
"Count on it."

The superficial happiness and laughter vanishes from his face the minute he walks into his room to change. Now he doesn’t take too much time in deciding what to wear. A light blue jeans and a maroon shirt is what comes to hand first. He wears a beige sweater on top and over that his black overcoat.
"I’ll be back soon," he says.
"No. Take your time."
"Bloody hell! This is like being thrown out of your own house to go for a party," he mutters, as he walks out to his bike.

Baldev Singh is the host but no one gets their own booze this time—the venue is the bar of Hotel Alasia. The music is still the same, the jazz band from Delhi. There are about 30-odd people standing around making idle conversation, as the band plays on softly.
Mark walks up to Shaira who is drinking alone beside the piano.
"I thought you weren’t coming," Shaira says, surprised.
"I thought that too."
"So?"
"Mom threw me out."
"I’m glad," she says, smiling. "Want a drink?"
"No thanks, where’s your boyfriend?"
"No boyfriend," Shaira gulps her rum and cola down.
"Why?" he asks, concerned, "what happened?"
"He broke up."
"Why?"
"He says he needs a change. Can’t stick around with me for the rest of his life."
"What the… hey but wait! You guys were perfectly alright till yesterday?"
"He told me only this morning."
"So, how come you didn’t call and tell me then?"
"Mark, if you haven’t realized, we aren’t like we used to be. I don’t call you the minute something changes in my life. You never bother to call anyway. It just seems you don’t care for anyone anymore. You’ve completely cut yourself off from everyone."
"Anyway," Mark pretends not to hear, "I am sure you guys will get back together,"
"How are you so sure Mark?"
Mark looks at her. "Because you both are perfect for each other. And people don’t let the perfect thing go off so easily."
"But people do change. And suddenly you realize the perfect thing is not all that perfect after all."
"We make it perfect. And we destroy it. It’s in our hands," he says. "When he told you he loves you forever, you believed him. But then you also believed him when he said he didn’t love you enough. And you walked away. Why didn’t you just believe he was bullshitting when he said he didn’t? It’s about what you believe more. I think it’s the former that you believe more. And if I can believe that, why can’t you?"
"I believe it too. But I can’t go around begging for him to come back to me, can I?"
"That’s totally up to you. If I love someone enough, I would beg. It won’t hurt my ego. Because in love, there is no ego. If you think by begging you’d get him back, do it. But if you think he’d come back without having to beg for him, better still. The point is you guys should be together. Why should it matter who makes the first move?"
"So you think I should?" she asks, but someone interrupts them before he can answer.
Malhotra taps Mark’s shoulder, "How are you doing my child?" He’s drunk already and is slurs as he speaks. "You know, when I heard about Daisy, I cried like a baby. She was such a sweet girl…"
"It’s alright Mr. Malhotra," Mark pats his arms firmly, in an effort to make him stop.
"Oh! I shouldn’t have brought it up."
"It’s okay."
"Mr. Malhotra, he doesn’t want to talk about it. Please," Shaira interjects.
"I’m sorry," he says and walks away.
"What an asshole," she says, within earshot, "you okay?"
"Yeah," he shrugs. "So, where were we?"
"You’re okay, right?"
"Yes fat ass!"
"You haven’t called me that in a long time," she says, smiling.
"Like you said, we haven’t been the same, right?"
"Mark, do you not believe that?"
"No," he replies without hesitating. "I just enjoy spending time with myself nowadays."
"Anyway, forget it. As long as I don’t hate your guts, I’m okay with whichever way we are."
"Exactly. I’m there whenever you need me."
"That’s what you think Mark. You aren’t even there to know when I need you."
"If you don’t call me and tell me, how will I know?"
"If you project yourself to be someone who comes right out of his skin whenever someone tries to make conversation with him, it’s hard to pile on."
"Screw the someone Shaira. I’m talking about you," he says. "You know me better than anyone. You shouldn’t feel that. It’s sad that you don’t believe I’ll be there when you need me."
"I believe that Mark. But it just feels you are way too occupied with your own thoughts, for me to feel really comfortable, you know, talking to you. Your sadness really depresses me."
Mark laughs out. "I don’t know why people just go on and on about how sad I am. I am not," he exclaims. "It seems you guys are forcing sadness on me."
Shaira sees Sujoy walk in with a couple of his friends. "No one’s forcing sadness on you, Mark," she mutters. Her eyes are glued to the door, where Sujoy stands.
Mark turns around to see what Shaira’s looking at. "Ah, your man is here."
"Should I go up to him and say hi?"
"You should," he replies. "No ego, remember?"
"I will, in a while."
"Ladies and gentleman." It’s Malhotra again, with the mike. "Mark Roger will sing for us now."
Mark refuses straight away. "No, I’m sorry. I can’t sing," he shouts out to the guests. "I am not singing. I’m sorry," he tries to get off but Malhotra doesn’t budge. He pesters him, along with most of the other guests who know Mark, till he takes the mike in his hand.
Mark whispers, "This one’s for you Shaira and Sujoy," he says out loud. He looks up and says to himself, "And for you Daisy."
The music begins. A few old couples start dancing, holding each other, smiling.
Shaira walks up to Sujoy. "I love you," she says.
He smiles. "I love you too." Sujoy holds her hand and takes her to the open space in front of the band for a dance. "I’m really sorry. I was acting really dumb and stupid," he says.
She puts her finger on his lips, "Just hold me Sujoy."
Mark smiles at them, as he sings:
'Really thought that I could live without you
Really thought that I could make it on my own
Sent you away yeah I said I didn't need you
I let you go
Now I'm so lost without you
Now you're not here and now I know
Lonely is the night when I'm not with you…'

Sometimes, all it takes is that effort to say one line. Sometimes, only a look is enough. And sometimes, nothing is.
‘24th December, 2004
Merry Christmas Daisy.’