The Direction of the Wind: A Novel(81)

“There’s one other thing,” Sophie says, drawing in a long breath. “She had another child. A son. With a man she met here.”

If Vaishali Foi had been speechless before, she was likely in a coma now.

“She what?!” Vaishali Foi says.

“His name is Vijay,” Sophie continues.

“How could she do that to Rajiv?” Sharmila Foi eventually blurts out, wounded on behalf of her brother. “Thank Bhagwan that he is not alive to hear what she’s done to him!”

Sophie knows her fois are wondering the same thing she is: Why did Nita have another child if she couldn’t handle caring for the first one? But Sophie does not want to pull at that thread. There is no answer that will satisfy any of them. They all just have to accept it and try not to apply logic to it.

“I want to find him. He’s gone to America.”

“Why? What will you say to him?” Vaishali Foi’s voice is defensive.

“He’s my brother. I have to meet him . . . which is why I called. I need your help to get to Los Angeles. I need you to use some of the money in my accounts to get me a ticket and wire some spending money.”

Sophie feels guilty asking for help with something her fois surely do not approve of. She wishes she could do this journey on her own now that she knows how much the adults in her life have done everything for her in the past. But now is not the time to be prideful about her newfound independence. She will have a lifetime to grow into the woman she is meant to be, and she knows that now that such a path has been set before her, she will choose it. But life requires practicality as well, and she would need many shifts at Taj Palace to buy herself a plane ticket to America, and she needs her fois to help get her the money Papa left for her.

Before Vaishali Foi can challenge it, Sharmila Foi jumps in and says, “Of course. We will call our agent and get you a ticket.”

“This seems crazy to go all the way there, no?” Vaishali Foi says. “And last minute, the ticket will be so expensive. Why not send an email or something and arrange a time to meet? Maybe after your wedding.” Her tone is pointed, but also hopeful.

“Vaishali, please,” Sharmila Foi says loudly. “Let her do as she wishes.”

It is rare for Sophie to hear Sharmila Foi stand up to her big sister, and Sophie wishes she could see the look on Vaishali Foi’s face. She is used to giving orders, not receiving them.

“Be practical, yaar,” Vaishali Foi says to her sister. “She is Indian. She cannot just bhangra into America like that. She needs to go through the proper steps: come home, get a visa. Otherwise, they will think she is a terrorist!”

“Hah, this is true,” Sharmila Foi says, clucking her tongue.

“I have a visa,” Sophie says, and her fois go silent.

“How did you manage this?” Vaishali Foi says.

“I didn’t,” Sophie says. “Papa did. He wanted me to start joining him on his business trips, so he got my visas for France, America, and the UK. Bhagwan na nasib huse. I only hope that my trip to America doesn’t force me to use the last visa and end up in England!” Her fois are silent, and Sophie gives them a few moments to absorb the information. “So, the only help I need from you is the plane ticket.”

Sharmila Foi clears her throat. “This is important for her, and she must do it. It is her money to spend as she wishes. And we cannot ignore that somehow Rajiv, or Bhagwan, or whoever, knew she would need these visas, and Rajiv managed to get them before his death. This type of thing is no coincidence,” she says to her older sister.

Vaishali Foi grunts in response, but that is all the affirmation that Sophie needs.

“Thank you,” Sophie says, knowing she is one step closer to finding Vijay.



The mood at Le Canard Volant is somber when Sophie tells Cecile she will be checking out in the morning and heading to Los Angeles. Cecile is rapt with attention as Sophie tells her the full story of Nita and the brother she is now off to find in America.

Cecile looks exhausted after hearing the tale. “That poor thing,” she says of Nita, shaking her head. “I’m sorry that she went through all of that. I’m not sure I would have made it any easier for her if I had known, even though I’d like to think I would have.” She puts her hand on Sophie’s forearm. “Things were so different back then. None of this talk of addiction or mental health. Not the way you young people talk about it now.”

Sophie ponders her words. Even today, she doesn’t hear many of her friends in India speaking of mental health issues. She doesn’t know a single person who goes to see a therapist, or at least, no one who has admitted to it. When she thought her mummy had died as a young girl, there wasn’t any consideration that she would need anything more than what her family could provide to cope with the trauma.

“I don’t think it’s that common to discuss it in India yet. And it would have been worse twenty years ago,” Sophie says.

“Maybe the whole world needs to change.” Cecile sighs. “The truth is that your mother was in so much pain and shouldering it all on her own. But we were all expected to sweep our problems under the rug at that time. Depression, anxiety, addiction, any mental health issues—those weren’t something anyone advertised. Now, I do see it talked about more. I guess that’s something, right? There seems to be more acceptance and less blaming of the person who is going through something.”