35053668-Empire-of-the-Soul-Paul-William-Roberts

EMPIRE OF THE SOUL
‘She’s an alcoholic, too,’ Anjoo told me frankly, shaking her head
and sighing.
What the hell had happened? Manjoola drank and was divorced.
Sanna was not only divorced, I learned; he’d been accused by his
ex-wife of trying to murder his children – in fact, he’d set fire to the
house after falling asleep with a cigarette in his mouth. He was
even separated from another woman with whom he had a child he
wasn’t allowed to see. His daughter had disappeared, apparently
wanting nothing to do with any of her family. The other sister,
Anjoola, was divorced, too, but at least she didn’t drink, and now
lived happily with another man.
Twenty years before, this family had appeared to have the world
as its oyster – whatever that means. They had been rich, beautiful,
and titled, and every door in India, if not the world, had been open
to them. I asked about the old house.
‘Oh, yes,’ Anjoo said. ‘Of course, darling, you knew us there.’
It sounded as if she were talking about a previous incarnation.
The old house on Camac Street had apparently belonged to her
husband’s company. Lord Sinha had probably not been as clever
with money as he thought he was.
An ancient, toothless woman wearing spectacles an inch thick
crept out from an adjacent room, clutching her sari as if cold. This
was Anjoo’s mother, and I think she mistook me for someone else,
because she greeted me as if we were dear friends.
Manjoola and Anjoola appeared, wearing loose cotton frocks,
their hair coiled up untidily – anything to thwart the unbearable
humidity. Time had been fairly kind to them, too, and for an
alcoholic Manjoola looked pretty good, apart from the telltale
potbelly even a loose smock couldn’t hide.
I asked Lady Sinha about another old friend, one I’d assumed was
long dead now.
‘No, darling, Sudhadi’s still alive. She’s ninety-three, but she’s
still all there.’
‘Hah!’ scoffed Manjoola. ‘If you have time to listen to her entire
autobiography every time you talk to her, I suppose she’s all there.’
‘I’m eighty-seven,’ proclaimed Lady Sinha’s mother, her lips and
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