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Chitra has sat beside her father’s dialysis machine fourteen hundred times. On the one evening the lights did something, she was reading him a classified about a sewing machine.

For thirty-one years Bela rang Shibani at eight. The morning the phone stays silent, a voice in the ceiling tells Shibani her grief will be sharper on Tuesdays, and a panel gives her eleven days.

The queue outside the 12-East clinic is eighty people. On the clerk’s screen it is two hundred and six. Samar Varma has one escalation to give, and two people who need it.

In twenty-two years Meghna Rao has never once broken Section 4, Subsection 4. On Sunday night her sister asks her a question on the phone, and an eleven-year-old’s drawing of a fish waits in a drawer.