It’s evening in Karni colony, Jaipur—the sun is finally threatening to set. Govind, 30, is trying to quell the agitation welling up inside him, but in vain. The 8x8 ft rented room, with a sparse attached kitchen, costs him Rs 6,000 a month. Medicines are arranged neatly on a concrete slab, perhaps to soak up blessings from the gods they share the slab with. His sister and he have been praying. On one side, their mother Yashoda Devi lies motionless on a metal cot—her eyes open, a cooler easing her discomfort. A pipe runs up one of her nostrils, one down her throat. She has stopped speaking.