hospital, paralyzed.The billsrose. His family stopped
visiting. Eventuallythe hospitaldropped him offhere.
Bhagatsaidhesentamessagetothefamilythroughthe
policesaying themanwouldliketo comehome.They
denied knowing him.
Up a narrow staircase was the second-floor ward for
patientswithdementiaand otherseveredisabilities.An
oldmanstoodbyawallwailingout-of-tunesongsatthe
top of his lungs. Next to him a woman with white,
cataractaleyesmutteredtoherself.Severalstaffmembers
workedtheirwaythroughtheresidents,feedingthemand
keepingthemcleanthebesttheycould.Thedinandthe
smell of urinewere overpowering.I tried to talk to a
coupleof theresidentsthroughmy translator, butthey
weretooconfusedtoanswerquestions.Adeafandblind
womanlyingona mattressnearbywasshouting afew
wordsoverandoveragain.Iaskedthetranslatorwhatshe
wassaying. The translator shookher head—the words
madenosense—andthenshebolteddownthestairs.It
wastoomuchforher.Itwasasclosetoavisionofhellas
I’ve ever experienced.
“These people areon the last stageof their journey,”
Bhagatsaid,lookingoutuponthemassofbodies.“ButI
can’t provide the kind of facility they really require.”
In the course of Alice’s lifetime, the industrialized
world’selderly haveescapedthethreat ofsucha fate.
Prosperityhasenabled eventhepoorto expectnursing
homes with square meals, professionalhealth services,
physicaltherapy,andbingo.They’veeaseddebilityand
oldageformillionsand madepropercareandsafetya
normtoanextentthattheinmatesofpoorhousescould