Ritu sat in the waiting room at the hospital, flipping the pages of a three month old issue of Femina, the glossy pages cool to her touch. She looked at her watch; it was an hour past her appointment. Because it was called a waiting room, the doctors seemed to think they could make you wait as long as they liked.

The room was softly lit and decorated in pastel shades. There was an aquarium in the corner where sleepy fishes swam, oblivious to the vociferous provocations of two ...