The home is for the destitute elderly, many of whom are wheelchair-bound. At five o'clock sharp with everyone arranged at their tables, the dinner-bell sounded, everyone recited grace and immediately got on to the business of eating. Although we were encouraged to engage the residents in light dinner conversation, I being such a terrible conversationalist was ever so grateful to be handed a container of achar (mixed shredded pickles) and told to just serve.
In less than a half hour, dinner was over, the crockery and cutlery were washed, tables cleared and wiped down, the floor was mopped and disinfected, and the residents had moved off to whatever programme was awaiting them next.
For us, "next" was dinner with our families. Which is kinda' sad 'cos the people we'd just served don't themselves have family to go back to. That's why they're here.