NOBODY LIGHTS A CANDLE Anjali Deshpande 2 He checked his wallet. Only a hundred rupees and some change. He would need petrol. Gone were the days when he could stock up his bike without much thought to the price of fuel. Now he rarely got his tank filled. Two litres or three. That was enough. Even the motorcycle sits on the pavement, idle like him. He raced through the crowded lanes, dodging rickshaws, grazing one gleaming white car in a crowded lane and hurling back abuses at the nattily dressed owner at the wheel. He felt good. Had been a