NOBODY LIGHTS A CANDLE Anjali Deshpande 1 It was morning again. The loud trumpeting of the bus hurtling past his house broadcast the news and the noisy clanking of iron poles dropping one on another onto the back of a tempo confirmed it. He guessed that the tent supplier’s family across the narrow lane was about to bring home another thick wad of currency notes. Just how much money people have begun to make, he thought, still lying abed, to splurge on parties, engagements, weddings, naming a newborn, birthdays and anniversaries. It no longer mattered whether the gods slept or