There are some things in a seven-year-old life which you know as facts but have absolutely no idea what the source of that ubiquitous truth is. For example, it is known to every benevolent soul who’s worn a ridiculously decorated conical hat that it’s Lord Ganesha who holds the world record for most puris eaten at a birthday party. Or that The Undertaker has more than one life.
One similarly gathered titbit that garnished a most filling childhood was that Toblerone was the best chocolate in the world. Many a Punjabi kid with relatives in the States would brag about how his cousins would brag about its all-conquering flavours. Taste buds located at least an hour’s drive from the nearest Nirula’s Nutty Buddy would long for a mere taste of those Swiss peaks. Even renditions of Kajol prancing about drunk beyond her wits on the highways of Zurich would only entice mouths hungry for that elusive ultimate cocoa delight.
A close-to-normal life - collecting Tazos, singing this song as the first one as soon as someone finished saying Bolo Ram Ram Ram on the bus back from school, and discussing the day’s Power Zone cartoons while playing cricket in the evening – was never to be the same once it acquired this one direction and purpose: to experience the taste of Toblerone.
It’s a great travesty to romantic justice that I don’t remember how that first pack of Swiss-made treats ended up in our corner of the fridge. But I don’t. And it did. We took almost a week to even touch it, scouring the calendars for an auspicious day to first lay our hands on the end-product of a long, arduous pilgrimage. Then we did, asking Ma to gently open the packaging- its golden foil and triangular top would make a perfect addition to my budding chocolate wrapper and foil collection, I thought. And after a gleaming glance into each other’s joyous eyes, my elder brother and I let one bejewelled piece into each of our gaping mouths. And we closed our eyes for a good few seconds...
Obtaining Toblerone isn’t much of a big deal today, with every other neighbourhood store selling its overpriced versions. Yet, as Pa gently opened another box brought with much excitement from Mumbai airport’s duty-free shops, I felt the same old rush. Perhaps it’s the part of me that refuses to accept growing up that makes eating that chocolate seem like a pilgrimage. Or maybe Toblerone is the best chocolate in the world.
