Chocolates overpowered me very early on.
Around me, they seemed to take a life of their own. They smiled at me from shop windows, begging to be taken away.
More often than not, I obliged, taking them delicately off the shelf and depositing them lightly in my shirt pocket, afraid to hurt my babies.
I preferred the deep fried brown hue to the whiteness of milk.
I loved the sensation of thick chocolate sticking to the roof of my mouth and my tongue’s toil to yank it free. When my battle was being won, I adored the heady feeling of diluted chocolate swirling around in my mouth.
I don’t remember the person who bought me my first chocolate- it should have been my mother. Another vivid image remains, though.
It was she who fed me the first chocolate of my life. I can still picture my mother breaking little pieces off the bigger chunk, mashing it with her fingers for my little mouth where teeth were just putting in its maiden appearance.
And I fell in love with the 12 brown pieces which came wrapped in golden foil paper and then in violet. They called it the ‘Dairy Milk.’
The love of my life remains so to this day. Twenty five years has done nothing to take away the charm of a piece of cocoa melted in sugar. They are the closest heaven can come down to earth.
I know it for sure, for when it comes to chocolates, I have been there and I have definitely done that.