A sweet mystery with a hard centre
“Every
contact leaves a trace.”
Can that be true for chocolate, too? Apparently, yes — at least in my case.
Two weeks
ago, a friend messaged me saying he was sending a chocolate gift hamper.
Nothing came for days. I thought he must’ve forgotten. But still, I was happy —
even being told that chocolate is coming was enough. That message gave me more
comfort than most of my small-cap funds.
Every time
I stepped out of the house, I’d tell my wife:
“A chocolate box might arrive. Please collect it.”
She’d nod
at first. Then, one day, she lost her patience:
“Enough of this chocolate story! If it’s that valuable, I’ll keep it in the
locker. Is it gold-plated?”
And then,
with rising suspicion:
“Or did the chocolate decide to walk here on its own?”
I stared at her and was confused.
She continued:
“If it had legs and walked ten kilometres a day, it would've reached by now.”
And the final blow:
“Maybe your ex sent it — with a black magic topping.”
What could
I say? Especially to someone who thinks a Munch bar and a Mutual Fund
are the same type of investment.
She even
reminded me:
“You never touched the chocolates my brother brought from the USA. But this one
— you’re worshipping it like a prasaadam!”
Maybe she
wondered, "This man, who avoided sweets for years, suddenly has
cravings like a child in a supermarket?"
Thanks to
this chocolaty suspense, the peaceful atmosphere of the house melted like,
well… chocolate in the sun.
Still, I
didn’t give up. In soft tones, I told the kids:
“Your dad is getting a gift hamper. And your mom’s jealous.”
Finally,
the day came.
I wasn’t
home when the box arrived. My wife received it without a word. When I returned,
I saw the box sitting silently, neglected, in a corner — like a radio in a
house that has just welcomed a smart TV.
“Bring a
knife!” I declared.
“And record the unboxing. We’re going viral.”
I explained
how to hold the camera, where the light should fall, how dramatic the angle
should be...
And then we
opened it.
Yes, there
was chocolate inside. But wait — only half a chocolate. The rest was missing.
And the half that remained was rewrapped in its original foil with the
innocence of a crime scene cover-up.
Worse — the box was smeared with clumps of hard cream, dried like hardened
guilt. Hopes crashed like an IPO listing at a discount.
My wife
looked at me with disdain — the same face I make when the Sensex crashes.
Before I
could say anything, she took a close-up of her expression, ended the video, and
posted it with lightning speed.
I was still examining the box. Scene closed.
Now, the Sherlock
Holmes in me awoke. Sadly, no Dr. Watson to back me.
But years
of experience as an investigation officer kicked in. Who did the tampering? Where?
When? Doesn’t matter. Some
mysteries are better left unchewed.
This odd
little incident reminded me of something else.
That quote — “Every contact leaves a trace” — came from Dr. Edmond Locard, the
father of forensic science. His Exchange Principle says: when two things come
in contact, they transfer a bit of themselves to each other.
Just like your footprints on the shore. And the sand on your feet.
The box had clearly been opened — and poorly rewrapped.
Even a clever thief is forced to leave some evidence.
The same
rule applies to work.
When you
work with sincerity, you leave behind a legacy — something that says “I was
here.” A job done well carries your signature. People remember you.
But some people? They come, eat snacks, watch live test cricket, and leave. No trace. No change. Not even Locard can help them.
