Success is a bar of chocolate. Especially if it is 3 in the morning and you've had no dinner and the obstinate vending machine downstairs doesn't have any change and will only take crisp ten rupee notes. "Crisp" ten rupee notes are like unicorns, since for all practical purposes they serve as glorified hand wipes, exchanged from one sweaty palm to the next, in quick succession. Quite unlike their privileged 500 rupee cousins, coughed out of ATM machines with irritating frequency. Do ten rupee notes ever get to see the inside of an ATM machine? Nooooo. They are the bandhua mazdoor of the currency world. And shiny little vending machines don't like that sort of riff raff flapping around in their innards. Problem was not solved by me banging my head repeatedly on the machine's glass front. Solution was provided by the concerned office guard who emptied out his wallet of coins, which I then proceeded to jam in, with intense pleasure, down its stupid machine hole mouth. Vending machines are Satan's toys. But the power of one rupee coins compelled it and I walked away with a deliciously crumbly, half melted bar of Cadbury Crackle. aaah, sweet success.