Once upon a train, a man was traveling by himself. Pablo Neruda's book of poems was keeping him an intimate company. While lost in Neruda's world of romance, passion and anguish, a woman's soft silky hair grazed across his face. Sparks flew within the man's mind, soul, his whole being. The moment was undoubtedly magical. It was sheer providence, that the woman had occupied the seat across his own. 'Here on, the journey is bound to be interesting' thought, the man. What he did not know was -how would the journey end?
