Sometimes love is an epochal epic of the Kurukshetra, the triumph of serendipity trapped on the love-island surrounded by Elysian chasms of oblivion of too wide memories. The lovers reach the other world dancing into the trance of satiation and morphology; the cheering intimate touches are like glitterati in the sunny love panorama. Their bodily figures are like the medieval terracotta of shingles. And translucent glass windows of the wilted moon painted in varied hues precious gems of existence romance of the street.
– Jimmy Sharma