Issac writes

from a young girl, she had turned into a beautiful lady. She discovered that romantic feelings in her when she was 12, she discovered what intimacy was when she was 14, she discovered what sex was when she was 17. In every relationship she sought love and trust, in every man whom she fell in love with, she tried to discover the father of her kids. She thought herself as some princess who will be taken away by a prince one day to an unknown but beautiful palace one day where they would happily live ever after. But as each man had his orgasm and crawled off her, her dream died until the next time………..

No Man is an Island. What happens to one, happens to us all, for we all are made of clay and stardust. We share the same moments of time. The universal second hand starts its unforgiving forward sweep towards the next minute. …..in this very own minute in India : Two young lovers are kissing each other somewhere…. Someone is getting murdered…. A mother is giving birth to a child…. A couple is having sex…. An unlucky woman is getting raped, molested or eve teased…. Thieves are out to rob a house…. And many others would be busy watching IPL……. All this happening this very minute somewhere or the other….. All this and infinitely more in space of sixty seconds, and then time ticks on until it finally sends us into the same unknown eternity.....