Tuxedos on the beach

Congratulations! You actually clicked the link to open this page. There is a considerable chance that a crackhead (who possibly has no work, is suffering from a midlife crisis or has a miserable offline social life) will comment some random vile criticizing me, my family or my upbringing, without even bothering to read what I have written. Now that you are here, please take time to read till the end without forming opinions. ***DISCLAIMER*** I am not someone who fears criticism or blames the person criticizing me. I am however, someone who is hyper-allergic to idiots. You are more than welcome to debate issues, online or offline as long as you are reasonable and present me with facts. In the text below, I might have mistakenly referred to Indians as "you" instead of "we", please consider this a humble grammatical mistake from me. This doesn't mean I consider myself a person of high moral sanctity. I am as much an Indian described below as you are. To people

So, Recently I have been following this show called  White Collar  which is about an ultra suave ex-felon named Neal Caffrey who (apparently) mends his ways and helps the FBI in solving white collar crimes. The character (played by the handsome Matt Bomer) is slick, wears sharp suits, a womanizer and also a master of con, something which he used to dig into before being arrested by a persistent and meticulous FBI agent Peter Burke (Tim DeKay). The show is mostly about crime solving with threads from Neal's past driving it forward. Compare that to my all time favorite TV series,  The Mentalist  where Patrick Jane (Simon Baker), who has a way with people and a razor sharp mind, uses his uncanny abilities to solve crimes with his partner Teresa Lisbon (Robin Tunney). Like  White Collar , there was a long thread to the story: chasing "Red John"- A serial killer, who murdered Jane's family and ran a ring of corrupt government & law enforcement officials. How

एक सूनी कविता  एक डायरी पड़ी है सिरहाने, खुली हुई                                                                                        हवा के झोके पन्नों को यूं छू जाते है ,                                                मानो माँ ने प्यार से सहलाया हो,                                                                 उसी बिस्तर पर, मैं करवटें बदल रहा हूँ मगर क्यों? सब तो है मेरे पास फिर क्यूँ है सब अंजाना सा, एक अजब सी बेचैनी नहीं जनाब, इश्क़ नहीं है यह मर्ज़, जिसके दर्द में भी एक नशा सा होता है, वो नशा जिसमे सारी दुनिया मशगूल है मैं तो पूरे होश में हूँ (काश ना होता) टटोलता हूँ उस डायरी को, उन लफ़्ज़ों की तलाश में, जो दे दें मुझे, मेरी ज़िन्दगी के मायने, पर रोज़ की तरह, डायरी खामोश है, और मैं करवटें बदल रहा हूँ | Melancholy  A diary lies by my bedside, The wind caressing its open pages, Just like my mother gently strokes my hair. On t