Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’
Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra, known for his wit and wisdom, is a prolific writer, renowned satirist, children’s literature author, and poet. He has undertaken the monumental task of writing, editing, and coordinating a total of 55 books for the Telangana government at the primary school, college, and university levels. His editorial endeavors also include online editions of works by Acharya Ramchandra Shukla.
As a celebrated satirist, Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra has carved a niche for himself, with over eight million viewers, readers, and listeners tuning in to his literary musings on the demise of a teacher on the Sahitya AajTak channel. His contributions have earned him prestigious accolades such as the Telangana Hindi Academy’s Shreshtha Navyuva Rachnakaar Samman in 2021, presented by the honorable Chief Minister of Telangana, Mr. Chandrashekhar Rao. He has also been honored with the Vyangya Yatra Ravindranath Tyagi Stairway Award and the Sahitya Srijan Samman, alongside recognition from Prime Minister Narendra Modi and various other esteemed institutions.
Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra’s journey is not merely one of literary accomplishments but also a testament to his unwavering dedication, creativity, and profound impact on society. His story inspires us to strive for excellence, to use our talents for the betterment of others, and to leave an indelible mark on the world. Today we present his Satire Emotional ICU… .
☆ Witful Warmth # 25 ☆
☆ Satire ☆ Emotional ICU… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆
This story takes place on the day Pitambar Chaube was admitted to the district’s most “famous” government hospital, Bhainsa Hospital, to take his last breath. The doctors had said, “It’s just a matter of a few more days; treatment is essential.” Chaube had thought, let’s go to the government hospital, save some money, and benefit from the government facilities. But who knew that there’s even a government protocol for the “expired”?
When Chaube reached the hospital ward, on the very first day, the doctor told him, “This is a government hospital; there’s no scope for emotions here. We just treat patients, that’s all.”
Then came the day when Pitambar Chaube took his last breath on the hospital bed. Standing beside him, his pregnant wife, Sandhya Chaube, felt her world come to a standstill. But in the hospital, everything is “managed,” and there’s no “concern” for emotions here. As soon as Chaube passed away, Head Nurse Shanta Madam barged into the ward with a crowd of staff. Her face was as though she had come to conduct the “ultimate hygiene check.”
“Hey, Sandhya Devi! Clean this bed first. There’s no concept of personal loose moments here, okay? Do the cleaning quickly,” the nurse commanded, as if Chaube had merely soiled a bed and not lost his life.
Sandhya Chaube, engulfed in the sorrow of her husband’s death, soon realized that in the hospital, emotions are only “public displays of sentiment.” Here, they are just an “event” in the government records, meant to be erased once over. As soon as the nurse issued her “order,” tears began to flow from Sandhya’s eyes. She looked at the bed, as though glancing at her husband’s last remnant for the final time. But the hospital staff was like programmed machines, with no connection to emotions.
“Madam, tears won’t help. This is a government hospital; forget about ‘emotional attachment’ here,” Head Nurse Shanta said, as if counting emotions was part of her daily “departmental protocol.”
Just then, Dr. Nandkishore Yadav arrived, holding his notepad, and announced, “We need bed cleaning here. There’s no scope for emotions. On government beds, only sweat and blood stains are allowed, no place for tears.”
Sandhya looked at the doctor. She may have tried to say something, but there was a kind of pain that words couldn’t convey. And Dr. Yadav issued another “professional guideline,” “Look, we need to admit a new patient here. This is a hospital, not your personal emotional zone!”
At that moment, janitor Haricharan Singh entered, with a broom on his shoulder and an old bucket in his hand. “Come on, sister-in-law! Finish up quickly, we have to get our work done too. There’s no time for this ’emotional drama’ here.”
As soon as Haricharan Singh said this, Nurse Shanta burst into laughter, “Look at that, our hardworking staff. Sister-in-law, these tears are your own ‘personal chemicals,’ but here we have a public hygiene protocol. If things keep going like this, this hospital will turn into an ’emotional park’!”
Sandhya Chaube even had to hear that her tears could spoil the “purity” of this government bed. It was as if her husband’s death and the “sanitization” of the bed were one and the same issue. “Is this bed like a temple idol that needs to be kept pure?” Sandhya thought. But who would listen? Here, everyone was only concerned with the “outcome” of their work.
The bed, which had witnessed someone’s last moments, was now reduced to a mere “dirty garment.” The grief of Chaube’s passing, the pain of his death, in the staff’s language, became nothing more than a “management task,” one to be handled with equal indifference, as though lying on that bed was not a human being, but simply an “expired product on a trolley.”
This society, this system—where emotions become mere “formalities” in government files, and such incidents are viewed as though they’re entertainment. As soon as the bed was vacated, space was immediately prepared for a new patient. After all, the government hospital must keep running; Pitambar Chaube’s “emotional case” was not their concern.
This kind of government system has created an “Emotional ICU” within every human, where emotions are broken, yet no one seems to care.
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© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’
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≈ Blog Editor – Shri Hemant Bawankar/Editor (English) – Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi, NM ≈
