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 A Journey through the Literary Fair….
☆ Witful Warmth# 33 ☆
☆ Satire ☆ A Journey through the Literary Fair… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆
In the realm of modern literature, one might be tempted to compare it to an ancient epic—if one could stomach such a thought without bursting into laughter. Each year, a grand spectacle unfolds, drawing in literary aficionados as if they were moths to a flickering flame. Writers, like hapless actors in a farcical play, assemble to showcase their wordsmithing wizardry. Yet, amidst this theatricality, the only glimmer that captures one’s attention is the dazzling light of awards, overshadowing any semblance of genuine literary merit.
Enter our protagonist, Mr. Raghubir Shukla, a rather ordinary author with ambitions as lofty as a hot air balloon, though without the necessary buoyancy to lift him off the ground. His trusty typewriter—a relic from a bygone era—had seen better days, often spitting out words with all the reliability of a drunken sailor. Despite this mechanical misfortune, Shukla was deeply committed to the serious business of literature, harboring a desire to win an award. This notion had burrowed into his mind like a goat munching on grass, refusing to budge.
Shukla had heard tales from fellow writers who basked in the glory of awards, spinning tales of their triumphs like poets celebrating their muses. They sang the praises of recognition, and here was Shukla, yearning for a slice of that sweet literary pie. Inspired by his peers, he gathered his friends in their quaint little village, embarking on a mission to concoct a master plan for securing awards.
But lo and behold, let us turn our gaze to the editors—the true puppeteers of this literary circus. They weave intricate webs, ensnaring unsuspecting authors in their traps, making it seem as though publishing is a privilege reserved for the chosen few. One such editor, the illustrious Raunak Chaubey, was a master of this art, editing countless anthologies with the efficiency of a factory assembly line. Chaubey had perfected the craft of extracting money from writers with the finesse of a magician pulling rabbits from hats.
“Your manuscript lacks depth,” Raunak casually informed a beleaguered writer, who looked as dejected as a child denied candy. “However, if you’d be willing to part with a modest sum, I could see my way clear to publishing it.” The writer’s face crumpled, resembling a deflated balloon, as the editor’s offer hung in the air, heavy with irony.
Now, let us not forget the audience—the unsuspecting readers who stand at the back, waiting with bated breath for a truly remarkable piece of writing. They often resemble children lost in a candy store, eyes wide with anticipation. Yet, when faced with the reality of mediocrity, their dreams shatter like glass underfoot. They yearn for literary brilliance, only to find themselves grappling with the sour taste of disappointment.
Authors crave accolades, but these coveted awards seem to play hide and seek. As soon as the winners are announced, writers adjust their spectacles and wonder, “Is this really the same author who couldn’t string together a coherent sentence?” The irony is as thick as molasses, coating the literary scene in a sticky sweetness that leaves a bitter aftertaste.
And then, amidst this cacophony of absurdity, a peculiar twist emerges. The award ceremonies are graced by illustrious figures, grandstanding on stage while extolling the virtues of literature. When the name of an award winner is called, a hazy figure takes the spotlight, flashing a self-satisfied grin as if they’ve just discovered the secret to immortality.
Yet, here lies a truth that cannot be ignored: these awards often elude the true writers, landing instead in the hands of those ensnared in the editor’s trap. “Why did I award them?” Raunak muses, his mind swirling with self-serving calculations. “Because they’re beneficial to me, and I possess an uncanny knack for securing their accolades.”
Shukla, in his fervor, decided to submit his work to a shared anthology, aided by a friend who shared his ambition. “I’ve penned a magnificent poem, dear Raunak!” he declared, puffing out his chest. “I wish for it to be included in the anthology.” Raunak, the ever-astute businessman, smiled knowingly. “Certainly, but a little contribution would be required.”
Upon rifling through his pockets, Shukla discovered the unfortunate reality: a worn-out pen and a few chocolate wrappers were all he had to offer. However, undeterred, he rallied his family for a few coins, casting his gaze toward the glimmering prize that danced tantalizingly in his imagination. He envisioned a literary rebirth, his life taking a turn as splendid as a dandelion blossoming in spring. As he submitted his name for the award, he found himself pondering, “Will I one day grace the stage to accept my rightful place among the luminaries?”
Finally, the day of the award ceremony arrived, the entire town adorned as if for a royal wedding. Shukla donned his finest tattered clothes, preparing himself to ascend the stage. As his name was called, he stepped forward, feeling as though he stood before the divine. The bright lights of the award seemed to flicker mockingly in his eyes.
Yet, a voice rang out from the stage, announcing, “We award based on status!” Shukla’s heart sank as dreams crumbled before his eyes. “Is this what awards truly signify—a mere piece of paper?” he lamented, grappling with the absurdity of it all.
After the ceremony, Shukla turned to his friends, sharing his newfound wisdom. “This literary fair is nothing more than a charade! We are mere priests of words, gazing upon the glories of paper while the essence of true writing slips through our fingers. In the dazzling allure of awards, the true authors fade into obscurity.”
And so, amidst the laughter of the crowd and the clinking of glasses, the curtain falls on this satirical spectacle—a tale woven with the threads of irony and hypocrisy. In the end, it is not the awards that define the writer, but rather the passion for the craft, the sincerity of expression, and the unwavering belief in the power of words. After all, as we navigate the grand literary fair, let us not forget the true essence of storytelling—the heart that beats behind the facade of fame and recognition.
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© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’
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≈ Blog Editor – Shri Hemant Bawankar/Editor (English) – Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi, NM ≈
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