Category: Articles

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 Golden Promises, Rusted Realities. 

☆ Witful Warmth # 11 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ Golden Promises, Rusted Realities ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

In the grand theater of politics, where speeches are laced with honey and dreams are sold like hotcakes, there exists a peculiar species known as the Politician. This charismatic creature is an artist of the highest order, painting landscapes of utopia with broad strokes of promises. Yet, as any seasoned citizen knows, these masterpieces often fade into rusty mirages once the applause dies down and the reality show begins.

Consider, if you will, the tale of one illustrious leader, the Honorable Minister of Promises (MoP). When the MoP took to the podium, the air was electric with hope. “We will build bridges, not walls!” he declared, to a roaring crowd. The metaphor was delicious; the imagery, divine. Bridges of opportunity, unity, and progress! But as time ticked on, it became apparent that the only bridge being built was the one connecting his promises to the realm of fantasy.

Take, for instance, the much-lauded “Green Revolution 2.0,” a campaign that vowed to plant a billion trees by the year’s end. The forests would bloom, they said, the air would purify, and Mother Nature would sing praises of the MoP. Fast forward twelve months, and the landscape remained as barren as a politician’s soul during a budget cut. The grand total of trees planted? Two. And one of them was plastic, installed for a photo op.

Then there was the glittering promise of “Universal Healthcare for All.” The MoP stood tall, basking in the glory of the crowd’s adoration. Free healthcare, they said, for every man, woman, and child! The crowds cheered, and the MoP’s approval ratings soared higher than the price of prescription drugs. Yet, as weeks turned into months, the promised healthcare revolution dwindled to a mere band-aid on a bullet wound. The newly built hospital had one doctor, no equipment, and a waiting list that extended into the afterlife.

Education, too, was a fertile ground for promises. “No child left behind,” they chanted, promising state-of-the-art schools, free textbooks, and a tablet for every student. The vision was intoxicating, the future bright. But as the school year began, students found themselves in dilapidated buildings with outdated textbooks and broken promises. The promised tablets? Delivered alright, in the form of stone slates reminiscent of ancient times.

Employment was another shining star in the MoP’s constellation of commitments. “Jobs for everyone!” they proclaimed, envisioning a land where every citizen had meaningful work. Instead, what emerged was a new wave of positions in the growing industry of disappointment management. Job fairs were held, applications were filled, and interviews were conducted. The result? An employment rate that remained as stagnant as a politician’s integrity during an expense scandal.

Infrastructure, too, was not spared the kiss of the promise-maker. “Smooth roads and modern amenities for all!” the MoP shouted from the rooftops. Alas, the roads remained riddled with potholes, each one a silent testament to the broken vows of yesteryears. Bridges were constructed, only to collapse under the weight of unmet expectations. The promised amenities? Nowhere to be seen, unless one counted the shiny new office buildings housing the Department of Empty Promises.

The MoP’s pièce de résistance, however, was the grand “Clean Water for Every Home” initiative. A world where every faucet flowed with pure, crystal-clear water was the dream sold to the masses. Yet, in a cruel twist of irony, the only thing that flowed was the steady stream of excuses. “Technical difficulties,” they said. “Budget constraints,” they claimed. The reality? Dry taps and parched throats, while the MoP hydrated himself with imported bottled water.

In the end, the story of the MoP is a cautionary tale, a satire of the highest order. It is a reminder that in the world of politics, promises are like fast food—cheap, quickly made, and utterly lacking in nourishment. The citizens, having feasted on the empty calories of political rhetoric, find themselves bloated with disillusionment and hunger for real change.

So, as we navigate the turbulent waters of democracy, let us remember the tale of the MoP. Let us hold our leaders accountable, demand truth in place of glittering lies, and refuse to be swayed by the siren song of empty promises. For in the end, it is we, the people, who must live with the reality of the rusted dreams and broken pledges left in the wake of the politician’s golden promises.

© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

Contact : Mo. +91 73 8657 8657, Email : [email protected]

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 The Great Water Heist: A Tale of Thirst and Greed. 

☆ Witful Warmth # 10 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ The Great Water Heist: A Tale of Thirst and Greed ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

In the once-thriving metropolis of Dryville, the water crisis had reached new heights. The city’s residents were forced to rely on the black market for their daily hydration needs, shelling out exorbitant prices for a few precious liters of water.

Enter our hero, the cunning and resourceful water tycoon, Mr. Drysdale. With his fleet of water tankers and army of heavily-armed water guards, he controlled the city’s water supply with an iron fist.

As the city’s thirst intensified, Mr. Drysdale’s profits skyrocketed. He became the undisputed king of the water mafia, with a fortune rivaling that of the city’s wealthiest billionaires.

But Mr. Drysdale’s reign was not without its challenges. A group of rebels, led by the fearless and hydrated Aurora, vowed to take down the water tycoon and restore the city’s water supply to its rightful owners – the people.

As the battle for water supremacy raged on, the city’s residents were caught in the crossfire. They were forced to choose between their loyalty to Mr. Drysdale and their thirst for freedom.

In the end, it was a race against time. Would Aurora and her rebels succeed in overthrowing Mr. Drysdale and restoring the city’s water supply, or would the water tycoon’s grip on the city prove too strong to break?

The fate of Dryville hung in the balance, as the city’s residents prayed for a miracle – or at least a decent shower.

© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

Contact : Mo. +91 73 8657 8657, Email : [email protected]

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 Just Another Sunday. 

☆ Witful Warmth # 9 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ Just Another Sunday ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

It was yet another Sunday morning, and the clock had barely struck eight. Mr. Sharma, a mid-level manager with a belly more notable than his job title, and Mrs. Sharma, a seasoned school teacher who dealt with pre-teens and their tantrums all week, were facing the ultimate challenge – the cluttered battleground they called home.

With his overgrown spectacles perched atop his nose and a cup of ginger tea in hand, Mr. Sharma sighed deeply, “Honey, do you see how messy our house looks? But what can we do? We are ‘financially enslaved’.” Mrs. Sharma nodded in agreement as if the couch itself was the throne of their kingdom trashed.

Sitting on a half-broken chair they never managed to fix, Mr. Sharma declared, “Our house is as inviting as a landfill. Every day, our own belongings greet us like long-lost relatives wanting to stay indefinitely.”

Adding to the ambience, the dusty dressing table stood like a relic from a haunted mansion. “We practically live as guests in our own Airbnb home,” groaned Mr. Sharma. Mrs. Sharma’s silence was accentuated by the loud banging of her morning utensils, showcasing her agreement without uttering a word.

A moment of enlightenment occurred. “Next Sunday, we shall clean the house!” declared Mr. Sharma, as if rallying troops for the final battle. A grand list was created, listing out their ‘warrior tasks.’ Mr. Sharma allocated himself the task of tidying the tea table and organizing the newspapers, while Mrs. Sharma was given the kitchen, the dressing table, and the storeroom. Oh, the modern-day Hercules and his relentless Hydra!

“Wake up on time, have toast and tea quickly, and then jump into action. You’ll get a second cup of tea and some biscuits only after you finish half the work,” ordered Mrs. Sharma, invoking the spirit of a taskmaster.

Sunday dawned with the alarm’s shrill cry. Mr. Sharma, immediately rising, gave a smug look to the sleeping Mrs. Sharma. An attempt to awaken the sleeping dragon was met with growls, so he let her be and took upon himself to make the morning tea – an act that involved more spilling than filling.

As he prepared to dive into the perilous pile of newspapers, his eyes caught a glimpse of their wedding album beneath the table. “Hey, look what I found! It’s like finding the elixir of life!” he exclaimed, like an archaeologist discovering a mummy. His enthusiasm was enough to bring Mrs. Sharma to his side, and time flew by as they lost themselves in the sepia-tinted nostalgia.

When reality hit and bellies rumbled, they broke the trance with baingan bharta and jowar roti, crafted with love by Mrs. Sharma.

Tasks remained unfinished, and Sunday slipped away, making way for the relentless Monday. As dawn broke, Mr. Sharma, with a hot cup of tea in hand, approached Mrs. Sharma standing gloomily on the balcony. “What’s wrong, my queen?” he asked with a mix of mockery and concern.

“Today again, all chores remain incomplete!” she lamented. Mr. Sharma chuckled, “No worries, there’s always another Sunday!”

“True, my irreplaceable partner. But this routine is as immutable as your potbelly,” replied Mrs. Sharma, casting a half-hearted smile. The pitiless wheel of weekdays began turning again, engulfing them in its relentless grind.

And so, time continued its indifferent journey. The Sharmas, forever stuck in their Sisyphean task, never managed to completely clean their home. Each Sunday, they remained entangled in their self-created labyrinth of aspirations, witnessing the same futile routine, over and over, till they were both too worn out to care. The house remained a silent testament to their unfulfilled promises – a never-ending satire of their lives.

© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

Contact : Mo. +91 73 8657 8657, Email : [email protected]

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 The Delicate Dance of the Fainthearted Union. 

☆ Witful Warmth # 8 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ The Delicate Dance of the Fainthearted Union ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

In a quaint little town nestled between Nowhere and Somewhere, lived the emblem of modern romance: Priya and Raj. Their relationship was an exquisite example of the term “weak” — not in the physical sense, but in the profound, fragile nature of their emotional connection. To the untrained eye, they were the perfect couple, but to those privy to their intimate interactions, they were a comedy of errors, a satire on the institution of relationships.

Priya and Raj’s relationship began, as many do, with a mutual right swipe on a dating app. Their profiles were meticulously crafted to portray the best versions of themselves — which, as it turns out, were far cries from reality. Priya’s description painted her as an adventure-seeker who loved hiking and spontaneous trips. In truth, the only peaks she conquered were those of her couch cushions, navigating the treacherous terrain of Netflix series. Raj’s profile boasted of a culinary genius and fitness enthusiast, yet his most complex recipe involved instant noodles, and his workout routine was confined to lifting beer bottles.

Their first date was an awkward dance of pretenses. They met at a chic café, both overdressed and overwhelmed by the pressure to impress. Priya, donning an outfit that screamed “I woke up like this,” tried to maintain her balance on high heels as Raj stumbled through a conversation about his imaginary fitness regimen. They bonded over their shared love for Instagram filters and a mutual disdain for anything that required effort.

As their relationship progressed, the cracks began to show. Their communication was a masterclass in superficiality, each conversation a delicate balancing act of avoiding any subject that required depth or vulnerability. Priya would often remark on the weather, as if commenting on the clear skies could somehow clear the fog of their disconnect. Raj, on the other hand, was a connoisseur of the art of non-committal responses, his favorite phrase being, “Yeah, sure, whatever you think.”

Their arguments, when they did occur, were epic battles of passive aggression. Priya would leave cryptic messages on social media, hoping Raj would decipher the enigma that was her discontent. Raj, in response, would retreat into the fortress of his PlayStation, a place where he could wield control over digital worlds, if not his own life. Their apologies were as insincere as their declarations of love, each “sorry” laced with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

The pinnacle of their weak relationship was the grand declaration of their status on Facebook. With much fanfare, they changed their relationship statuses, inviting likes and comments from their equally superficial friends. Their online personas were meticulously curated to showcase an idealized version of their bond, replete with filtered photos and hashtag-laden captions. “Couple goals,” their friends would comment, oblivious to the hollow reality behind the pixels.

Holidays were a special kind of farce. Valentine’s Day was a spectacle of overpriced chocolates and obligatory flowers, each petal a reminder of their transactional affection. Birthdays were marked by the exchange of gifts bought with little thought and less love, each present a token of their perfunctory commitment. Their anniversary, a date they both often forgot, was a hasty arrangement of last-minute dinner reservations and awkward silences.

Their attempts at deepening their relationship were laughably misguided. They once attended a couples’ therapy session, but the therapist’s suggestion to “open up” was met with blank stares and stifled giggles. They tried to take a cooking class together, only to realize that neither could follow a recipe without ending up in a culinary disaster. Their vacation, a desperate attempt to rekindle some semblance of romance, ended in a spectacular argument over whose fault it was that they got lost — despite the presence of a GPS.

In the end, Priya and Raj’s relationship was a satire on the modern notion of love. It was a testament to the superficiality that pervades so many connections, where appearances are maintained at the expense of genuine intimacy. They were bound not by a deep emotional connection, but by a shared fear of being alone, a mutual agreement to avoid the discomfort of self-reflection.

Their breakup was as anticlimactic as their relationship. It ended with a text message, devoid of emotion, each word a testament to their mutual indifference. They unfollowed each other on social media, erasing the digital evidence of their farce. Priya moved on to another right swipe, and Raj found solace in his virtual worlds, each continuing their quest for connection in a sea of superficiality.

And so, Priya and Raj remain the quintessential example of a weak relationship — a delicate dance of pretenses and avoidance, a satire on the fragile nature of modern romance. Their story is a reminder that beneath the façade of every perfect couple, there may lie a comedy of errors waiting to be unveiled.

© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

Contact : Mo. +91 73 8657 8657, Email : [email protected]

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 The Celebrity Slapstick: A Tale of Adulation and Absurdity. 

☆ Witful Warmth # 7 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ The Celebrity Slapstick: A Tale of Adulation and Absurdity ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

n the dusty bylanes of a rural Indian village, nestled amidst the swaying fields of wheat and the vibrant hues of saris drying in the sun, there lived a man named Raju. Raju, a fervent devotee of the silver screen, worshipped the celluloid gods with a zeal bordering on fanaticism. His humble hut, adorned with torn posters of Bollywood stars, served as a shrine to his unwavering adulation.

One scorching afternoon, as Raju wandered through the bustling marketplace, he stumbled upon a peculiar sight. A crowd had gathered around a rather bewildered figure, who, as it turned out, was none other than the esteemed actor, Rajesh Khanna. Raju’s heart skipped a beat, for here stood before him one of the demigods of his adoration.

Driven by an inexplicable impulse, Raju raised his hand and delivered a resounding slap across Rajesh Khanna’s bemused face. The villagers gasped in astonishment, their eyes widening in disbelief at the audacity of Raju’s act.

But instead of anger or indignation, Rajesh Khanna merely blinked in surprise, his expression a curious mix of shock and amusement. “Well, I must say, that was quite unexpected,” he remarked, rubbing his cheek with exaggerated theatrics. “I suppose you could call it a unique form of admiration.”

Raju, utterly dumbfounded by the actor’s unexpected response, stood rooted to the spot, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. As he slunk away from the scene, he couldn’t help but wonder at the absurdity of his actions.

Word of the incident spread like wildfire through the village, becoming the talk of the town within moments. Some viewed Raju as a daring rebel, defying societal norms in his bold expression of admiration. Others dismissed him as a mere lunatic, his actions serving as a cautionary tale of the perils of unchecked obsession.

Meanwhile, Rajesh Khanna, ever the consummate performer, seized upon the incident as fodder for his own brand of theatrical charm. Embracing his newfound status as the unwitting recipient of Raju’s impromptu homage, he regaled audiences with exaggerated tales of the infamous slap heard ’round the village.

Yet, beneath the veneer of comedy and spectacle, a deeper undercurrent of existential reflection began to emerge. For Raju, the slap had served as a catalyst for introspection, forcing him to confront the emptiness that lurked beneath his idolatry of celebrity. In his relentless pursuit of stardom, he had lost sight of the simple joys and pleasures of village life, his own identity eclipsed by the larger-than-life personas he worshipped from afar.

As the days turned into weeks, Raju retreated further into solitude, grappling with the profound disillusionment that had taken hold of his soul. The tattered posters that once adorned his walls now seemed to mock him with their hollow promises of fulfillment. In the silence of his solitary existence, he pondered the nature of fame and its corrosive effect on the human spirit.

Meanwhile, Rajesh Khanna continued to revel in the adulation of the villagers, his star burning ever brighter in the sky of rural acclaim. Yet, for all his outward success, he too found himself haunted by a sense of existential malaise. Beneath the facade of cinematic charm lay a profound emptiness, a nagging awareness of the transient nature of fame and the fleeting nature of human connection.

And so, in the quiet moments of their respective contemplations, Raju and Rajesh found themselves united by a common thread of existential longing. In a world where the lines between reality and illusion blurred with every passing moment, they sought solace in the shared absurdity of their human condition.

For in the end, perhaps, it was only through the lens of satire that they could truly glimpse the tragicomic spectacle of life itself. And in that shared moment of absurdity, they found a fleeting glimpse of redemption amidst the chaos of the world.

© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

Contact : Mo. +91 73 8657 8657, Email : [email protected]

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 Isolation Station: Life in a Village the World Forgot. 

☆ Witful Warmth # 6 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ The Drama of Exit Polls ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

As the dust settles on yet another election season in India, it is time for the country to reflect on the absurdity that is exit polls. These so-called surveys have become a staple in the Indian political landscape, with news channels and media outlets eagerly awaiting the results to predict the outcome of the elections. But are these exit polls really as accurate as they claim to be, or are they just a big, fat joke that we all fall for every time?

Exit polls in India are like that one friend who always promises to come to your party but never shows up. They claim to have all the answers, to know exactly how many seats each party will win, and to have the pulse of the nation at their fingertips. But when the actual results come out, they are often left red-faced and looking like a bunch of clowns who couldn’t predict the weather, let alone the outcome of an election.

The funny thing about exit polls is that they are based on a sample size of just a few thousand people. That’s right, a few thousand people out of a population of over a billion are supposed to represent the entire country’s voting behaviour. It is like asking a few cows in a field what they think of the stock market and then claiming to have the inside scoop on the next big investment opportunity.

But wait, it gets even better. These exit polls are often conducted by news channels and media outlets that have a vested interest in the outcome of the elections. So, it is as if the fox is guarding the henhouse, with the results of the exit polls conveniently aligning with the agendas of the channels that are conducting them. It is like asking a used car salesman to give you an unbiased opinion on which car to buy – you are going to end up with a lemon every time.

And let’s not forget the time and effort that goes into analyzing and dissecting these exit polls. Political pundits come out of the woodwork to pontificate on what the results mean, who will win, who will lose, and why the country is on the brink of either utopia or dystopia based on a handful of survey responses. It is like playing a game of Russian roulette with the fate of the nation, except instead of a gun, you have a bunch of talking heads spouting nonsense on TV.

© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

Contact : Mo. +91 73 8657 8657, Email : [email protected]

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 Isolation Station: Life in a Village the World Forgot. 

☆ Witful Warmth # 5 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ Isolation Station: Life in a Village the World Forgot ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

In our village, even the dogs have given up barking. They know there’s no one left to listen. The silence of our once bustling community now echoes through the empty streets, where even the shadows seem to have abandoned us. Life in our village is like a game of musical chairs, except there’s never enough chairs for everyone.

Living in a village is like starring in a never-ending soap opera, except it’s a tragedy with no commercial breaks. The drama unfolds in the whispers of neighbors and the sighs of the elderly, who sit on their porches, reminiscing about days when the village was alive with laughter and hope. Our village is so small, the census taker uses a magnifying glass to find us, but even he has stopped coming.

You know you’re in a village when the highlight of your day is watching the cow graze. The simplicity of such moments once brought joy, but now, it only serves as a reminder of the life we are missing. In our village, the only thing that grows faster than the weeds is gossip. The tales we weave are the threads that keep us from unraveling completely.

You haven’t experienced true isolation until you’ve lived in a village with no Wi-Fi. The disconnection from the world outside is complete, and the isolation is profound. In our village, the only thing that travels faster than the wind is a juicy piece of gossip. But even that has lost its allure as the stories have become repetitive and stale.

Living in a village is like being stuck in a time warp, where progress is just a distant dream. Our village is so remote, even Google Maps gives up trying to find us. The world has moved on, leaving us behind in a bubble where the only change is the seasons.

In our village, the local barber doubles as the town therapist. His chair has seen more tears than haircuts. He listens patiently, offering the same words of comfort and advice that have been passed down through generations. Life in a village is like living in a fishbowl, except everyone’s watching and no one’s cleaning the glass.

You know you’re in a village when the only entertainment is watching paint dry. The monotony of our days is broken only by the occasional scandal, which spreads faster than laughter. Living in a village is like being trapped in a never-ending family reunion, where everyone knows your business, and there’s no escape.

Our village is so small, the only parade we have is when the cows come home. The simplicity of such events once brought us together, but now it only highlights our isolation. You haven’t experienced true loneliness until you’ve walked the deserted streets of our village at night. The silence is deafening, and the emptiness is all-consuming.

In our village, the only thing more outdated than the traditions is the technology. The past is preserved in every stone and every face, but the future is uncertain. Life in a village is like living in a museum, where the past is cherished, but the future is a distant dream.

You know you’re in a village when the only nightlife is the sound of crickets. Our village is so quiet, you can hear a pin drop from a mile away. Living in a village is like being in a reality show, except there’s no prize money and no way out. The days blend into one another, each one a reflection of the last.

In our village, the only thing more barren than the fields is the hope of a better tomorrow. The dreams we once had have withered away, much like our crops. You know you’re in a village when the biggest event of the year is the annual cow beauty pageant. It’s a sad reminder of what little we have left to celebrate.

Living in a village is like living in a time capsule, where progress is a foreign concept. In our village, the only thing more unreliable than the weather is the village gossip. The stories change, but the underlying despair remains the same.

You know you’re in a village when the only traffic sign is a cow crossing. Our village is so remote, the nearest hospital is a day’s journey away. Living in a village is like living in a fishbowl, where privacy is a luxury. The sense of community we once cherished has become a burden we can no longer bear.

In our village, the only thing more stagnant than the pond is the economy. The opportunities that once drew people here have dried up, leaving us with nothing but memories and regrets. You know you’re in a village when the only fashion statement is who can wear the most mud.

Living in a village is like being in a bad sitcom, where the jokes are stale and the laugh track is missing. The humor that once lightened our days has faded, replaced by a heavy sense of resignation. In our village, the only thing more stubborn than the mules is the mindset of the people.

You know you’re in a village when the only news is who got married, who died, and who got caught stealing chickens. The cycles of life and death continue, but the hope for something better has long since vanished. Our village is so isolated, the only connection to the outside world is the occasional passing breeze.

Living in a village is like living in a time warp, where progress is a myth and tradition is law. The customs and rituals that once gave us a sense of identity now feel like chains. In our village, the only thing more common than poverty is resignation. The dreams we once had have been buried beneath the weight of our circumstances.

You know you’re in a village when the only nightlife is the flicker of oil lamps. Our village is so remote, even the birds fly over us instead of stopping. The silence and isolation have become our constant companions, as we continue to exist in a place forgotten by time and the world.

© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

Contact : Mo. +91 73 8657 8657, Email : [email protected]