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.
Some precious moments of life
- Honoured with ‘Shrestha Navayuvva Rachnakar Samman’ by former Chief Minister of Telangana Government, Shri K. Chandrasekhar Rao.
- Honoured with Oscar, Grammy, Jnanpith, Sahitya Akademi, Dadasaheb Phalke, Padma Bhushan and many other awards by the most revered Gulzar sahab (Sampurn Singh Kalra), the lighthouse of the world of literature and cinema, during the Sahitya Suman Samman held in Mumbai.
- Meeting the famous litterateur Shri Vinod Kumar Shukla Ji, honoured with Jnanpith Award.
- Got the privilege of meeting Mr. Perfectionist of Bollywood, actor Aamir Khan.
- Meeting the powerful actor Vicky Kaushal on the occasion of being honoured by Vishva Katha Rangmanch.
Today we present his satire Exams Turned into Reality Shows.
☆ Witful Warmth# 56 ☆
☆ Satire ☆ Exams Turned into Reality Shows… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆
It was finally decided that the education system, having failed to educate anyone for the last fifty years, needed a reformation. The committee of “High-Thinking Bureaucrats” (who had never taught a day in their lives) sat in an air-conditioned room, eating taxpayer-funded cashew nuts, and declared, “The problem is that exams are too boring. There is no drama! No suspense! Where is the audience engagement?” Thus, the ‘Grand National Examination Reality Program’ was born. Schools were abolished; studios were erected. The logic was impeccable: if we can choose our government through popularity and our idols through SMS voting, why should a degree in Physics be any different? Merit is such an outdated, elitist concept. True democracy means that if the public likes your face, you deserve to be a neurosurgeon. The syllabus was replaced by a script, and the invigilator was replaced by a host wearing a sequined jacket who shouted, “Are you ready to integrate this equation?” while pyrotechnics exploded in the background.
I went to witness the first season of “Physics Idol.” The contestant, a poor boy named Ramesh from a village, stood trembling on the center stage. A spotlight pinned him down like a criminal. Behind him, a giant screen flashed the question: Define Newton’s Third Law. But wait! Before he could answer, the host interrupted, “Hold on, Ramesh! Before you give us the definition, tell us about your tragic backstory. Did your buffalo die? Did you study under a streetlamp while fighting off wolves?” Ramesh wept. The audience wept. The judges—a retired cricketer, a film star who failed 8th grade, and a politician with four criminal cases—nodded in sympathy. “His pain is real,” the film star said, wiping a tear. “I don’t care about Newton. I feel his emotion. I give him 10/10 for the ‘vibe’.” The actual answer was forgotten. Newton turned in his grave, but who cares? He never had TRP ratings.
The commercial breaks were the most educational part of the show. During the derivation of a complex calculus problem, the show cut to an ad for “Brain-Booster Chyawanprash.” When we returned, the student was hanging from a harness, suspended twenty feet in the air. “To pass this semester,” the host announced, “you must solve this differential equation while dodging these swinging pendulums of doom!” This, they claimed, prepared students for the “real world.” Because in the corporate world, isn’t your boss constantly trying to hit you with a pendulum? It was a survival of the fittest. A girl named Geeta answered correctly, but she didn’t smile enough. The audience voting lines opened. “Press A to pass Geeta, Press B to fail her and send her to the Trapdoor of Unemployment.” The nation voted. Geeta was eliminated because her outfit was too dull. She was dropped through the floor while the audience cheered. Justice was served.
The parents were no longer parents; they were managers. I saw a father coaching his son outside the studio. “Listen to me, Bunty,” he hissed. “If you get the History question wrong, don’t worry. Just faint. Fainting gets the sympathy vote. And if the judge asks about the Treaty of Versailles, tell them you love your mother. The Mother Card always works.” Education had become a performance art. Knowledge was secondary to the ability to generate a clip that would go viral on Instagram. I saw a PhD thesis defense which was conducted as a rap battle. The candidate dissed the external examiner with rhymes about molecular biology. He won, not because his thesis was sound, but because his “flow” was dope. The degree was handed to him in a golden envelope while confetti rained down.
Then came the “Wild Card Entry.” A student who had failed all year but whose father had donated a new wing to the studio was introduced. The judges clapped. “He has ‘potential’,” the politician judge said, eyeing the donation check. The Wild Card student was asked, “What is the capital of India?” He scratched his head and said, “Dubai?” Silence. Then, the cricketer judge laughed, “What a bold answer! He thinks outside the box! Dubai is basically India. I love his visionary approach.” The audience, sheep-like, applauded the “visionary.” He was promoted to the topper of the class. The poor boy Ramesh, who actually knew the capital, was voted out because he was “too bookish” and lacked “swag.” The demisical nature of the event was heartbreakingly funny—we were laughing, but our souls were packing their bags to leave the country.
The teachers were repurposed as background dancers. The old, bespectacled Mathematics professor, who had spent forty years teaching algebra, was now wearing a shiny silver suit and shaking a pom-pom whenever a student got a question right. I asked him, “Sir, doesn’t this hurt your dignity?” He looked at me with dead eyes and said, “Dignity doesn’t pay the pension, beta. At least here I get a vanity van.” It was a mindblowing degradation of the intellect. The library was turned into a makeup room. The laboratory was used to store the smoke machines. The very scent of ink and paper was replaced by the smell of cheap perfume and desperation. The goddess Saraswati had left the building; she was replaced by the goddess of Sponsorship.
The finale was the “Placement Round.” The surviving students stood on a ledge. Below them was a pit of crocodiles representing “The Job Market.” The host screamed, “Who will survive? Vote now! SMS ‘SAVE’ to 5555!” The absurdity reached its peak. We weren’t testing their skills; we were testing their luck and their ability to beg. A tear rolled down my cheek, not from laughter, but from the realization that this wasn’t actually satire. This was just a slightly exaggerated version of reality. Don’t we already vote students out based on their caste, their money, or their connections? Aren’t our interviews just reality shows where we perform like monkeys for a paycheck? The TV show just made the subtext the text. It was honest in its cruelty.
As the credits rolled, the winner—a boy who couldn’t spell ‘Economy’ but could dance beautifully to the theme song—held the trophy aloft. The trophy was shaped like a question mark. The audience went home, satisfied that justice had been done. The lights dimmed on the studio, leaving the empty stage in darkness. I walked out, realizing that we had successfully turned the pursuit of knowledge into a circus. The clowns were running the show, the lions were tame, and the audience was clapping as the tent burned down. It was a “hit” show. Season 2 is coming soon, featuring Kindergarteners fighting over crayons in a cage match. God save the future, because the voters certainly won’t.
****
© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’
Contact : Mo. +91 73 8657 8657, Email : drskm786@gmail.com
≈ Blog Editor – Shri Hemant Bawankar/Editor (English) – Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi, NM ≈
