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 Blind Belief: The Day-to-Day Show.
☆ Witful Warmth # 19 ☆
☆ Satire ☆ Blind Belief: The Day-to-Day Show ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆
Every morning starts the same for Mohan. He wakes up, stretches his arms, and without a second thought, reaches for his phone. Not to check the news or messages, but to consult his “lucky horoscope app.” After all, why leave the day’s success to chance when stars, moons, and planets are willing to do the heavy lifting?
Mohan nods solemnly. He wouldn’t dare to anger the stars. It’s a well-known fact that Venus, hundreds of millions of kilometers away, has nothing better to do than ensure whether he gets that parking spot near the office.
But Mohan isn’t alone in this cosmic madness. His neighbor, Mr. Sharma, believes deeply in numerology. “Eight is unlucky,” he says with the conviction of someone who’s seen the future—or at least paid someone else to tell him. His car’s number plate has been changed so many times that the RTO suspects he’s laundering numbers. But Mr. Sharma knows better. “Safety first,” he says, locking eyes with the driver behind him as if his faith alone will prevent the inevitable rear-end collision. After all, it’s the number plate that ensures safety, not things like brakes or traffic rules. Who needs airbags when you have astrologically aligned number plates? A perfect blend of science and superstition.
In office life, the blind belief express only accelerates. There’s Anita, the HR manager, who’s glued a tiny lemon and chili charm to her computer screen. “It wards off evil eyes,” she explains, convinced that someone from the IT department has cursed her last salary raise. “The evil eye is real!” she declares every time her system crashes—blaming dark forces rather than shoddy Wi-Fi.
The office itself is a temple of superstition. Every Friday, the boss walks in with a tilak on his forehead and a coconut in his hand. He places it carefully in front of his desk, right next to the stapler, ensuring it is positioned “just right” to appease the office gods. “When the coconut cracks properly, business goes well. Last week, it didn’t crack right, and we lost the Gupta deal,” he says, shaking his head gravely. Apparently, all those Excel sheets and PowerPoint presentations are mere trivialities in the grand cosmic design of tender deals. Who knew coconuts could dictate the stock market? It’s time the Sensex started publishing coconut-cracking indexes alongside financial reports.
Back in Mohan’s household, his wife, Suman, has her own battle against evil forces—though hers are much more personal. Every time she hears a dog howl at night, she lights an agarbatti and starts chanting mantras. “Dogs can sense spirits,” she insists, staring into the distance with wide, worried eyes. The fact that the neighbor’s dog howls every night because it’s lonely seems irrelevant. Clearly, the house is under siege from the spirit world.
And then there’s the great ‘Lemon-Laden Defense System’ that Mohan’s family has deployed outside their front door—a lemon and seven green chilies, dangling like an ancient talisman. It’s supposed to ward off evil spirits and financial troubles, though judging by Mohan’s credit card bills, the spirits seem to be winning. Mohan once suggested they could simply cut the chilies and use them in the dal. He was met with such horror you’d think he suggested inviting the spirits for dinner. Lemon chilies – cheaper than insurance but with the added benefit of warding off imaginary foes. No wonder inflation isn’t an issue in the spirit world.
Mohan’s colleague, Ramesh, has an entirely different kind of blind faith: chain messages. “Forward this message to 10 people or suffer bad luck,” reads his latest WhatsApp broadcast. Ramesh believes in these with the devotion of a priest. Once, he forgot to forward a chain message about “Shri Ganesh’s blessings,” and his bike broke down the next day. Now, he forwards them religiously. Better safe than sorry, he says, as though WhatsApp has become the digital age’s temple, where prayers are sent one meme at a time.
But let’s not forget the most universally adored blind belief: the TV astrologer. Every evening, households across the nation tune in to hear predictions from a man who, judging by his wardrobe, is half-astrologer, half-magician. “Today, Pisces should avoid wearing red and making any financial decisions,” he warns with authority. Meanwhile, a man from the Pisces zodiac, sitting in front of the screen in his red pajamas, pauses his online shopping spree with a mix of terror and guilt. What if buying those red shoes ruins his life? Maybe he should settle for the blue ones instead. It’s not about style or preference—it’s the cosmos telling you which shoes to wear!
And yet, the cherry on top of this grand blind belief cake comes during election season. Political parties parade astrologers, babas, and godmen on TV, as if divine intervention is a viable campaign strategy. Manifestos are written in the stars—quite literally. If Saturn is in the right house, the flyover will get built. If Mars is upset, better postpone that metro project. “Development isn’t about budgets or urban planning,” the candidates say, “it’s about planetary positions.” Why rely on policy when you can consult the heavens? After all, if Venus approves, maybe we’ll finally get those potholes filled.
It’s clear—whether it’s the alignment of stars, the crack of a coconut, or the swing of a lemon-chili charm, we all love a bit of blind belief. After all, it’s much easier to blame the cosmos than to face the realities of everyday life.
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© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’
Contact : Mo. +91 73 8657 8657, Email : [email protected]
≈ Blog Editor – Shri Hemant Bawankar/Editor (English) – Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi, NM ≈
