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 Deceiver Maya, Our Mistress.
☆ Witful Warmth# 42 ☆
☆ Satire ☆ The Great Deceiver Maya, Our Mistress… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆
So, dear friends, the story begins on that fateful day when the greatest con artist of all—the human mind—decided to play its grandest trick on me. I woke up in the morning, rubbing my eyes, thinking, “Today, I’ll do something big, something that’ll go down in history!” But history? I couldn’t even cross my doorstep before Maya threw her first punch. “Beta, make some tea!” came my mother’s voice. Now, making tea isn’t exactly a grand feat, but Maya wove such a web around it that it wasn’t just tea—it squeezed the life out of me. No sugar, curdled milk, empty gas cylinder—and there I was, standing on the street with a pot in hand, singing like an unemployed poet, “Oh life, what have you given me?” Maya laughed, “This is just the trailer, the movie’s yet to come!” And trust me, the movie was so intense that even Shah Rukh’s films would pale in comparison. The shopkeeper said, “Cylinder will come tomorrow, cook on a stove today.” A stove? Is this 2025 or 1825? But behold Maya’s game—she turned me into a poet even while I hauled wood: “Life’s a stove, all smoke, no glow.” Neighbors laughed, “You’re quite the craftsman!” There was pain in that laughter, but who sees the tears in my eyes? Maya whispered, “Don’t cry, the day’s just begun.” And I, the fool, believed her and stepped out to embrace the day. Embrace? More like I got choked.
The sun rose higher, and I thought, let’s hunt for a job. I grabbed my resume, polished my shoes, and set off—“There are more destinations to conquer!” But Maya had already written the script. I boarded the bus, reached for my pocket—my wallet was gone. The driver barked, “Ticket or get off!” I pleaded, “Brother, adjust a little, I’m jobless.” He laughed, “Then this isn’t a bus, it’s a train straight to Footpath Station!” The crowd clapped, and I stepped off—not as a hero, but as a villain. Standing on the road, I wondered, “Is this Maya or my fate mocking me?” Just then, a beggar approached, “Sir, spare two rupees.” I said, “Brother, I’m a beggar myself, you give me some.” He laughed, “You’re worse off than me!” Maya cackled, “See, I’ve made you the king of the streets!” King? Yes, without a crown, without a kingdom. My shoes were worn out, my stomach growled, and Maya shouted, “The interview’s still left!” Interview? That became a distant dream because by the time I reached the office, it was night.
Evening fell, and I thought, let’s meet some friends—maybe my heart will feel lighter. But Maya outdid herself here too. My friend said, “Good you came, I’m broke, lend me some money.” I replied, “Brother, my pocket’s full of air—and that’s polluted too!” He said, “No worries, sit, I’ll get tea.” Tea arrived, I started sipping, and the dhaba owner yelled, “Who’s paying?” My friend vanished, and I was trapped. The owner said, “Wash the dishes, then leave.” Now witness Maya’s magic—my day began making tea, and ended washing dishes. Hands covered in soap, eyes brimming with tears, and a single question in my mind—“Is this life or a punishment?” Maya placed her hand on my shoulder, “Not punishment, my art.” Art? This isn’t art, it’s cruelty! But who can reason with Maya? She just kept laughing, and I, like an empty vessel, kept sobbing. My friend called later, “Sorry, I was joking.” Joking? My life’s become a joke, and Maya’s sitting in the director’s chair, clapping away.
Night arrived, and I returned home. Mom said, “Where were you? The food’s cold.” I replied, “Mom, I’ve gone cold from life itself.” I ate, but where was the taste? Maya had stolen that too. I tried to sleep, but Maya had kidnapped my sleep. Lying in the dark, I wondered, “What did I do wrong?” Maya answered, “Wrong? You were born—that’s your mistake!” And then her laughter echoed—ha ha ha! I buried my face in the pillow, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Outside, a dog was barking—perhaps another victim of Maya. “Brother, are you crying too?” I asked. The dog fell silent, maybe Maya scolded him too. I survived the night, morning came, and Maya was ready again—“New day, new drama!” I pleaded, “Enough, Maya! I can’t take it anymore.” But she said, “You’ll have to, because I’m Maya, the Great Deceiver!” And I, like a puppet, got entangled in her game again.
Morning followed the same routine. I made tea, but this time Maya added a new twist—she swapped the sugar with salt. Mom shouted, “What is this?” I said, “Mom, this is the taste of my life—salty tears!” She snapped, “Stop the nonsense, go get milk.” I went, but the shopkeeper said, “Money first, milk later.” Empty pockets, teary eyes. I returned, and Mom taunted, “You’ll always be useless.” Useless? Yes, Maya had made me the emperor of the useless. The day progressed, and the phone rang. The electricity guy said, “Pay the bill, or we’ll cut the power.” I said, “Brother, my life’s already cut off, what’s electricity?” He laughed, “Then cry in the dark!” Darkness? It’s become my friend. Maya said, “See, I’ve shown you every shade—black, white, salty!” And I, without electricity, sat with a candle, talking to my shadow—“You’re better than me, at least Maya doesn’t toy with you.”
Noon arrived, and a neighbor came by, “I hear crying from your house.” I said, “Brother, that’s my life, clinging to me and weeping.” He asked, “Some girl trouble?” I laughed, “Yes, a girl named Maya!” He didn’t understand and left. Then the postman arrived with a letter. I opened it—a job rejection: “You’re unfit.” Unfit? Maya taunted, “See, you’re unfit even for my game!” I tore the letter and screamed, “Maya, you’ve won!” But she said, “Won? The real fun of defeat is yet to come.” That evening, the power was cut. Sitting in the dark, I wondered, “What’s left?” Then water dripped from the ceiling—rain had started. Maya laughed, “I’ve summoned your tears from the sky!” I got drenched, and Maya danced.
The night deepened, and I had a dream. Maya stood before me, saying, “You think I’m cruel? I’m your teacher.” I asked, “What have you taught me? To cry?” She said, “No, to endure!” Endure? Yes, Maya had turned me into an endurance machine. I woke up, my pillow soaked. The rain had stopped outside, but the storm inside me raged on. Mom said, “Get up, do something.” I replied, “Mom, what can a man defeated by Maya do?” She stayed silent—perhaps she sensed Maya’s presence. The day began, but for me, every day was the same—Maya’s game, Maya’s trap. I looked at the sky, “Oh Maya, you’ve taken everything, what’s left?” She said, “Your tears are left—I’ll squeeze those too!” And she did, while I kept crying.
In the end, I was sitting on the street. A child approached, “Uncle, why are you crying?” I said, “Son, what else can a man defeated by Maya do?” He asked, “Who’s Maya?” I laughed, “The guest who’ll soon visit your life!” The child left, and I sat there. Maya came to me, “Game over, now go.” I asked, “Where?” She said, “Back where you came from.” I thought, maybe it’s time to die. But Maya threw her final punch, “I won’t even let you die—keep living!” And I, like a living corpse, lay on the street. The crowd watched—some laughed, some cried. But Maya? She moved on, hunting for her next prey. My tears dried, but a sigh escaped my heart—“Oh Maya, you’ll always be the Great Deceiver!” And reader, if you’re crying too, know this—Maya has already arrived at your doorstep.
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© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’
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