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 – The Eternal Tesla and Musk’s Great-Grandmother.
☆ Witful Warmth# 77 ☆
☆ Satire ☆ The Eternal Tesla and Musk’s Great-Grandmother… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆
It was a crisp morning, the kind where the sun hits just right. On a dusty Indian road, the kind of road that holds the memories of three generations of childhoods, this shiny, driverless foreign car came gliding in. It was acting all cool, completely unaware that it was about to bump into its own great grandmother, our timeless, eternal bullock cart.
The moment they stood face to face, the car computer and fancy sensors lost their absolute minds. It was exactly like a high profile, cocktail party hopping modern bride suddenly running into the village matriarch in a traditional veil. The car massive touchscreen started flashing red lights in absolute panic, as if crying out, “Oh my god, what model is this?!” If we are being honest, the original autopilot belongs to our bullock cart. Back when the ancestors of the West were wrapping themselves in tree bark and making cave noises, our elders simply rested a hand on the shoulders of two bullocks and activated Autopilot Mode without a single lithium ion battery in sight. No GPS drama here, boss. Its navigation system is hardwired into the bullocks tails and their muscle memory. Today tech heavy cars honestly look like amateurs next to it.
The zero maintenance philosophy behind this cart is something foreign CEOs would go bald trying to figure out. There is no drama of changing engine oil every three months, and zero guilt of slipping cash to a pollution control officer. The fuel? Purely organic. Throw in two handfuls of green grass, and the cart is ready to cruise at a chill, unbothered tortoise pace of eight kilometers per hour. And look at the design, the bio waste its silencer leaves behind turns into literal gold for the fields, while foreign cars just choke your lungs with smoke. If Elon Musk car breaks down, you either have to fly an engineer in from Silicon Valley or sell a kidney for spare parts. But if the wooden wheel of our eternal Tesla cracks mid journey, any passing carpenter or a sturdy branch from a nearby neem tree can perform a successful open heart surgery on it. In two minutes, everything is sorted.
Big insurance companies would literally shut down their offices if they saw our cart Auto Crash Prevention System. Modern cars deploy airbags so you do not crack your skull against the steering wheel. But our cart twin engines, our beloved bullocks, are so emotional and perceptive that the moment they spot a pothole or a politician shiny SUV, they jam their own brakes. They do not need expensive cameras or radar. Their big, expressive eyes are the ultimate radar. Even in the pitch dark of night, they can spot a drunkard or a stray bull from a mile away and instantly switch the cart to Eco Mode. Plus, riding this thing saves you a gym membership. The natural vibrations from those heavy wooden wheels melt away belly fat faster than ghee melting under the scorching summer sun. It is not just a ride; it is a moving yoga center.
This cart teaches us a beautiful lesson: why is everyone in such a rush anyway? Reaching the destination is not nearly as important as soaking in the earthy scent of the passing fields. When you ride this cart with pride, all those wealthy folks honking behind you in their Mercedes and Audis suddenly fall into a disciplined, respectful line. It looks like a high security VIP convoy where no one has permission to overtake. You do not need anti theft alarms either. No thief has the audacity to shoulder a twenty quintal wooden masterpiece and run away. And don’t even get me started on the interiors. The velvet seats of foreign luxury cars fade in comparison to the fragrant bed of dry straw laid out in our cart. The kind of deep, ultimate sleep you get lying on that straw is something millionaires cannot buy in a five star hotel.
Kids these days are obsessed with Bluetooth and voice commands, but they should know our cart has a voice activation system so seamless the driver barely needs to move his tongue. A soft click of the tongue or a simple “hurr hurr” or “tit tit,” and the entire system alters its course without needing a high speed internet connection. This Bluetooth runs purely on a heart to heart connection without any complicated passwords. Security? Absolutely bulletproof. If a bandit tries to stop the cart at midnight, the twin engines deliver an anti theft kick with their hind legs that sends the thief straight to the afterlife. While modern cars catch a short circuit and die in knee deep water, our indigenous ride floats across the swelling waves of the Ganges and Yamuna like a duck chilling in a pond.
You want a sunroof? Musk charges a fortune for that. Our cart gives you a twenty four seven panoramic sky view for free. You get the crisp sun by day and a canopy of stars by night. Even the horn is not some annoying, high pitched Chinese buzzer. When those heavy wheels spin, the dry wood creates a rhythmic “churr choo, churr choo” melody that sounds like a classical string instrument, making even the stray dogs on the pavement wag their tails in respect. The braking tech is the most revolutionary part: the driver just takes off his old slipper and jams it between the wheel and the wooden frame. The cart stops dead in its tracks with a sudden silence, looking exactly like a corrupt clerk caught red handed accepting a bribe.
That morning, when that glittering foreign car stopped dead right in front of our great grandmother bullock cart, its automated brain mistook the bullocks long, sharp horns for some terrifying new military sensors. The car panicked and automatically engaged reverse gear. Our local brother sitting on the cart, with a Banarasi paan tucked into his cheek, looked down at the panting foreign machine with his relaxed, sleepy eyes. He gave a deeply philosophical smile and gently twitched the tail of his right bullock. That was it. The moment the tail was twitched, the system activated. The bull raised its tail and slapped a massive, homegrown sensor reboot stroke right onto the shiny bonnet of the car. That single slap completely fried the car million dollar software. The car turned on all four of its hazard lights right in the middle of the road, started honking frantically like a lost calf crying for its mother, and began blinking its headlights repeatedly as it practically fell at the feet of the bullocks. It looked exactly like a spoiled, strayed grandson falling into a full prostration posture at the feet of his great grandmother, whispering, “I messed up, Dadi. I am finally home.”
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© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’
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≈ Blog Editor – Shri Hemant Bawankar/Editor (English) – Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi, NM ≈
