Tag: #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 The Plunder of Power, The Death of Truth, The Wound of Democracy!  

☆ Witful Warmth# 36 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ The Plunder of Power, The Death of Truth, The Wound of Democracy!… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

The village was in a terrible state. No, no, don’t misunderstand—it wasn’t famine, farmers weren’t hanging themselves from banyan trees, unemployment wasn’t at its peak, and children weren’t dying of malnutrition. Nothing of the sort. In fact, the village was “developing!” And by development, I mean that every street was adorned with election posters, every corner was occupied by leaders yelling about progress until their throats went dry, and every wall had freshly painted slogans—“Development for All!”

Two candidates were in the race for the position of Village Head—Chaudhary Ramlal and Thakur Baldev. The villagers knew their “illustrious” pasts all too well. Last time, Ramlal had won the elections and then vanished like morning mist, reappearing only five years later to remind the village that he still existed. During his campaign, he had installed streetlights across the village. The moment the election was over, those lights flickered out, just like his promises.

Thakur Baldev, on the other hand, had an even grander vision. His only agenda was, “I’ll turn this village into a city!” He never mentioned the lack of schools, hospitals, clean water, or roads. But he did promise one thing—a liquor shop of premium quality.

The day of the elections arrived. The “sovereign” people walked towards the polling booths, their choices well-secured in their pockets. Some received a bottle of whiskey, others a saree, and the more privileged ones had a crisp 500-rupee note folded into their palms. The elders were made to swear on their ancestors that they would vote for the right candidate—for the “future” of the village.

The votes were cast, the counting began, and in the grand tradition of democracy, the one who could pull off the biggest fraud won. Thakur Baldev was declared the new Village Head.

Celebrations erupted in the village. Crackers exploded, drums thundered, and sweets were distributed. Thakur Baldev, reveling in his victory, roared, “Now, I’ll transform this village into a city!” The crowd cheered, clapped, and then returned to their crumbling homes. By the next morning, the village was back to its original state—broken roads, dry handpumps, locked schools, an abandoned hospital—but discussions on development were at an all-time high.

Within the first week, new government schemes were announced. Ten lakh rupees were sanctioned for the renovation of the Panchayat office, but somehow, the building deteriorated even further. A digital board was installed in the school, though there was no teacher to use it. Funds were allocated to repair the village drains, but the money mysteriously found its way into the Village Head’s personal treasury. The wheel of progress spun so fast that the people couldn’t keep up with it.

Some innocent villagers dared to ask questions. They were quickly told, “You wouldn’t understand. This is democracy!”

A few educated youths tried to hold the Village Head accountable. Thakur Baldev greeted them with a fatherly smile and said, “Everything I do is for your benefit!” By the next morning, those inquisitive young men found themselves politely escorted to the Panchayat office, where they were given a lesson in village politics—questioning too much was hazardous to one’s health.

Five years passed in the blink of an eye. The wheel of development kept spinning, yet the village remained exactly where it was. Then, election season arrived once more. The air was filled with new slogans, fresh promises, and the same old faces with slightly different lies. A new candidate entered the race, announcing, “I’ll turn this village into a city!” The villagers clapped yet again.

Perhaps you’ll read this and laugh. Perhaps you’ll shake your head and chuckle at the absurdity of it all. But if you truly absorb it, you might just feel a lump in your throat. Because this isn’t just the story of one village—it’s the story of an entire nation. It’s the tale of truths we conveniently forget amidst the election festivities. It’s the saga of wounds inflicted upon the people by democracy itself. And above all, it’s the chronicle of those seats of power where truth is executed every five years.

And yes, the development is still ongoing.

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© 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 Ram Lal’s Dilemma: A Holiday Hustle…. 

☆ Witful Warmth# 35 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ Ram Lal’s Dilemma: A Holiday Hustle… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

Once upon a time, in a quaint little town in India, there lived a diligent fellow named Ram Lal, a government clerk who spent his days shuffling papers and dreaming of holidays. The grand festivities of the year brought him immeasurable joy; he waited for them with the eagerness of a child anticipating a long-desired toy. For Ram Lal, the holidays were not mere breaks from work; they were like the sweet nectar of life, a divine blessing bestowed upon him.

One fateful day, as Ram Lal sat in his office, savoring a cup of tea and daydreaming about the upcoming festivals, his colleague Shyamu ambled over with a grin that could split a watermelon. “Ram Lal, my friend! Have you heard? This year, several festivals fall on Sundays!”

Ram Lal nearly dropped his cup in shock. “What? Which ones?” he gasped, his heart racing as if he’d just run a marathon.

Shyamu, barely containing his laughter, replied, “Republic Day, Gudi Padwa, Ram Navami… and many more!”

Ram Lal’s face fell as if someone had snatched away his beloved sweets. “This is an absolute travesty! Holidays are meant to grant us extra time off, and here they are, encroaching upon our precious Sundays!”

That evening, Ram Lal returned home, his mind a whirlpool of thoughts. With a determined spirit, he pulled out a calendar and noted the festivals that were cruelly scheduled on Sundays. “It’s just like having the rug pulled out from under you,” he muttered, filled with indignation.

The next day at work, Ram Lal rallied his coworkers to discuss this “grave injustice.” They gathered around, their faces set in determination. Together, they decided to march to their boss and demand extra holidays. After all, if one could not control the calendar, perhaps one could at least appeal to the benevolence of their superior.

Their boss, a holiday enthusiast himself, listened intently to their plight. “Listen, my friends,” he said, stroking his chin. “We cannot alter the dates of the festivals. However, I can propose to the government that when a festival falls on a Sunday, we should get Monday off instead.”

A glimmer of hope sparked in Ram Lal’s eyes. They hastily drafted a letter and sent it off to the higher-ups, dreaming of the extra days of merriment that awaited them.

Weeks passed, and at last, a response arrived from the government. The letter proclaimed, “Your proposal has been received with utmost seriousness. The government has decided that in the future, no festival shall ever fall on a Sunday! A special committee will be established to ensure that festivals always occur on weekdays!”

Ram Lal and his colleagues cheered with jubilation, their hard work seemingly paying off. Little did they know, the wheels of bureaucracy were about to spin in ways they could hardly imagine.

The special committee, comprised of scholars and astrologers, went to work. They consulted lunar calendars, mathematical equations, and even the positions of the stars to determine the new dates for each festival. Months later, the new calendar was released, and lo and behold, Diwali was now on Wednesday, Holi on Thursday, and Eid on Friday.

Ram Lal and his friends were ecstatic! Finally, they would have holidays aplenty! But as the excitement settled, a new edict emerged from the government: “Since festival dates have been rescheduled, employees will only receive leave for festivals relevant to their personal faith. For all other days, work is mandatory!”

Ram Lal felt the ground shift beneath him. “So this is what it feels like to fall from grace,” he lamented, scratching his head in disbelief.

His elation evaporated like mist in the morning sun, replaced by the harsh reality of a restricted holiday schedule. Instead of enjoying days of revelry, Ram Lal and his companions found themselves shackled to their desks, working through the festivals they once cherished.

Through this ironic twist of fate, Ram Lal learned a valuable lesson: the true essence of a festival lies not in the number of days off it grants but in the spirit of celebration itself. He and his colleagues decided that, regardless of when a festival occurred, they would embrace it with open hearts and exuberant enthusiasm.

Thus, they transformed their mundane workdays into festive occasions. They brought sweets to the office, decorated their desks, and shared laughter and joy despite the looming deadlines. They discovered that even if they couldn’t take the day off, they could still celebrate the spirit of the festival in their own little ways.

Ram Lal concluded that life was too short to fret over such trivial matters as holiday schedules. With a newfound perspective, he smiled at the thought of the next festival, no longer caring whether it fell on a weekend or a weekday. Instead, he would proclaim, “No matter the day, it’s the heart that celebrates!”

And so, the tale of Ram Lal’s holiday hustle became a legend in the town, a reminder that in the grand tapestry of life, it’s not the days off that matter most, but how one chooses to live and celebrate each moment.

As the years rolled on, Ram Lal continued to navigate the unpredictable waters of government regulations, but he did so with a light heart, knowing that true happiness comes from within, regardless of what the calendar may dictate.

In the end, when any festival approached, Ram Lal would chuckle and say, “No worries, my friends! Whether it’s Sunday or Monday, let’s make it a day to remember!” And with that spirit, the festivities rolled on, filling the office with laughter, joy, and the sweet taste of togetherness.

And so, dear readers, let us learn from Ram Lal’s merry misadventures—because in the great carnival of life, it’s the love we share and the joy we spread that truly makes the day a celebration, no matter the date!

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© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

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