Tag: #Satire

Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra, widely known in the world of satire by his pen name ‘Uratipt’, expresses his emotions and thoughts with profound honesty and depth. His multifaceted talent is evident in his contributions across various literary genres. He is not only a renowned satirist but also a poet and a children’s author.

His satirical writings have earned him a special place in the literary world. His satire, ‘Shikshak Ki Mout’, went massively viral on the Sahitya Aajtak channel, garnering over a million views and reads—a monumental achievement in the history of Hindi satire. His collection of satires, ‘Ek Tinka Ikyavan Aankhen’ (A Straw and Fifty-One Eyes), is also highly acclaimed and includes his timeless work, ‘Kitabon Ki Antim Yatra’ (The Last Journey of Books). Other celebrated collections include ‘Mayaan Ek, Talwar Anek’ (One Sheath, Many Swords), ‘Gapodi Adda’ (The Gossiper’s Den), and ‘Sab Rang Mein Mere Rang’ (My Colors in Every Hue). His satirical novel, ‘Idhar-Udhar Ke Beech Mein’ (In Between Here and There), is a unique and groundbreaking work focused on the third world.

His significant contributions to literature have been widely recognized. He was honored with the Best Young Creator Award, 2021 by the Telangana Hindi Academy and the Government of Telangana, an award presented by Chief Minister K. Chandrasekhar Rao. The Rajasthan Children’s Literature Academy also honored him for his children’s book, ‘Nanhon Ka Srijan Aasmaan’ (The Creative Sky of Little Ones). Additionally, he has received the Vyanga Yatra Ravindranath Tyagi Sopaan Samman and the Sahitya Srijan Samman from Prime Minister Narendra Modi.

Dr. Uratript has also played a pivotal role in writing, editing, and coordinating a total of 55 books for the Government of Telangana for primary school, college, and university levels. His work is included in university textbooks in Bihar, Chhattisgarh, and Telangana, where his satirical creations are part of the curriculum. This recognition underscores that young readers can identify and appreciate quality and impactful writing.

Key Accolades and Works

• Viral Satire: ‘Teacher’s Death’ (over 1 million views)
• Satire Collections: ‘Ek Tinka Ikyavan Aankhen’, ‘Mayaan Ek, Talwar Anek’, ‘Gapodi Adda’
• Unique Satirical Novel: ‘Idhar-Udar Ke Beech Mein’
• Awards: Shreshtha Navyuva Samman (Telangana), Sahitya Srijan Samman (PM Modi), and more.
• Educational Contribution: Authored and edited 55 books for the Telangana government.

Some precious moments of life

1. Honoured with ‘Shrestha Navayuvva Rachnakar Samman’ by former Chief Minister of Telangana Government, Shri K. Chandrasekhar Rao.
2. 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.
3. Meeting the famous litterateur Shri Vinod Kumar Shukla Ji, honoured with Jnanpith Award.
4. Got the privilege of meeting Mr. Perfectionist of Bollywood, actor Aamir Khan.
5. Meeting the powerful actor Vicky Kaushal on the occasion of being honoured by Vishva Katha Rangmanch.

Today we present his satire The Funeral of Virtue.  

☆ Witful Warmth# 68 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ The Funeral of Virtue… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

The final act of our moral drama was not a clash of civilizations or the collapse of temples, but a quiet, almost imperceptible switch in the syllabus. Moral Science, that tired, yellow-paged relic of our grandfathers, has died not of old age, but of irrelevance. It was simply outpaced by a brighter, faster deity: the daily meme lesson. Where the textbook once spoke of patience, sacrifice, and the quiet dignity of duty, the new curriculum speaks in punchlines, reaction gifs, and the relentless pursuit of virality. This is not merely a change in pedagogy; it is the ultimate, irreversible capitulation of the soul to the algorithm. The market, that clever, cold-eyed merchant, has figured out that complex virtues cannot be packaged for quick consumption, but fleeting outrage and performative empathy can be. Our new moral code is built on two pillars: the speed of the scroll and the transience of the trend. This is a tear-rolling tragedy, for we have exchanged the slow, heavy burden of becoming good for the light, instant pleasure of appearing good. The children of tomorrow will know every digital shortcut to looking virtuous, but no difficult, dusty path to actually being so. This shift marks the definitive, digital funeral of genuine character, replacing it with easily digestible, marketable content.

The old Moral Science textbook, found now only in the deepest, dustiest corners of school libraries, held lessons that required labor. It demanded introspection, the agony of self-correction, and the quiet, unmarketable courage to be honest when no one was watching. Its pages smelled of starch, silence, and the sincere, heavy promise of responsibility. Now, compare this to the sharp, blue light emanating from the phone, the digital Guru in our pocket. The meme lesson, by contrast, is a burst of dopamine-laced clarity: a single, perfectly framed image paired with six words that condense an existential dilemma into a brief, consumable joke. We no longer debate the ethics of justice; we simply share the ‘Wojak’ pointing and labeling the bad thing. We have traded the rigorous geometry of conscience for the easily reproducible square of the screen. This is why the meme lesson won. It asked nothing of us except a quick ‘share’ or ‘like.’ It relieved us of the crushing obligation to think deeply or act slowly. The tragedy is that we celebrate this liberation from moral effort, mistaking our newfound speed for spiritual progress.

Our contemporary pedagogy, therefore, teaches not morality, but efficiency of emotional expression. The goal is no longer to internalize a virtue, but to broadcast a reaction. If a tragedy occurs half a world away, the first and most critical moral lesson is to find the appropriate black-and-white filter and the most succinct, emotionally charged text overlay for the meme. The student who is fastest to demonstrate their perfectly calibrated grief, their hyper-aware social outrage, or their profoundly correct political alignment, is the one who passes the test of modern virtue. Genuine, quiet suffering is worthless; only suffering that is immediately converted into content holds currency. The syllabus demands that we master the art of the ‘Outrage Cycle,’ where conviction lasts exactly as long as the hashtag trends, and then instantly vanishes, making way for the next obligatory moral performance. The tear that rolls down our cheek is now not one of empathy, but one of exhaustion, realizing that our soul has become nothing more than a perpetually trending feed.

The most heart-touching part of this digital transaction is the profound hypocrisy it enables, yet cleverly disguises as authenticity. We are all now carrying pocket-sized certificates of moral excellence. A person may spend their entire day at work engaging in petty cruelty, cutting corners on their duties, or backbiting their colleagues—behaviors the old Moral Science book would have condemned as wicked. Yet, in the evening, this very person shares a ‘wholesome’ meme about kindness to strangers, complete with a touching, synthetic story about a dog and a sunset. This shared image is not a reflection of their character; it is a cheap, instant moral prophylactic. It cleanses the day’s sins with a single tap. The tragedy is that we all know this is happening, but we accept it, because our own daily sins require the same convenient absolution. The tear that rolls now is one of sheer, exhausted irony, knowing that we are collectively performing a morality we have no intention of practicing once the screen is locked.

The economy of feeling is the ultimate triumph of the meme lesson. In the quiet, defunct world of the textbook, sadness was a long, complex process involving introspection and potentially costly self-change. In the glittering bazaar of the internet, sadness is a template; outrage is a commodity; and moral conviction is simply content optimized for clicks. The meme, being the perfect unit of digital trade, teaches us to value emotion only to the extent that it can be monetized, liked, or shared. It is a profound lesson in branding: your morality is now your brand loyalty. If you are ‘for’ the environment, you must use the correct set of ecological icons and share the correct set of climate-crisis memes. If you fail to perform this branded morality, you are immediately accused of lacking virtue—not because of your deeds, but because of your silence. This system punishes the silent laborer and rewards the noisy performer, turning the quest for goodness into a relentless, exhausting marketing campaign for the self.

Consider the student, sitting hunched over their glowing screen, absorbing the daily lesson. They are not learning ‘Thou Shalt Not Lie,’ but ‘How to Craft a Lie That Looks Like Truth for 24 Hours.’ They are mastering the subtle lexicon of the scroll, the critical difference between the sincere look of shock and the viral look of performative shock. The moral education they receive is entirely based on instantaneous validation. If their moral take gets ten thousand likes, it is factually and ethically correct; if it gets zero, it is shameful and must be deleted. Their soul is being conditioned not by an internal compass, but by an external, fluctuating popularity contest. This is where the mind is truly blown by the tragedy: they are perfectly literate in the language of digital empathy, capable of composing a perfect thread on social justice, yet utterly incapable of looking a genuinely suffering person in the eye without first checking if the moment is worth recording. They are morally proficient, but empathetically illiterate.

The Grand Syllabus of Absurdity, therefore, has replaced the Ten Commandments with the Ten Trends. The new lessons are clear and frightening in their simplicity. Lesson One: Outrage Cycling—how to maintain peak moral fervor for 72 hours and then seamlessly transition to a new topic without looking inconsistent. Lesson Two: Selective Amnesia—the skill of deleting all past moral opinions that contradict the current meme-approved consensus. Lesson Three: The Art of the Flex—the technique of demonstrating ethical consumption (like buying an overpriced, ‘sustainable’ coffee) while ignoring the systemic rot beneath your feet. This syllabus is beautiful in its cynicism, perfectly tuned to the quick-fix, low-commitment nature of the modern psyche. It is the inevitable evolution of a society that decided patience was too much trouble, reflection was too slow, and genuine goodness was simply too expensive to maintain in a world that only pays attention to noise.

And so, we arrive at the final, heartbreaking resignation. The time for serious, quiet virtue—for the untelevised, unviral act of genuine kindness—is over. We are now governed by the soft, ambient sound of the scroll and the occasional synthetic chuckle elicited by a perfectly timed joke about the meaninglessness of it all. The Moral Science book rests, peacefully entombed, while its replacement, the vast, shimmering, infinitely scrolling content feed, conducts its daily, dazzling classes. We have traded the difficult road to character for the easy button of convenient consciousness. The tear that rolls down the cheek of the old man is not one of anger, but of mournful acceptance. He sees that the children are happy, endlessly entertained, and perfectly proficient in their new lessons. They are perfectly moral in the digital world. It is only in the clumsy, slow, real world that they seem to have forgotten how to be human. And that, dear reader, is the final, mind-blowing joke on us all. We built the world; the meme merely taught us how to neglect it beautifully.

****

© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

Contact : Mo. +91 73 8657 8657, Email : drskm786@gmail.com

Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra, widely known in the world of satire by his pen name ‘Uratipt’, expresses his emotions and thoughts with profound honesty and depth. His multifaceted talent is evident in his contributions across various literary genres. He is not only a renowned satirist but also a poet and a children’s author.

His satirical writings have earned him a special place in the literary world. His satire, ‘Shikshak Ki Mout’, went massively viral on the Sahitya Aajtak channel, garnering over a million views and reads—a monumental achievement in the history of Hindi satire. His collection of satires, ‘Ek Tinka Ikyavan Aankhen’ (A Straw and Fifty-One Eyes), is also highly acclaimed and includes his timeless work, ‘Kitabon Ki Antim Yatra’ (The Last Journey of Books). Other celebrated collections include ‘Mayaan Ek, Talwar Anek’ (One Sheath, Many Swords), ‘Gapodi Adda’ (The Gossiper’s Den), and ‘Sab Rang Mein Mere Rang’ (My Colors in Every Hue). His satirical novel, ‘Idhar-Udhar Ke Beech Mein’ (In Between Here and There), is a unique and groundbreaking work focused on the third world.

His significant contributions to literature have been widely recognized. He was honored with the Best Young Creator Award, 2021 by the Telangana Hindi Academy and the Government of Telangana, an award presented by Chief Minister K. Chandrasekhar Rao. The Rajasthan Children’s Literature Academy also honored him for his children’s book, ‘Nanhon Ka Srijan Aasmaan’ (The Creative Sky of Little Ones). Additionally, he has received the Vyanga Yatra Ravindranath Tyagi Sopaan Samman and the Sahitya Srijan Samman from Prime Minister Narendra Modi.

Dr. Uratript has also played a pivotal role in writing, editing, and coordinating a total of 55 books for the Government of Telangana for primary school, college, and university levels. His work is included in university textbooks in Bihar, Chhattisgarh, and Telangana, where his satirical creations are part of the curriculum. This recognition underscores that young readers can identify and appreciate quality and impactful writing.

Key Accolades and Works

• Viral Satire: ‘Teacher’s Death’ (over 1 million views)
• Satire Collections: ‘Ek Tinka Ikyavan Aankhen’, ‘Mayaan Ek, Talwar Anek’, ‘Gapodi Adda’
• Unique Satirical Novel: ‘Idhar-Udar Ke Beech Mein’
• Awards: Shreshtha Navyuva Samman (Telangana), Sahitya Srijan Samman (PM Modi), and more.
• Educational Contribution: Authored and edited 55 books for the Telangana government.

Some precious moments of life

1. Honoured with ‘Shrestha Navayuvva Rachnakar Samman’ by former Chief Minister of Telangana Government, Shri K. Chandrasekhar Rao.
2. 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.
3. Meeting the famous litterateur Shri Vinod Kumar Shukla Ji, honoured with Jnanpith Award.
4. Got the privilege of meeting Mr. Perfectionist of Bollywood, actor Aamir Khan.
5. Meeting the powerful actor Vicky Kaushal on the occasion of being honoured by Vishva Katha Rangmanch.

Today we present his satire The Algorithm’s Chalkboard.  

☆ Witful Warmth# 67   ☆

☆ Satire ☆ The Algorithm’s Chalkboard… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

The year is no longer the year of our Lord, but the year of the Algorithm, and the school—that hallowed sanctuary where wisdom was once whispered—has become a mere content creation factory. Oh, the sublime tragedy! We once spoke of pedagogical excellence and the depth of the Socratic method; now, we speak only in terms of conversion rates and the optimal time to post a twelve-second explainer on quantum physics set to a trending K-Pop beat. The new mandate, delivered with the sterile, smiling cruelty of a managerial seminar, is this: Teachers are to be ranked not by the sediment of forty years’ experience, but by the ephemeral, shimmering dust of TikTok follower counts. Experience, that grand old ruin, is deemed a liability, a sign of one’s inability to adapt to the short attention span economy. Knowledge is burdensome; flash is the currency. A teacher’s salary, promotion, and even the size of their classroom depend on a number that fluctuates with the whims of a fifteen-year-old scrolling past a tragicomic dance challenge. The wisdom earned through silent years in libraries is worthless compared to the ability to make one’s face look surprised in a viral ‘reaction’ video. This is the new enlightenment, a light so bright it blinds us to the very purpose of education, transforming temples of learning into sound stages for absurdity. This is not progress; it is the ultimate, mind-blowing mockery of intellect by the mass market, delivered on a tiny screen.

The central tragedy is embodied by Acharya Gyaneshwar, a man whose 40 years of service had etched a map of human knowledge onto his soul, and whose Ph.D. in Sanskrit had been earned through a lifetime of quiet sacrifice. He moves through the fluorescent-lit hallways like a ghost from a sensible past, clutching his worn copy of the Upanishads, now treated with less respect than a discarded fidget spinner. His colleague, twenty-two-year-old Ms. Sparkle, whose primary qualification is 5.2 million followers, dictates the new faculty meeting agenda. Acharya Gyaneshwar, whose lectures used to inspire students to look beyond the immediate, is now assigned the dankest corner classroom because his “engagement metrics are catastrophically low,” a phrase that, in the new language of the school, means his soul is too pure for their shallow enterprise. Ms. Sparkle, meanwhile, is granted the state-of-the-art auditorium for her live-streamed “Math Magick” sessions, which largely consist of her pointing dramatically at a whiteboard while a filter gives her cat ears. The heartbreaking irony is that she cannot explain basic trigonometry, yet she defines the institution’s success. Acharya Gyaneshwar’s voice is soft, rich with wisdom; Ms. Sparkle’s is loud, amplified by the hollowness of the digital echo chamber. His knowledge is deep and slow; her popularity is broad and instantaneous. His expertise is an ocean; her fame is a puddle reflecting a distorted sky.

The curriculum, naturally, has followed the money and the fame, transforming from a pursuit of truth into a cynical pursuit of clicks. The principal, Mr. Clickworthy, who replaced the previous principal after a dismal performance review that cited a lack of “digital traction,” now issues memoranda titled The Seven Habits of Highly Effective Content Creators. Lesson plans must now include a “Hooking Moment” (maximum 3 seconds) and a “Call to Action” (must use an emoji). The traditional three-hour history lecture on the causes of the French Revolution is discarded in favor of a 59-second, jump-cut video where the teacher, dressed as Marie Antoinette, dramatically eats a croissant while text overlays flash across the screen: #LetThemLyke. Depth is the enemy of virality. Subtlety is the arch-nemesis of the scrolling finger. The examination papers now contain questions like: “Identify the filter used by Professor Z on his latest post,” and “Analyze the comment section engagement of the top-ranked teacher.” It is a heart-wrenching spectacle to watch dedicated professionals, whose life’s work was dedicated to filling minds, now frantically learning how to master the perfect “transition” video. They are the unwilling acrobats of the digital circus, forced to perform stunts of triviality to earn their daily bread, discarding the heavy robes of scholarship for the flimsy costumes of influencers.

The ranking system itself is a mind-blowing masterpiece of institutional self-sabotage, an automated engine of despair and degradation. Once a month, the “Follower Audit” is conducted, and the results are not distributed privately but projected onto a massive digital screen in the faculty lounge, complete with a celebratory confetti animation for the winners and a shame-inducing, cartoonish ‘frown’ icon for the losers. Teachers are now evaluated on their ability to cultivate parasocial relationships with strangers, a skill wholly unrelated to their ability to teach complex subjects. The system encourages internal sabotage, with whispers of teachers using bot farms or anonymously reporting their colleagues’ videos for minor guideline violations, turning the faculty room into a silent, venomous ecosystem. The ultimate goal, as Mr. Clickworthy explains with disturbingly genuine enthusiasm, is for the school to achieve “platinum content-creator status.” This means that the school, as an institution, has entirely replaced its foundational identity. It no longer exists to educate; it exists to market its educators. And the deepest shame is that the rankings, being public, also influence parent-teacher meetings, where parents now openly question the low follower count of a calculus teacher, suggesting his mathematical authority is statistically suspect.

For the students, the effect is immediate and devastating, creating a generation that respects only the spectacle. They no longer look up to the teacher who can unravel the complexities of relativity in a calm, measured voice; their reverence is reserved for the one who successfully attempts a dangerous, low-budget science experiment that goes viral because of the ensuing minor explosion. The classroom, once a place of focused, shared inquiry, is now a stage where students secretly film their professors hoping for a moment of ‘cringe’ that they can monetize. The quiet, deeply knowledgeable teachers, those who possess the rare spark of true intellectual passion, are actively ignored, rendered invisible by their lack of digital sheen. The lesson the youth internalize is not history or literature, but the primary, corrupting lesson of the age: depth is a handicap, and authenticity is merely a marketing strategy. Why study for years when a well-timed reaction shot can confer instant, global authority? This tear-rolling tragedy is the death of intellectual patience, the murder of the slow burn of discovery. The true educators stand marginalized, watching their students drift away, not because the subject is difficult, but because the teacher’s profile lacks a blue verification tick, the modern seal of intellectual approval.

The internal conflict faced by the remaining dedicated academics is the truly heart-wrenching climax of this dark comedy. Imagine Professor Sharma, a literature expert who lives and breathes Shakespeare, suddenly faced with an ultimatum: either create three viral pieces of content per week or be transferred to the dreaded ‘Archive Department’—a euphemism for the unemployment line. He looks at his reflection, sees the weary lines etched by decades of dedication, and contemplates the unthinkable: should he use his profound knowledge of Hamlet to create a tragicomic lip-sync about procrastination? The dignity of his profession wrestles with the survival instinct of a mortgage payment. We are witnessing the forced digital performance of souls. The sight of a distinguished historian, dressed in ridiculous historical garb, performing a shaky dance while trying to maintain a semblance of academic integrity in his voiceover, is enough to make a stone weep. This isn’t innovation; it’s spiritual prostitution, the agonizing spectacle of the scholar kneeling before the altar of the algorithm, begging for the momentary, fickle mercy of the ‘like’ button, sacrificing the grave solemnity of their calling for the chirpy triviality of a digital trend.

The satire, when widened, reveals the deep societal failure that underpins this entire absurd educational structure. It is not merely the school board that is culpable; it is a culture that has collectively agreed that value is synonymous with visibility. The teachers are simply the scapegoats for a generation that demands instant gratification and quantifiable, crowd-sourced validation for everything, even wisdom. We have, as a society, tacitly endorsed the idea that the silent, slow work of building character and intellect is less important than the noisy, instantaneous work of building a personal brand. The teacher’s value has been reduced to a simple metric, a digit on a screen, which is perhaps the most demisical form of dehumanization possible. The system, in its relentless pursuit of ‘relevance,’ is devouring its own soul, and all the while, the parents cheer on the charade, bragging about their child’s school being the “most followed educational institution” in the nation, entirely oblivious to the fact that their children are learning nothing of substance. It is a collective, self-imposed blindness, where we have chosen the comforting illusion of engagement over the hard truth of knowledge, selling the priceless inheritance of intellectual depth for the cheapest coin of fleeting fame.

And so, we arrive at the bitter, inevitable conclusion, the final irony that Harishankar Parasai himself would have appreciated: the school eventually achieves its platinum content-creator status. The follower count explodes, the headlines scream of their digital dominance, and Mr. Clickworthy is awarded the national ‘Innovator of the Year’ award. The classrooms, however, are silent, the students having long since grasped the final, nihilistic lesson: the content is the education, and the performance is the wisdom. The auditorium is now permanently repurposed as a sound stage, broadcasting empty, visually stunning, but utterly vacuous monologues to millions who learn nothing but feel momentarily entertained. The real education—the critical thinking, the moral philosophy, the patient exploration of complex texts—has quietly evaporated, leaving behind a perfectly sculpted, highly publicized shell. The school is a monumental success in every metric of the digital age, yet it has failed in its one original purpose. The tragedy is complete. The stage is set. And the sound of one wise old man, Acharya Gyaneshwar, finally signing up for an account, preparing his first desperate, clumsy video, is the only background music to the tear-rolling demise of true learning.

****

© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

Contact : Mo. +91 73 8657 8657, Email : drskm786@gmail.com

Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra, widely known in the world of satire by his pen name ‘Uratipt’, expresses his emotions and thoughts with profound honesty and depth. His multifaceted talent is evident in his contributions across various literary genres. He is not only a renowned satirist but also a poet and a children’s author.

His satirical writings have earned him a special place in the literary world. His satire, ‘Shikshak Ki Mout’, went massively viral on the Sahitya Aajtak channel, garnering over a million views and reads—a monumental achievement in the history of Hindi satire. His collection of satires, ‘Ek Tinka Ikyavan Aankhen’ (A Straw and Fifty-One Eyes), is also highly acclaimed and includes his timeless work, ‘Kitabon Ki Antim Yatra’ (The Last Journey of Books). Other celebrated collections include ‘Mayaan Ek, Talwar Anek’ (One Sheath, Many Swords), ‘Gapodi Adda’ (The Gossiper’s Den), and ‘Sab Rang Mein Mere Rang’ (My Colors in Every Hue). His satirical novel, ‘Idhar-Udhar Ke Beech Mein’ (In Between Here and There), is a unique and groundbreaking work focused on the third world.

His significant contributions to literature have been widely recognized. He was honored with the Best Young Creator Award, 2021 by the Telangana Hindi Academy and the Government of Telangana, an award presented by Chief Minister K. Chandrasekhar Rao. The Rajasthan Children’s Literature Academy also honored him for his children’s book, ‘Nanhon Ka Srijan Aasmaan’ (The Creative Sky of Little Ones). Additionally, he has received the Vyanga Yatra Ravindranath Tyagi Sopaan Samman and the Sahitya Srijan Samman from Prime Minister Narendra Modi.

Dr. Uratript has also played a pivotal role in writing, editing, and coordinating a total of 55 books for the Government of Telangana for primary school, college, and university levels. His work is included in university textbooks in Bihar, Chhattisgarh, and Telangana, where his satirical creations are part of the curriculum. This recognition underscores that young readers can identify and appreciate quality and impactful writing.

Key Accolades and Works

• Viral Satire: ‘Teacher’s Death’ (over 1 million views)
• Satire Collections: ‘Ek Tinka Ikyavan Aankhen’, ‘Mayaan Ek, Talwar Anek’, ‘Gapodi Adda’
• Unique Satirical Novel: ‘Idhar-Udar Ke Beech Mein’
• Awards: Shreshtha Navyuva Samman (Telangana), Sahitya Srijan Samman (PM Modi), and more.
• Educational Contribution: Authored and edited 55 books for the Telangana government.

Some precious moments of life

1. Honoured with ‘Shrestha Navayuvva Rachnakar Samman’ by former Chief Minister of Telangana Government, Shri K. Chandrasekhar Rao.
2. 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.
3. Meeting the famous litterateur Shri Vinod Kumar Shukla Ji, honoured with Jnanpith Award.
4. Got the privilege of meeting Mr. Perfectionist of Bollywood, actor Aamir Khan.
5. Meeting the powerful actor Vicky Kaushal on the occasion of being honoured by Vishva Katha Rangmanch.

Today we present his satire When LOL Became the Epitaph of Education.  

☆ Witful Warmth# 65 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ When LOL Became the Epitaph of Education… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

The farman, the decree, arrived not with the majestic roll of royal drums, nor the grave rustle of parchment, but with a cheerful little ping and a blue tick. The esteemed Education Board, in its infinite wisdom, declared the Maha-Kranti of Brevity: henceforth, students were to submit their weighty dissertations and philosophical essays not in the dusty, dilapidated language of their forefathers, but in the vibrant, abbreviated vernacular of the instant messenger—the language of WhatsApp. It was a moment of tear-rolling, mind-blowing revelation, a demisical tragedy dressed up as progressive reform. The order was simple: ditch the commas, execute the semicolons, exile the full stop, and welcome the reign of ‘k,’ ‘gr8,’ and the omnipresent LOL. The traditional Gurus, the keepers of the sacred texts of grammar, felt their life’s blood drain away, their souls replaced by a blinking cursor. The essay on existential despair had been reduced to three lines and an emoji of a crying face. This was not merely a change in medium; it was the ceremonial cremation of depth, where profound thought was deemed an unnecessary attachment, and the length of a sentence became directly proportional to the shortness of the collective attention span. The heart wept, but the finger—that modern deity—kept typing, fast and furious, because who has time for sadness when there are status updates to check?

The instant the decree landed, the libraries of the mind went bankrupt. Centuries of literary inheritance—the grand architecture of the sentence, the nuanced vocabulary that could describe a single shade of human misery, the dard (pain) of a well-placed metaphor—were instantly reduced to rubble. Why bother with “The inherent socio-economic inequalities perpetuated by colonial legacies” when you could just type “Colonial legacy bad, LOL.” The poor, persecuted adjective, the elegant adverb, and the complex relative clause found themselves jobless, replaced by the sheer, unadulterated efficiency of the acronym. Teachers who had spent decades teaching the delicate dance between subject and verb were now forced to learn the brutal shorthand of the street: Subject + Verb = K. This wasn’t communication; it was conceptual teleportation, jumping from idea to idea without the burdensome bridge of logic or explanation. The language, once a flowing river nurturing the fields of thought, was now a dried-up tap dripping out monosyllabic contempt. Where could the soul hide when even the word for soul was probably reduced to ‘SL’? The tragedy was that the students, the supposed beneficiaries, didn’t feel liberated; they simply felt emptier, writing a language that required no engagement from the dil (heart).

The student body reacted with a strange, cynical relief. For years, they had been tormented by the archaic demands of coherence, structure, and evidence. The formal essay was a fortress they were forced to storm, armed only with a weak dictionary and a weaker will. Now, the fortress walls had crumbled, not to be replaced by a park, but by a sprawling, chaotic bazaar of signs and symbols. The pressure to articulate a complex thought, to marshal facts into a persuasive battalion, was gone. Why research when you can summarize a historical event with a series of dramatic emojis? The very act of contemplation—that slow, difficult process of intellectual gestation—was rendered obsolete. The essay was no longer a journey of discovery but a hastily snapped selfie of a thought: quick, filtered, and instantly forgettable. The tears we shed were not for the language lost, but for the minds that would never learn how to fight for a complex idea, how to wrestle with ambiguity, or how to experience the heart-touching triumph of clarity. They were taught to summarize life, not to live it; to react instantly, not to reflect deeply. The essay became a series of punchlines, and the punchline, sadly, was the education system itself.

And what of the teachers, the poor, heartbroken Gurus? Their plight was the most demisical of all. They sat hunched over glowing screens, grading essays written entirely in phonetic soup and emoji hieroglyphics. Imagine the English professor, whose life was Jane Austen and T.S. Eliot, trying to decipher a thesis on The Wasteland that read: “April cruelest month. Plants dead. So sad. WTF.” Their red pens, once instruments of surgical precision, were now blunt axes, incapable of marking anything but a faint, existential despair. The most painful irony was the attempt to apply academic rigor to the inherently careless. “This is a weak ROFL, student,” the history teacher might sigh. “It lacks the nuanced emotional depth of a full LMAO.” Their tear-rolling agony was silent, internal—a private shok (mourning) for the generation they were sworn to protect from intellectual atrophy. Their paychecks were the only thing that kept them tethered to this floating island of digital insanity, but their souls were already packed, ready for the next life where a metaphor was still a metaphor, and a full stop actually meant something had ended, rather than just an opportunity for the next text bubble to begin.

This academic decay is but a microcosm of the larger societal drainage, the great digital siphon sucking the depth out of every human interaction. We have entered the era of the Digital Narcotic, where only the instant, the summarized, and the highly filtered can survive. Our political debates are now conducted via 280 characters, our spiritual crises are solved by inspirational quotes overlaid on scenic backgrounds, and our deep, complex relationships are defined by reaction GIFs. The demand for the WhatsApp essay is merely the institutional acknowledgment that society has lost its patience for the long view, for the slow burn of wisdom, and for anything that takes more than three seconds to process. The educational system, which should have been the fortress against this wave of intellectual surrender, instead threw open its gates and served chai to the invaders. The resulting wisdom is thin, weak, and instantly soluble, designed to pass through the mind without leaving any residue of thought or heart-touching reflection. It is the language of efficiency, and efficiency, as the old philosophers knew, is the enemy of the soul.

Language is not merely a tool for exchanging information; it is the sacred vessel that contains the soul of a culture, the intricate map of human emotion. The words we use, their arrangement, the cadence of a sentence—these are the vibrations that allow us to feel the dil ka dard (the heart’s pain) of a character 200 years dead. When we reduce language to a string of abbreviated sounds and hastily chosen icons, we are not just saving keystrokes; we are sealing off the deepest chambers of our communal heart. How do you describe the sublime dread of mortality with a :O? How do you capture the profound love of a parent with a <3? The WhatsApp essay, therefore, is a philosophical void. It is the official endorsement of emotional illiteracy, teaching children that anything too complex to be abbreviated is probably not worth feeling or thinking about in the first place. The mind-blowing realization is that we are willingly constructing a shallow future, a future where the ability to convey nuance is considered a waste of bandwidth, and where the silence between words, where true meaning often resides, is replaced by the deafening chime of a new notification.

The most insidious, mind-blowing truth behind the WhatsApp essay mandate lies not in pedagogical theory, but in the cold, hard logic of the market. Education has ceased to be an act of enlightenment and has become a KPI (Key Performance Indicator) factory. The goal is not deep learning, but fast output; the measure of success is not wisdom gained, but degrees obtained. The formal, well-structured essay was an impediment to this efficiency. It took time to write, time to read, and time to grade. The WhatsApp essay, however, is quick, quantifiable, and instantly assessable. It aligns perfectly with the capitalist dogma of optimization and engagement. The institutions surrendered because they feared being labeled ‘old-fashioned’ or ‘inefficient’ in the digital marketplace. They chose the path of least resistance, mistaking instant gratification for innovation. This heart-touching tragedy is the ultimate act of institutional surrender, where the pursuit of truth is sacrificed on the altar of technological trendiness. The modern Gurus now serve the god of speed, and the students are simply the fast-food consumers of this new, diminished educational meal.

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© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

Contact : Mo. +91 73 8657 8657, Email : drskm786@gmail.com

Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra, widely known in the world of satire by his pen name ‘Uratipt’, expresses his emotions and thoughts with profound honesty and depth. His multifaceted talent is evident in his contributions across various literary genres. He is not only a renowned satirist but also a poet and a children’s author.

His satirical writings have earned him a special place in the literary world. His satire, ‘Shikshak Ki Mout’, went massively viral on the Sahitya Aajtak channel, garnering over a million views and reads—a monumental achievement in the history of Hindi satire. His collection of satires, ‘Ek Tinka Ikyavan Aankhen’ (A Straw and Fifty-One Eyes), is also highly acclaimed and includes his timeless work, ‘Kitabon Ki Antim Yatra’ (The Last Journey of Books). Other celebrated collections include ‘Mayaan Ek, Talwar Anek’ (One Sheath, Many Swords), ‘Gapodi Adda’ (The Gossiper’s Den), and ‘Sab Rang Mein Mere Rang’ (My Colors in Every Hue). His satirical novel, ‘Idhar-Udhar Ke Beech Mein’ (In Between Here and There), is a unique and groundbreaking work focused on the third world.

His significant contributions to literature have been widely recognized. He was honored with the Best Young Creator Award, 2021 by the Telangana Hindi Academy and the Government of Telangana, an award presented by Chief Minister K. Chandrasekhar Rao. The Rajasthan Children’s Literature Academy also honored him for his children’s book, ‘Nanhon Ka Srijan Aasmaan’ (The Creative Sky of Little Ones). Additionally, he has received the Vyanga Yatra Ravindranath Tyagi Sopaan Samman and the Sahitya Srijan Samman from Prime Minister Narendra Modi.

Dr. Uratript has also played a pivotal role in writing, editing, and coordinating a total of 55 books for the Government of Telangana for primary school, college, and university levels. His work is included in university textbooks in Bihar, Chhattisgarh, and Telangana, where his satirical creations are part of the curriculum. This recognition underscores that young readers can identify and appreciate quality and impactful writing.

Key Accolades and Works

• Viral Satire: ‘Teacher’s Death’ (over 1 million views)
• Satire Collections: ‘Ek Tinka Ikyavan Aankhen’, ‘Mayaan Ek, Talwar Anek’, ‘Gapodi Adda’
• Unique Satirical Novel: ‘Idhar-Udar Ke Beech Mein’
• Awards: Shreshtha Navyuva Samman (Telangana), Sahitya Srijan Samman (PM Modi), and more.
• Educational Contribution: Authored and edited 55 books for the Telangana government.

Some precious moments of life

1. Honoured with ‘Shrestha Navayuvva Rachnakar Samman’ by former Chief Minister of Telangana Government, Shri K. Chandrasekhar Rao.
2. 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.
3. Meeting the famous litterateur Shri Vinod Kumar Shukla Ji, honoured with Jnanpith Award.
4. Got the privilege of meeting Mr. Perfectionist of Bollywood, actor Aamir Khan.
5. Meeting the powerful actor Vicky Kaushal on the occasion of being honoured by Vishva Katha Rangmanch.

Today we present his satire The Funeral of the Blue Light.  

☆ Witful Warmth# 64 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ The Funeral of the Blue Light… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

The great fast began not with a government decree, nor a terrorist’s plot, but with a universal, existential shudder—the light on the router simply turned blue, then stopped. It was a digital sannyas, a sudden retreat from the world of incessant pings and instant validation. The Internet, that ubiquitous, invisible deity to whom we had outsourced our memory, our opinions, and our very breath, simply decided it was tired. The nation, having outsourced its consciousness to this shimmering glass, found itself staring blankly at its own reflection. The shock was clinical, profound, and deeply ridiculous. People gathered on the streets, holding their dead smartphones aloft like sacrificial offerings, their thumbs mechanically swiping at thin air, a nervous tic of the modern age. The profound sadness was not due to the loss of connectivity, but the horrifying realization that without the Internet, they had no alibi for their existence. Who were they, if not a curated feed of opinions and filtered selfies? The collective depression that followed was not the noble melancholy of philosophy, but the panic of a clerk who has lost the only key to his filing cabinet. We had become a society of sophisticated puppets, and the strings were now slack, leaving us in a heap of technological debris and existential angst. The mind, trained only for immediate notification, found the silence a cruel and deafening judgment.

The ensuing depression was not the poetic, melancholic kind that inspires great art; it was a practical, bureaucratic, and deeply humiliating despair. The first great institution to crumble was the nuclear family, which suddenly found itself staring across the dinner table at its cohabitants. Husbands and wives, previously connected by 4G, were now confronted by the terrifying analog reality of shared silence. “What do you think about…?” one would start, only to realize the other had no instant, shareable, politically correct opinion downloaded from a reputable source. The children, those tiny, digital natives, began weeping, not from hunger, but from the inability to confirm their existence via a stream of “likes.” Their self-worth, calculated in engagement metrics, plummeted to zero. They were statues awaiting their dedication plaque. Without the Internet to maintain their carefully constructed online personalities, the nation’s citizens shed their curated skins like old snakes, revealing the frightened, insecure animal beneath. The true tragedy was not the economic ruin, but the fact that nobody had practiced being a person in real life for over a decade. The mind, deprived of its daily dose of external affirmation, turned inward, only to find the interior decorated with cobwebs and the faint, unsettling echo of their original, unedited self.

Bureaucracy, that ancient, mold-covered deity of the Indian landscape, staged a magnificent, vengeful comeback. With email defunct and video conferencing a mythical memory, the government was forced to communicate using the methods of its ancestors: handwritten chits, slow-moving peons, and the devastating power of the unverified rumor. The neighborhood gossip broker, long relegated to the status of a social pariah, suddenly became the most powerful source of information, a human news aggregator. Facts, starved of the oxygen of instant verification, mutated into spectacular fictions. A local power outage became an alien invasion, and a minister’s slight cough became a national health emergency. This proved a profound truth: we crave information not for its veracity, but for its transmission. The inefficiency was glorious to behold. Transactions were done with shaky hands and doubtful ledgers. The stock market devolved into men shouting numbers at each other, their faces contorted by the effort of genuine calculation. We discovered that our great, streamlined system was merely a complex house of cards, held together by nothing more than the constant availability of Wi-Fi. The national sorrow was amplified by the sheer, staggering ineptitude of having to operate machinery with one’s own untrained hands.

The Agony of Memory inflicted a unique form of torment upon the population. People found they could not recall the simplest detail—a recipe, a phone number, the name of a distant relative—without the umbilical cord of the search engine. Our brains, like retired civil servants, had forgotten how to perform their basic duties, having delegated all functions to the cloud. Creativity, too, suffered a debilitating stroke. The modern artist, accustomed to generating ideas by endlessly scrolling through a visual database of existing art, suddenly found their well dry. They were left only with their own, meager, un-collated thoughts. The writers, deprived of their plagiarism checkers and instant synonym finders, struggled to string together two original sentences, their hands trembling over the blank paper. This demonstrated a cruel irony: we had created a device that promised infinite knowledge, yet it had rendered us collectively illiterate and forgetful. The sadness here was the realization that our intelligence was merely a function of our broadband speed. To be forced to think, truly think, without the aid of an external prompt, was a humiliation the modern mind was simply not equipped to bear. We cried genuine tears for the loss of our digital crutches.

Perhaps the most “tear-rolling” aspect of the Digital Fast was the forced confrontation with self-reliance, a concept as terrifying as eternal darkness to the modern urban dweller. People were suddenly faced with the necessity of solving problems that had once been trivial: reading a physical map, talking to a stranger for directions, or, God forbid, having a hobby that did not require a subscription or a rechargeable battery. The simple act of waiting became an ordeal. Queues formed not for resources, but for the comforting sensation of being told what to do next. When the traffic signals failed, the chaos was not due to mechanical error, but to the drivers’ inability to proceed without a turn-by-turn navigation voice dictating their movement. We had become so dependent on the external script that our internal navigational systems had atrophied entirely. This vulnerability, this profound helplessness in the face of simple reality, was truly “mindblowing.” It was a collective admission of failure, proving that we were not masters of technology, but its pathetic, utterly dependent pets, mewling for our digital milk. The true tragedy was the discovery that the simplest elements of human autonomy had been sold off for the price of convenience.

The economic collapse was aesthetically pleasing in its swiftness. Money, which had long existed as a purely digital hallucination, evaporated instantly. The great, gleaming towers of finance became mausoleums of useless hardware. The only thing of value was what one could physically hold: water, rice, and the grudging patience of one’s neighbor. The nation briefly regressed to a system of localized, emotionally charged barter, trading a slightly dented transistor radio for a week’s supply of lentils. The rich, whose wealth was merely a massive, unattainable number in a distant, unreachable server, found themselves as penniless as the peasant, proving that true poverty is the loss of function, not the lack of zeros. The profound sadness here was the recognition that the entire structure of the modern world was an elaborate shared fantasy, a communal agreement sustained only by electricity and fiber optic cable. When the light went out, the fantasy died, leaving everyone shivering in the cold, hard realism of immediate, manual survival. The tears were for the lost convenience, the vanished ease of purchasing instant comfort with a tap; a heartbreaking discovery that nothing was real.

The government, in its infinite and predictable wisdom, decided the national depression was not a result of technological withdrawal, but a “failure of patriotic spirit.” They launched a massive, analog propaganda campaign urging citizens to “Connect with Your Soil, Not Your Screen!” The messages, delivered by actors wearing historically inaccurate national dress, were broadcast over antique radio frequencies and physically painted onto large, wooden billboards—a monumental feat of manual labor. The irony, of course, was spectacular: the government was using the most archaic, inefficient methods to scold the populace for relying on efficiency. The political class, however, thrived magnificently. With no social media to fact-check their every utterance or record their blatant hypocrisy, they became majestic, unassailable orators once more. Their lies, broadcast unchallenged, took on the gravity of divine scripture. The Digital Fast had, accidentally, created the perfect environment for political regression, proving that the tools of liberation, when removed, leave behind only the familiar, sturdy infrastructure of control and self-serving falsehood, dusted off and used with renewed vigor. The people, in their despair, had no platform to complain.

And then, with the gentle flicker of a green light, the fast ended. The Internet returned, not with a fanfare, but with the quiet, addictive hum of a constant need being fulfilled. The national depression lifted instantly, replaced by a frenzied, desperate rush back to the screens. No one rushed to rebuild the financial system; they rushed to check their missed notifications and compare the tragic events of the last week with the perfectly curated tragedy posts of their friends. The brief, terrifying glimpse of an analog life—the awkward conversations, the rediscovered books, the profound silence—was instantly scrubbed from the collective memory. The great lesson had been offered and immediately rejected. We had proved that we were not merely addicted to the Internet; we were fundamentally defined by it, and without it, we were nothing. The nation’s tears had dried the moment the blue light returned, revealing the true, heartbreaking emptiness beneath. We did not cry for the world we lost; we cried for the feeds we missed. The funeral of the blue light was immediately canceled, replaced by the eternal, unthinking worship of its glow. We are empty, and the screen is our perfect container, sealing our fate.

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© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

Contact : Mo. +91 73 8657 8657, Email : drskm786@gmail.com

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

1. Honoured with ‘Shrestha Navayuvva Rachnakar Samman’ by former Chief Minister of Telangana Government, Shri K. Chandrasekhar Rao.
2. 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.
3. Meeting the famous litterateur Shri Vinod Kumar Shukla Ji, honoured with Jnanpith Award.
4. Got the privilege of meeting Mr. Perfectionist of Bollywood, actor Aamir Khan.
5. Meeting the powerful actor Vicky Kaushal on the occasion of being honoured by Vishva Katha Rangmanch.

Today we present his satire Courtship License of ‘Dating’.  

☆ Witful Warmth# 59 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ Courtship License of ‘Dating’… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

It is a melancholy and universally acknowledged truth that our great nation is presently afflicted by a most grievous and perplexing social ill. I speak not of famine, nor of plague, nor of the endless and sanguinary conflicts across the seas, but of a far more insidious and subtle affliction that has seized the very marrow of our youthful population: the deplorable and utterly unproductive state of modern courtship.

For it hath been observed by all who are not blinded by a sentimentalist’s fog that the male youth of our realm, from the age of sixteen to a full three and twenty, are squandering the most fertile years of their lives in a manner so profligate and inefficient as to border upon national treason. They are ensnared in a web of digital pleasantries and fleeting interactions, a ceaseless and unavailing expenditure of both time and spirit, from which they derive no lasting benefit, and which, worse still, leaves them utterly unfit for the more rigorous and necessary duties of commerce and industry.

The cause of this lamentable state is readily identified, and it is with a heavy heart that I must place the blame squarely upon a new and peculiar species of the female gender, whom our society hath, in its modern jargon, denominated the ‘Gen-Z Girl’. This creature is of a constitution heretofore unseen in the annals of human relations: capricious, enigmatic, and possessed of a mind so given to novelties and fleeting fancies that to secure her interest for a period exceeding a fortnight is an undertaking of such Herculean proportions as to beggar the imagination.

She is, by nature and nurture, a mistress of the most baffling and esoteric forms of communication, whereby she may, through a single and ambiguous pictogram, convey a multitude of contradictory sentiments. The wretched suitor, in a state of perpetual confusion, is thereby rendered impotent to ascertain her true disposition, and is forced to resort to an endless and exhausting series of digital missives, each one composed with an anxious and feverish deliberation that would be better applied to the composition of state documents or the calculation of celestial mechanics. It is, furthermore, a common and disheartening occurrence for a gentleman to invest a full month’s worth of emotional and conversational labour, and even a considerable sum in the form of fine dining and theatrical amusements, only to find himself summarily ‘ghosted,’ a term which, though vulgar, aptly describes the sudden and inexplicable disappearance of the female subject, leaving no trace but a hollow echo in the digital ether.

Having given due consideration to this deplorable state of affairs, and having, over a period of some months, consulted with eminent sociologists, moral philosophers, and even several reputable professors of Applied Mathematics, I have at last devised a scheme so exquisitely simple in its design, and so universally beneficial in its effect, as to promise a complete and lasting remedy to this national calamity. My proposal is this: that we establish a national, state-regulated system for the management of courtship, reducing all interpersonal dealings to a series of quantifiable and strictly enforced commercial transactions.

To wit, let every male youth, upon reaching the age of majority, be issued a Courtship License, much in the manner of a permit for a firearm. This license shall contain his full particulars, and shall be linked to a national digital ledger. The Gen-Z girl, in turn, shall be issued a ‘Social Credit’ account, which may only be augmented by the successful completion of a courtship. The terms of engagement shall be clearly delineated by a central Bureau of Interpersonal Commerce, and all initial communications shall be restricted to a single, standardised digital protocol, devoid of all superfluous pleasantries and ambiguous pictograms. A suitor may, for a fee, initiate a conversation, and the Gen-Z girl is thereby obligated to respond within the space of three hours with either a direct rejection or an unequivocal invitation to proceed.

The ‘talking stage,’ that most dreadful and unproductive purgatory, shall be abolished forthwith. It shall be replaced with a series of tiered, contractual obligations. For example, a suitor may purchase the right to a twenty-minute, in-person conversation for a pre-determined sum, a portion of which shall be deposited directly into the Gen-Z girl’s Social Credit account. If the conversation proceeds with due diligence, he may then, for an escalated fee, secure a second, more lengthy engagement, and so forth. In this manner, all parties shall be assured of the sincerity of their counterparts, and the wasteful expenditure of time upon the indecisive or the frivolous shall be utterly eliminated.

The benefits of this scheme are manifold. Firstly, it shall provide a much-needed and dependable source of income for the female population, thereby reducing their reliance upon the precarious and often meager allowances of their parents, and stimulating the national economy with a constant flow of new capital. Secondly, it shall instill in the male youth a proper sense of the value of their time, compelling them to pursue their romantic interests with a purposeful and commercial vigour, rather than allowing them to languish in a state of idle and unprofitable communication. Thirdly, it shall, with the same stroke, encourage the Gen-Z girl to be more discerning and less whimsical in her dealings, for every successful transaction will add to her social credit and, by extension, to her eligibility for a more profitable match. The most efficient and productive of these young ladies shall be granted a premium license, allowing them to charge a higher rate for their time, and thereby ensuring that the most desirable and economically sound matches are made with the utmost expediency.

I am not unmindful that some sentimental souls, of a type who would weep over a lost kitten but show no such compassion for the plight of a nation’s youth, will object to this proposal as being a cruel and materialistic reduction of the sacred art of human love. To these tender-hearted critics, I would reply that their objections are founded upon a false and antiquated notion of courtship. For what is the current system but a game of chance played with loaded dice, a ruinous lottery in which the most worthy suitor may be passed over in favour of a fellow with a more impressive collection of digital images or a cleverer use of a fleeting internet phrase? My scheme, to the contrary, is founded upon the most sound and rational principles of commerce and utility, whereby all parties may enter into a transaction with a clear understanding of its terms and a realistic expectation of its outcome. It is, I submit, the most humane and compassionate system yet devised, for it puts a swift and merciful end to the protracted emotional suffering that is the inevitable result of the current system of irrational and unmanaged courtship.

Let us be honest with ourselves. The Gen-Z girl, with her peculiar habits and her bewildering lexicon of emojis and acronyms, has unwittingly created a social crisis of the first order. She has, through her very nature, rendered the traditional methods of courtship obsolete and ruinous. My proposal is not to change her nature—for that would be a task for a divine power—but to provide a framework within which her peculiar habits may be rendered productive and, dare I say it, profitable for all. This is not a proposal for the sale of sentiment, but for the efficient management of a vital social function, and thereby the restoration of order and purpose to a generation lost in a fog of digital confusion and emotional indolence.

This scheme, though simple in its conception, is of such profound and universal benefit that I would wager my last penny upon its success. I have no personal motive in this matter, for I am a man well past the age of such frivolous pursuits. I offer this proposal not for my own gain, but out of a deep and abiding love for my country, and a profound desire to see its youth freed from the shackles of a system that is, at its heart, a calamitous waste of time, money, and human potential. Let us not dither while our young men and women fritter away their most valuable years; let us act with reason and resolve, and in doing so, secure the future prosperity of our great nation.

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© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

Contact : Mo. +91 73 8657 8657, Email : drskm786@gmail.com