Tag: #Weekly_Column

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.

****

© 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 The Universal Truth.  

☆ Witful Warmth# 41 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ The Universal Truth… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

It is a truth universally acknowledged (though seldom admitted by those who ought to know it), that in our modern metropolis—in which industrial mechanizations, fraudulent schemes, and the ever-expanding folly of commerce preoccupy the hours of both the diligent and the idle—the art of common sense has been, by degrees, effaced by the artful incompetence of modern industry. In this spirit, I now present to you a tale—half mirthful, half mournful—a chronicle of the curious misadventures of Mr. Bartholomew Gudgeon and his motley assembly of compatriots, who in their blind pursuit of profit, have rendered themselves as veritable marionettes to the inane puppetry of economic absurdity.

Mr. Gudgeon, a man of no small ambition and even less common sense, had risen from the squalid bowels of the lower quarters to preside, however insignificantly, over an establishment known simply as “Gudgeon & Sons, Importers of All That Glitters.” This establishment, rather than being a beacon of integrity and industrious labour, had become a veritable repository of every modern contrivance that promised to convert common superstition into extraordinary profit. Gudgeon’s offices, festooned with gaudy advertisements extolling “The Miracle of Modern Mechanisms,” bore witness to the grand delusion that all problems might, indeed, be solved by mere acronyms and flashy slogans. “Efficiency”—that once noble ideal of honest labour—is now a word bandied about by corpulent managers in carbuncles of greed, each one eager to see society reduced to a series of figures balanced in monstrous ledgers. And so it came to pass that Mr. Gudgeon, amidst a veritable circus of accounting fiascoes and misappropriated funds, set forth a series of “innovative” directives, which, while promising to cut expenditures and inflate profits, only served to exacerbate the endemic foolishness that had long infested his establishment.

In the bustling thoroughfares beyond the precincts of Gudgeon’s offices, one might observe the common folk scuffling about in an array of colourful garments and broken dreams, all the while subjected to the whims of a modern aristocracy whose passion for waste often knew no bounds. Mrs. Prudence Tickler, a matron of some repute among the local trade unions, once declared, in a tone as mournful as it was melodious, “The world is a stage where folly and greed are worn as badges of honour, while the blood and sweat of good men are used to grease the wheels of avarice.” Her words, though steeped in despair, carried with them an undercurrent of hope—that human decency might yet triumph over the impersonal tyranny of profit and procedure. Alas, such sentiments fell upon ears as deaf as those of the proverbial mariner, who, lost amid the cacophony of modern ventures, would not pause to consider the lamentations of his fellow travellers.

Meanwhile, in the somber parlours of civic administration, a cadre of officials—more concerned with the latest fashions in bureaucratic jargon than with the corporeal well-being of their constituents—laboured under the illusion that life’s complexities could be distilled into neat sections and subsections of policy. It is a truth, indeed, that the pen is mightier than the sword; yet in these modern times, the pen appears oft to be wielded by those who have never seen the sharp edge of human hardship. A memo issued one fateful morning proclaimed, with all the gravity of a schoolmaster’s reprimand, that henceforth all public complaints were to be reduced to strictly formatted inquiries, to be answered with the precision of a clock’s tick and the mercy of a ledger’s arithmetic. This, dear reader, was not the tongue of compassion nor the voice of understanding—it was the cold, unyielding sound of mechanized jargon, designed to stifle the heartbeat of a nation in distress.

Yet among the throng of such recondite administrators, there existed an oddity—a mild, almost comical figure, by the name of Mr. Chesterfield Pumblechook. Mr. Pumblechook, though neither stout nor particularly resplendent, possessed a curious talent for navigating the labyrinthine corridors of government offices with a jaunty air of misplaced confidence. With his threadbare waistcoat and spectacles perpetually askew, he laboured under the delusion that every bureaucratic form was but an unwritten love letter to reason, and every stamped document a token of his own importance. “By Jove,” he would exclaim amidst piles of unsorted files, “if this is not the apex of administrative genius, then I am a lowly clerk in the realm of ignorance!” His proclamations, laced with the irony of fate and a wit as dry as the arid plains of misfortune, were received with a blend of amusement and pity by those who understood that very few possessed the subtle grace to laugh at one’s own absurdity.

In the marketplace of ideas—a marketplace as corrupted by the stain of greed as any bazaar of trifles—there stirred a movement, nascent yet resolute, composed of thinkers, writers, and reformers who dared to challenge the prevailing superstitions of progress. They gathered in dimly lit taverns, under the flickering light of gas lamps, to debate with fervour the impending collapse of a society governed not by wisdom but by the sterile pursuit of fiscal advantage. “The spirit of man is not for sale,” they declaimed, with a passion that stirred the soul even as it mocked the inanity of those who would have it otherwise. Yet their voices, though potent in their candour, were drowned out by the roar of machines and the clangor of coin, for the modern era had, in its relentless march toward mechanized desolation, forgotten the warmth of a genuine human heart.

Thus, in the great theater of modern existence, where each act is scripted by the architects of commerce and every scene orchestrated by those who profit from our folly, we are left to ponder the true cost of progress. It is a cost measured not merely in pennies or pounds, but in the lost hours of youthful exuberance, in the shriveled dreams of those once luminous with hope, and in the silent laments of a people made to feel insignificant amid the towering edifices of ambition. For what is progress but a fevered dream, a grand illusion that dances on the edge of despair? And what, dear friends, is the role of the individual but to bear witness to this tragic comedy and perhaps, if fortune favours, to inject a measure of sanity into the ceaseless machinery of avarice?

In the final analysis, it behooves us to remain vigilant against the encroachment of unthinking conformity and the cold tyranny of the profit motive. Let us raise our voices, however faintly, against the tidal wave of absurdity that threatens to wash away the delicate filigree of human decency. For in every petty misadventure and every bureaucratic blunder lies a lesson—a reminder, perhaps, that while the gears of industry might grind on relentlessly, the human spirit, with all its quirks and contradictions, remains the true engine of our existence. And so, in the spirit of resolve and reflection, let us not forget that the parody of our modern age, though wrapped in the garb of progress, is, in truth, a lamentable spectacle of self-inflicted imbecility.

May the echo of our protests be as enduring as the clamor of the mills, and may we, with courage and wit, continue to challenge the follies of our time. Thus, I leave you with this thought: if our era is to be judged by the measure of its contradictions, let us at least choose to pen our destiny with the quill of conscience rather than the blunt instrument of greed.

****

© 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 The Grand Plans of the Great Officer.  

☆ Witful Warmth# 39 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ The Grand Plans of the Great Officer… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

The great officer issued a decree—”The city must be clean, beautiful, and smart!” Orders spread from top to bottom, like a sudden high-voltage current in an old wire. Officials held meetings, tea and snacks were served, and it was decided that the first battle would be against filth. Posters were plastered all over town—”Clean City, Healthy City!” The public asked, “Who’s going to pick up the garbage?” The officials smiled—”The public, of course! We need everyone’s cooperation!” A gathering was held at the neighborhood square, where an elderly gentleman suggested, “Maybe start by installing dustbins?” The officials nodded—”The budget hasn’t been approved yet, but if the public becomes aware, what could be better!” The next day, newspapers screamed—”The city embraces cleanliness, citizens rejoice!” In reality, the streets were the same, the garbage was the same, only the newspaper headlines had changed—now flying around as litter. 

The trumpet of the Smart City project was sounded. The great officer declared—”Now both the city and its people will become smart!” The citizens beamed—”Wow! Our children will study in smart classrooms instead of just being glued to smartphones!” Some curious minds asked, “Sir, when will these smart classrooms be ready?” The officer replied, “First, we’ll widen the roads, install traffic lights, put up CCTV cameras… then we’ll talk about education!” The next day, trees along the roadsides were mercilessly chopped down—”Greenery out, development in!” Another newspaper headline boasted—”Winds of progress sweep through the city, people delighted!” But the dust storm of this progress was so thick that no one could see where development was actually heading. 

A stampede of contractors rushed to the municipal office—”Give us a chance to serve too!” Contracts were handed out—some for installing fountains, some for replacing park benches, others for repainting old streetlight poles. The public asked, “Wasn’t a fountain installed here just last year? Why replace it?” The officials grinned—”That was an old model. Now, we have new technology!” The public argued, “But the old one didn’t have water either!” A contractor clarified, “That was because there was no water in the tank. This time, we’ll make sure there’s water too!” The public suggested, “Then why not build the water tank first?” The officials sighed, “The budget hasn’t been approved yet, but if the public becomes aware, what could be better!” 

The great officer then turned his benevolent gaze toward the city’s hospitals. “Health is wealth! We will now provide facilities in government hospitals equivalent to private ones!” The next day, a massive banner appeared at the hospital entrance—”MRI, CT scans, heart surgeries—everything available here!” The sick rushed in, only to find… no doctors! The nurse shrugged, “Doctor sir is in a meeting. Come tomorrow.” The next day, doctors were present, but the machines were missing. Complaints reached the great officer, who responded wisely—”Go to a private hospital, bring us the bill, and we’ll reimburse you!” A patient hesitated, “And if we die?” The officer smiled—”Then you won’t have to worry about reimbursement!” 

Digital transformation was the next grand mission—”The city will go digital!” People cheered—”Now even government offices will go paperless!” The clerks chuckled—”Oh no! The files will remain the same, but the advertisements are now digital!” The great officer announced another groundbreaking initiative—”Government offices will now have five-star facilities!” The public gasped—”Wow! Now work will be done faster!” Offices got central AC, new leather sofas, coffee machines. The public thought—”Finally! No more begging the peon for a cup of tea!” But when they visited for actual work, the response was—”The system is down, but would you like some coffee?” 

Plans were laid out to renovate city parks. “Each park will have an open gym, fountains, and shiny new benches!” The next week, a grand inauguration board was placed—”City’s first open gym, now operational!” But within a day, all the gym equipment mysteriously vanished. The public asked, “Where did the gym go?” The officials responded, “Someone took it overnight!” The citizens sighed, “Why didn’t you assign a security guard?” The officer sighed too—”The budget hasn’t been approved yet, but if the public becomes aware, what could be better!” 

Another master plan was launched for cleanliness—”Every ward will have dustbins, and every alley will have sanitation workers!” The next day, brand-new dustbins appeared across town. People felt relieved—”Finally, no more littering!” But within two days, the dustbins themselves disappeared. The officials explained, “Someone stole them! But don’t worry, next time, we’ll install iron ones!” The public rolled their eyes, “Then why didn’t you install iron ones in the first place?” The great officer smirked—”Development happens in phases. Everything can’t be done at once!” 

Then, one fine day, the great officer was transferred. A grand farewell was arranged. Officials delivered poetic tributes—”He has taken this city to new heights!” The public stood silently, wondering—”Whose heights were actually raised? The city’s or the officer’s?” But the speech continued—”His vision has secured the city’s bright future!” The public nodded—”Yes, indeed! The future looks bright… because the present is completely dark!” 

A new officer arrived. In his first meeting, he declared—”The city must be clean, beautiful, and smart!” The public smirked—”Ah, here we go again!”

****

© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

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