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.

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 Galaxy Under FIR.  

☆ Witful Warmth# 48 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ Galaxy Under FIR… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

A rare intergalactic bulletin flashed across the stars: “Urgent need for a skilled Earthly cop to train our galaxy’s police.” The Supreme Galactic Council, in its infinite lack of judgment, decided to summon Senior Police Inspector Arvind from India, the torchbearer of moral ambiguity. Arvind, seasoned in the subtle art of bending rules without breaking sweat, saw this invitation not as an honour, but a golden ticket to cosmic fame. “Why not teach the universe how real policing is done?” he thought. Packing his khaki pride and his procedural grey areas, he boarded the starlight cruiser and reached the Galactic HQ. There, in a chamber filled with officers of all species—tentacled, winged, and gelatinous—he began his grand sermon. His training? Not quite what the Council expected. Arvind began by meticulously explaining the sacred trinity of his earthly methods: how to tamper with FIRs without leaving a trace, how to ‘emotionally persuade’ witnesses into selective amnesia, and the poetic ballet of evidence manipulation. The cosmic cops were awestruck. “What a masterstroke of investigative innovation!” they cheered. Arvind was crowned “Guru Supreme of Galaxy Enforcement,” and the entire intergalactic force pledged themselves to his earthly gospel. Meanwhile, back on Earth, a quiet sigh escaped the department: “Well, at least the universe now shares our burden.”

As days turned into lightyears, Arvind’s doctrine spread like a cosmic wildfire. Crime rates began to rise, oddly in sync with the increasing efficiency of the Galactic Police. His logic was simple: the better you are at finding criminals, the more criminals you find—even if you have to invent a few along the way. Galactic citizens soon found themselves caught in a whirlwind of paranoia. Neighbours eyed each other with suspicion; friends exchanged greetings with polygraph tests; even houseplants were accused of conspiracy. Arvind had successfully introduced the galaxy to the fine art of ‘policing through presumption.’ Witnesses disappeared, not physically, but mentally. Evidence changed forms faster than a shapeshifting alien. The Galactic Police grew sharper, swifter, and eerily selective in their justice. Soon, even a sneeze in public became grounds for interrogation. “Pre-crime is the new normal,” declared one officer proudly, quoting Arvind’s interplanetary bestseller, ‘Suspicion: The Mother of All Justice’. The once-harmonious galaxy had morphed into a grand theatre of mistrust. Planetary leaders started whispering, “Are we making the galaxy safer, or just scarier?” But Arvind, basking in celestial praise, sipped his Martian tea, and said, “Progress comes at a price. Especially when the receipt is forged.”

The real brilliance of Arvind’s teachings lay in his ‘Triple Tampering Technique.’ First, manipulate the FIR. A simple theft could easily become a galactic conspiracy. Then, dismantle the witness. “Don’t argue with them,” Arvind advised. “Just confuse them with jargon until they doubt their own existence.” Finally, reconstruct the evidence—preferably in your favour. These were not just lessons; these were celestial commandments. The Galactic Police, once a by-the-book force of order, now resembled stage actors in a high-budget courtroom drama, complete with scripted confessions and choreographed raids. Meanwhile, the galaxy’s legal scholars were in a frenzy. “Do we defend the truth or the trend?” one lawyer asked, only to be arrested for ‘possessing a rational mind.’ Trials became entertainment, and judges became fans. “Your Honour, I object!” became “Your Honour, I adore!” Arvind’s techniques were immortalized in training modules, VR simulations, and even interplanetary musicals titled ‘Evidence? What Evidence?’ Slowly but surely, law enforcement was less about upholding justice and more about upholding reputation—and Arvind was the brand ambassador. His signature style? Catch first, prove later, and if you can’t prove it, just rearrange the facts until they confess. The universe applauded his efficiency, not realizing it was applauding its own slow descent into democratic delusion.

As Arvind’s influence grew, the side effects became visible across galaxies. Love turned into legal doubt. Family dinners included background checks. Weddings required affidavits of innocence from both parties. Even children were taught to report suspicious behaviour—especially if their sibling refused to share. The cosmic society began to rot under the polished surface of “Arvindian Order.” Trust—a quaint concept once cherished—became a liability. Entire planets adopted his policies, branding them “Zero Tolerance Protocols,” though some citizens whispered, “It’s just zero logic with full drama.” Surveillance drones hovered over every block, broadcasting updates like “Citizen #547 blinked suspiciously at 1400 hours.” The term ‘innocent until proven guilty’ was quietly retired, replaced by “guilty until Photoshop says otherwise.” Arvind, however, remained blissfully detached. “They’re just adapting,” he reasoned. “Some planets take longer to embrace efficient lawlessness.” Yet, the cosmic mood had shifted. Whispers turned into questions, questions into protests. But before dissent could gain momentum, it was swiftly labelled as ‘anti-police propaganda.’ After all, in Arvind’s universe, free speech was just a noise until proven innocent. The galaxy had become a living monument to satire—a place where law lived on paper, and justice lived on YouTube.

Eventually, even the Galactic Council couldn’t ignore the chaos. One of the moons filed an official complaint—yes, the moon itself—claiming “emotional trauma due to excessive suspicion in its orbit.” A star system sued its police department for “over-policing under the influence of Earthly madness.” Interplanetary journalists began writing scathing reviews titled ‘Law & Disorder: The Arvind Protocol’. The Council convened an emergency meeting. “He came, he taught, he corrupted,” declared one member. “He did what he was trained to do,” replied another, somewhat guiltily. And so, the verdict was passed: Arvind would be respectfully deported back to Earth. As news broke, the Galactic Police wept. Their guru, their mentor, the man who taught them how to play chess using checkers, was leaving. Arvind, however, was unmoved. He packed his cosmic medals, his slightly edited commendation letters, and boarded his return shuttle. Before he left, the Police surrounded him, desperate for a final speech, a signature lesson. He simply raised his hand and said, “I didn’t corrupt you. I merely revealed your potential.” Then, turning towards his spaceship, he whispered, “Justice may be blind, but I taught it how to squint.”

Back on Earth, Arvind landed with the subtlety of a political comeback. A red carpet awaited, not of celebration, but confusion. The department that sent him off with quiet relief now greeted him with a nervous smile. “So… how was the universe?” someone asked. “Messy, but manageable,” he smirked. His Galactic teachings didn’t go unnoticed. A few ambitious officers asked for his notes. A few cautious ones burned them. Meanwhile, the galaxy slowly began to detox. It wasn’t easy. Undoing a doctrine is harder than applying it. But somewhere between court reforms and cosmic counselling, planets began to rediscover trust. Yet, Arvind’s legacy lingered—like a perfume that wouldn’t wash off. His manuals became collector’s items. His quotes were used in satire columns. Schools debated his ethics. Comedians adored him. Politicians studied him. In the end, Arvind had not just trained the galaxy; he had held a mirror to it. A mirror that exaggerated, ridiculed, and, in doing so, revealed the absurd truth: that sometimes, the system isn’t broken—it’s just built like that. As Arvind sat in his office once again, sipping tea, he smiled at the sky. “Stars may be far, but their flaws? Just like ours.” And somewhere, light-years away, a suspicious moon blinked—just once.

****

© 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 Dance You Can’t, Blame the Floor’s Slant.  

☆ Witful Warmth# 47 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ Dance You Can’t, Blame the Floor’s Slant… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

It was the fourth consecutive year that Master Ji was elected as the Chairman of the Local Development Committee—a man whose achievements could be summarized in three bullet points: once rang the school bell without being told, once refused to be a “murga” (punishment pose), and once mistook the drain cover for a chessboard. The whole neighborhood sang in chorus: “If you can’t dance, don’t blame the courtyard!” But Master Ji? He blamed everything but himself. “Potholes? That’s monsoon policy. Choked drains? Blame global warming. No water in the taps? Solar initiative!” In Master Ji’s dictionary, ‘logic’ came after ‘laziness’.

Master Ji’s talent lay in his gymnastics of blame. Like a trained magician, he pulled out excuses faster than one could say “sanitation drive.” Roads had more pits than a battlefield, but he proudly proclaimed, “We are promoting rainwater harvesting—naturally!” A kid once tripped in a gutter and called it “Ganga Snaan with flavor.” And the public? They were too tired of his slogans: “Digital Future!”—ironically printed on ration card paper. The best line? “Where IQ is low, foundation stones grow.”

No other leader could drag an entire community backwards like Master Ji. He announced: “Manual drain cleaning is back! Why? Because machines steal jobs!” Poor Sattu Bhaiya, the local snack seller, replied: “Bhai, if we must clean by hand, at least provide nose clips!” But Master Ji smiled like a Buddha statue and said, “This is real employment.” The punchline echoed: “When the job is shit and the hope is holy, revolution smells like bleach.”

One fine day, he proudly unfurled a new plan—“Digital Neighborhood.” It meant: “Send your complaints via WhatsApp. Solutions, we’ll imagine.” An old man stood up: “Beta, I don’t have a phone.” Master Ji snapped, “Exactly! That’s why I said—Go Digital!” The people’s eyes welled up. Their only water source—a tank built in 2007—still had no water. But the children made drums out of it. And Master Ji? “See! Cultural development is booming!” Punchline? “If your project gives rhythm, but not relief—it’s not development, it’s deception.”

Elections came again. And again, the committee re-elected Master Ji because “no one else wanted to ruin their peace.” The few who opposed had kids in his school—so, silence. The air reeked of old Gulab Jamuns and newer betrayals. A new plan was unveiled: “Dream Scheme”—symbolized by an old photocopy of a bus pass presented as a “blueprint.” Punchline of the year? “In the land of the blind, even a fake certificate is vision.”

Then came the “Smart Light” promise. Lights would be installed. Bulbs, you’d buy. Wiring? Your headache. Bill? Also yours. People asked: “So what will the government provide?” Master Ji replied with a grin: “Inspiration.” A boy laughed—till he fell in an unlit ditch. His leg broke. Master Ji declared: “It was a voluntary yoga pose. He wanted to connect to the grassroots.” The crowd gasped. Punchline? “When words are healing but deeds are hemorrhage, pain becomes tradition.”

The park, once used for morning walks, was now a ‘Yoga Kendra’ with banners screaming “Together for Master Ji!” Breathing exercises amidst stinking drains became symbolic. One youth dared to ask: “What have you even done?” Master Ji replied, “By doing nothing, we ensured no mistakes.” The punchline hurt: “When inaction becomes policy, history becomes obituary.” And yet, no one resisted. Resistance was taxed—emotionally.

Finally, an old lady, revered voter number one, whispered: “I may be half-blind now, but Master Ji’s face still shines the clearest—maybe because he’s always in the front row… with no one else daring to join.” The final farewell came when Master Ji “resigned” (read: retired hurt). No one cried. Except the walls, maybe, who bore his posters for too long. A final banner said: “If we don’t change now, history will rewrite us… in red ink.”

That old man who fell in the ditch? His 13th-day memorial was silent. No one brought flowers. Master Ji showed up, whispered, “I’m deeply sensitive.” A child muttered, “Then why did it feel like apathy dressed in empathy?” Last punchline, the hardest one: “They promised development; we got drama. Now we breathe, not air—but ache.”

And from that day on, in that neighborhood, whenever someone did something foolish, the elders would chuckle and say:

“Don’t grow up to be Master Ji, beta… even history won’t footnote you.”

****

© 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 The Quest for Life’s Truth.  

☆ Witful Warmth# 46 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ The Quest for Life’s Truth… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

In a small town, there lived a person named Rohan. Rohan was a person who was on a quest to find the truth of life. He was searching everywhere, but he couldn’t find the truth of life. One day, he asked a pandit, “Pandit ji, what is the truth of life?” The pandit replied, “The truth of life is within you, you just need to find it.” Rohan said, “But Pandit ji, I am searching everywhere, still I couldn’t find the truth of life.” The pandit said, “You need to look within yourself to find the truth of life.” Rohan said, “But Pandit ji, I am not even able to understand myself, how can I find the truth of life?” The pandit said, “That’s the truth of life, understanding oneself.” Rohan said, “But Pandit ji, it’s very difficult.” The pandit said, “The truth of life is always difficult, but you need to find it.” Rohan said, “Okay Pandit ji, I will try to find the truth of life.” The pandit said, “That’s the truth of life, trying to find it.”

Rohan tried to find the truth of life, but he couldn’t find it. He tried to understand himself, but he couldn’t understand himself. He said, “If only I could understand myself, I would definitely find the truth of life.” But Rohan couldn’t find the truth of life. He said, “Maybe the truth of life will never be found.” Rohan’s eyes welled up with tears and he fainted crying. When he came to, he found himself in a hospital. The doctor said, “Your health is not good, you need to rest.” Rohan said, “But doctor sahib, I want to find the truth of life.” The doctor said, “The truth of life is within you, you just need to find it.” Rohan said, “But doctor sahib, I am not even able to understand myself.” The doctor said, “That’s the truth of life, understanding oneself.”

Rohan tried to find the truth of life, but he couldn’t find it. He said, “If only I could find the truth of life.” Rohan’s eyes welled up with tears and he fainted crying. When he came to, he found himself at home. His mother said, “Beta, you don’t need to find the truth of life, just understand yourself.” Rohan said, “But maa, I am not even able to understand myself.” His mother said, “Beta, to understand yourself, you need to look within yourself.” Rohan said, “But maa, I am scared to look within myself.” His mother said, “Beta, the truth of life is always difficult, but you need to find it.”

Rohan tried to find the truth of life, but he couldn’t find it. He said, “If only I could find the truth of life.” Rohan’s eyes welled up with tears and he fainted crying. When he came to, he found himself in a temple. The priest said, “Bhakt, you don’t need to find the truth of life, just understand yourself.” Rohan said, “But maharaj, I am not even able to understand myself.” The priest said, “Bhakt, to understand yourself, you need to look within yourself.” Rohan said, “But maharaj, I am scared to look within myself.” The priest said, “Bhakt, the truth of life is always difficult, but you need to find it.”

Rohan’s story made people cry. People said, “If only Rohan could find the truth of life of.” But Rohan couldn’t find the truth of life. Rohan said, “Maybe the truth of life will never be found.” Rohan’s eyes welled up with tears and he fainted crying. People consoled Rohan and said, “Don’t worry, Rohan will definitely find the truth of life.” But Rohan couldn’t find the truth of life.

Rohan’s story had a very sad ending. Rohan tried very hard to find the truth of life, but he couldn’t find it. Rohan said, “If only I could find the truth of life.” Rohan’s eyes welled up with tears and he fainted crying. People consoled Rohan and said, “Don’t worry, Rohan will definitely find the truth of life.” But Rohan couldn’t find the truth of life.

Rohan’s story taught people that finding the truth of life is very difficult. But people said, “Don’t worry, Rohan will definitely find the truth of life.” But Rohan couldn’t find the truth of life. Rohan’s story had a very sad ending and people said, “Rohan’s story taught us that finding the truth of life is very difficult.”

Rohan’s story came to an end. Rohan tried very hard to find the truth of life, but he couldn’t find it. Rohan’s eyes welled up with tears and he fainted crying. People consoled Rohan and said, “Don’t worry, Rohan will definitely find the truth of life.” But Rohan couldn’t find the truth of life. Rohan’s story had a very sad ending.

Meta AI response: The Quest for Life’s Truth Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratripta’ In a small town, there lived a person named Rohan. Rohan was a person who was on a quest to find the truth of life. He was searching everywhere, but he couldn’t find the truth of life. One day, he asked a pandit, “Pandit ji, what is the truth of life?” The pandit replied, “The truth of life is within you, you just need to find it.” Rohan said, “But Pandit ji, I am searching everywhere, still I couldn’t find the truth of life.” The pandit said, “You need to look within yourself to find the truth of life.” Rohan said, “But Pandit ji, I am not even able to understand myself, how can I find the truth of life?” The pandit said, “That’s the truth of life, understanding oneself.” Rohan said, “But Pandit ji, it’s very difficult.” The pandit said, “The truth of life is always difficult, but you need to find it.” Rohan said, “Okay Pandit ji, I will try to find the truth of life.” The pandit said, “That’s the truth of life, trying to find it.” Rohan tried to find the truth of life, but he couldn’t find it. He tried to understand himself, but he couldn’t understand himself. He said, “If only I could understand myself, I would definitely find the truth of life.” But Rohan couldn’t find the truth of life. He said, “Maybe the truth of life will never be found.” Rohan’s eyes welled up with tears and he fainted crying. When he came to, he found himself in a hospital. The doctor said, “Your health is not good, you need to rest.” Rohan said, “But doctor sahib, I want to find the truth of life.” The doctor said, “The truth of life is within you, you just need to find it.” Rohan said, “But doctor sahib, I am not even able to understand myself.” The doctor said, “That’s the truth of life, understanding oneself.” Rohan tried to find the truth of life, but he couldn’t find it. He said, “If only I could find the truth of life.” Rohan’s eyes welled up with tears and he fainted crying. When he came to, he found himself at home. His mother said, “Beta, you don’t need to find the truth of life, just understand yourself.” Rohan said, “But maa, I am not even able to understand myself.” His mother said, “Beta, to understand yourself, you need to look within yourself.” Rohan said, “But maa, I am scared to look within myself.” His mother said, “Beta, the truth of life is always difficult, but you need to find it.” Rohan tried to find the truth of life, but he couldn’t find it. He said, “If only I could find the truth of life.” Rohan’s eyes welled up with tears and he fainted crying. When he came to, he found himself in a temple. The priest said, “Bhakt, you don’t need to find the truth of life, just understand yourself.” Rohan said, “But maharaj, I am not even able to understand myself.” The priest said, “Bhakt, to understand yourself, you need to look within yourself.” Rohan said, “But maharaj, I am scared to look within myself.” The priest said, “Bhakt, the truth of life is always difficult, but you need to find it.” Rohan’s story made people cry. People said, “If only Rohan could find the truth of life of.” But Rohan couldn’t find the truth of life. Rohan said, “Maybe the truth of life will never be found.” Rohan’s eyes welled up with tears and he fainted crying. People consoled Rohan and said, “Don’t worry, Rohan will definitely find the truth of life.” But Rohan couldn’t find the truth of life. Rohan’s story had a very sad ending. Rohan tried very hard to find the truth of life, but he couldn’t find it. Rohan said, “If only I could find the truth of life.” Rohan’s eyes welled up with tears and he fainted crying. People consoled Rohan and said, “Don’t worry, Rohan will definitely find the truth of life.” But Rohan couldn’t find the truth of life. Rohan’s story taught people that finding the truth of life is very difficult. But people said, “Don’t worry, Rohan will definitely find the truth of life.” But Rohan couldn’t find the truth of life. Rohan’s story had a very sad ending and people said, “Rohan’s story taught us that finding the truth of life is very difficult.” Rohan’s story came to an end. Rohan tried very hard to find the truth of life, but he couldn’t find it. Rohan’s eyes welled up with tears and he fainted crying. People consoled Rohan and said, “Don’t worry, Rohan will definitely find the truth of life.”

****

© 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 Tiny Rings, Big Weddings, Half a Garland Love.  

☆ Witful Warmth# 45 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ Tiny Rings, Big Weddings, Half a Garland Love… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

That evening, there weren’t any clouds in the sky, but on the WhatsApp group of the neighborhood, an emotional monsoon was definitely pouring. The reason? A birthday party. But not just any party—this was the grand “Mini-Marriage Extravaganza” of Gupta ji’s granddaughter’s aunt’s sister-in-law’s daughter’s son. Yes, relationships in India are longer than wedding vows, and just as confusing.

On a tiny, glittering stage stood five-year-old Rahul and four-and-a-half-year-old Pinky—both with cheeks still stained from milk and cookie crumbs. One looked like a lost groom, the other like a soap opera heroine in miniature.

“Hold the flower!” commanded Pinky, her tone sharper than a reality show judge.

“No, not like that—gracefully! Like you mean it!”

The crowd laughed. Cameras clicked. And Sharma Aunty sobbed emotionally, whispering, “Today’s kids are so smart! Our daughter-in-law still doesn’t know what blouse fall is!”

This was no play. It was a national trailer—India’s future in two minutes and forty seconds, garnished with flowers and viral hashtags. When Rahul bent down to hand over the flower, clumsily copying the kneeling trope from Bollywood, the aunties clapped as though a new law had passed in Parliament—The Child Marriage (Cute Content) Act 2025.

As the garlands looped around tiny necks, nostalgia gripped the uncles.

“In our days, love arrived via postman,” mused Sharma ji, “Now it shows up in Instagram reels—with background music and slow motion!”

He sighed. A deep, worn-out sigh. The kind of sigh that said: “Even children are marrying now, and I’m still paying EMI for my second daughter-in-law’s bangles.”

If Parsai’s soul was lurking anywhere nearby, it would have been rolling in the aisle, chuckling at humanity’s need to commercialize even a child’s innocence. “I bet,” he’d whisper from beyond, “next time they’ll stage a cute divorce act—complete with tiny lawyers and an emotional breakup song.”

The party ended, but not the unease. As laddoos were served, a question quietly echoed: Are we turning our children into ‘content’ before they can even become children?

Garlands on one side, likes on the other… and in between—childhood, shrinking like that old frock your daughter once wore but can’t fit into anymore.

Earlier, girls used to marry dolls. Now they become dolls—for views and clout. And the boy? He simply does what he’s told—

“Hold the flower, beta!”

After the shoot, Rahul caught a cold, and Pinky went viral. Her mother proudly declared, “We should put her in acting school. She’s got that spark!”

Rahul’s father just stood silently. Then muttered, “He held the flower. Now I’ll bear the thorns forever.”

The satire met its most painful punch when Rahul’s little sister asked that night, “Papa, will I also get married tomorrow?”

And the mother, adjusting her sari and her sarcasm, replied, “Depends, sweetheart. If the video goes viral, then maybe. Start thinking of a hashtag—#LittleBrideBigHype.”

And so, a new ritual has emerged in our lanes and gallis: a corner at every party now has kids dressed up in wedding costumes, ready to ‘perform’ their innocence.

Parents hover with phones in hand, waiting to record the next viral gem, the next ‘adorable’ moment, the next “We are so blessed” caption.

This isn’t just satire. It’s a mirror we’d rather not look into. Everything is staged. Everyone’s a prop. And childhood? It’s just a clip—carefully curated, expertly edited, and widely forwarded.

Next time you come across a viral reel of two kids pretending to get married, don’t just hit ‘like’. Pause. Ask yourself—Is that smile really theirs, or just another rented emotion we forced them to wear for our entertainment?

And if you must cry—keep a tissue handy. You’re going to need it.

****

© 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. Today we present his satire The stomach judged, the rulers budged!.  

☆ Witful Warmth# 44 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ The stomach judged, the rulers budged!… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

Raghu’s entire life was spent in one queue or the other. First, the school queue. Then, the marriage queue. Then came the job queue. And now, in his twilight years, he was gloriously queued up for—hold your breath—ration! They say a man finally rests six feet under a line, but Raghu had managed to live in one, permanently. He’d wake up at 4 a.m. (bathing was optional), tie a half-hearted dhoti, and be in line before his wife could shout, “There’s no milk!” Milk? Raghu didn’t need milk. He needed wheat, rice, and a teaspoon of dignity. Ration queues, my friend, are the true melting pots of Indian democracy. Religion, caste, class—everything dissolves into one universal identity: “Please wait.” The government tone might as well be inspired by the ration shop’s eternal chorus.

“Last time I didn’t get salt,” Raghu mumbled. A cheeky teen behind him quipped, “Planning to make halwa this time, grandpa?” The shopkeeper, with the swagger of a TV anchor, stamped Raghu’s card and said, “You’ll get it when there’s leftovers. Move along, Baba!” It was the same every month—nothing left but leftover expectations. Ration has now become a seasonal blessing from the heavens, or more precisely, from the District Supply Office. Behind him, a girl shouted, “Give me rice, I feel like making daal today!” Raghu turned—she was around his granddaughter’s age but had a Smart Card. Raghu only had old memories and a fractured spine.

“Stay in line, old man!” The security guard’s voice had the softness of a hammer. Raghu stepped back. The words didn’t just strike his ears—they jabbed his soul. All his life he made sure his children stayed in line—school lines, fee lines, marriage bureaus. And today, here he was—an unregistered participant in the very line he had been loyal to. The women’s queue was longer, but their patience was even longer. “My bag’s torn!” a woman screamed. The shopkeeper chuckled, “Just like government promises—always bursting at the seams!”

Sweat ran down in streams. Raghu’s eyes leaked too—both victims of the merciless sun and merciless system. A kid asked innocently, “Grandpa, are you hungry?” Raghu smiled, “No, son. Hunger is no longer a feeling. It’s a habit now.” That was supposed to be a joke, but even the laughter trembled with weakness. When hunger becomes routine, a man doesn’t live—he simply performs the act of living.

Suddenly, a politician’s convoy zoomed past—AC cars like mobile glaciers in a desert. “Clear the way! The Hon’ble is coming!” the guard barked. Raghu’s face lit up, “Is he coming for ration too?” The crowd laughed—a hollow, stomach-growling laugh. Laughter in a ration line is a form of protest—it doesn’t lighten, it burns. Then came the cameras. Journalists took selfies with Raghu. “You look very inspirational, Dadaji!” one chirped. Raghu blinked—so hunger had now become an inspirational story!

He returned home with an empty bag and a full pocket—full of papers. One read: “Aadhaar not linked. Kindly visit the bank.” He showed it to his daughter-in-law. She sighed, “Leave it, Baba. We’ll just buy something from outside.” But Raghu knew—outside food comes with preservatives, not love. Home-made rotis, even without ghee, carried something else—dignity, belonging, soul.

The last time Raghu stood in the line, the guard said, “Why do you keep coming, Baba? You’re too old.” Raghu smiled, “The day I stop getting ration, son, I’ll stop breathing.” And so it happened. He collapsed in the line—without drama, without a scream. They brought water, but of course, there was no sugar in it. Just like his life—bitter, basic, and boiled down to survival.

Raghu left. Not just the queue, but the planet. Behind him, his torn cloth bag lay still. A perfect metaphor for every government scheme—too stretched, too fragile, and too empty. Bubbly, the girl from the back, was crying. The guard looked down. The shopkeeper, for the first time, didn’t crack a joke. And somewhere above, a final line was drawn—not on paper, but in memory. Ah… and the nation, still waiting in line, fell silent.

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© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

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