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 Honorable Bureaucrat’s New Coat. 

☆ Witful Warmth # 24 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ The Honorable Bureaucrat’s New Coat ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

One day, a grand decision was made in our town’s esteemed Municipal Office—a decision that was to shake the very foundations of governance. The Senior Officer, whom we call the Protector of Files, had resolved to buy a new coat. Not just any coat—oh no! This was to be a coat that would symbolize his stature, power, and unmatched dedication to public service. After all, what is governance without good clothing? Who would respect a leader who looks as if his attire is bought from the same street vendor who sells rickshaw tarps?

The town, eager to support this noble endeavor, rallied behind the decision. The District Planning Committee called an emergency meeting. Forget roads and drains—this was a far more urgent affair. The coat was to be made of the finest imported wool, specially flown in from some mysterious land (likely a country that values its sheep more than its citizens). After all, a man of the Officer’s caliber deserved nothing less than sheep blessed by foreign winds.

A committee was instantly formed to oversee the purchase of the fabric, the stitching, and the final fitting. There was no shortage of enthusiasm. Each department offered to contribute. The Finance Department, always a shining example of prudence, immediately diverted funds that had been earmarked for some trivial project like school repairs. “What’s the use of educating children,” they argued, “if our Senior Officer catches a cold in his old coat?”

The Health Department, too, threw in their weight. They were quick to point out that the Officer’s new coat was a public health issue. If he were to catch pneumonia, the entire machinery of the state would collapse! Therefore, it was decided that the best doctors from the government hospital would be involved in the measurement process to ensure perfect insulation. “The Officer’s health is the nation’s health,” declared the Chief Medical Officer, whose stethoscope had not touched a patient in years but gleamed impressively nonetheless.

Meanwhile, the town’s media took up the cause with great zeal. Editorial after editorial praised the visionary decision. “In these trying times,” wrote one well-known columnist, “what we need are leaders who are well-dressed, for appearances matter more than actions. The coat will give the Officer the gravitas he requires to command respect during the numerous ribbon-cutting ceremonies and photo-ops.” The local newspaper even began running a daily “Coat Update,” informing the public of every new development. One headline read: The Fabric Arrives—Hope for a Bright Future.

As the coat began taking shape, the Officer was seen glowing with newfound energy. His gait became more majestic, his speeches more profound. “I feel the weight of responsibility on my shoulders,” he said during a televised interview, adjusting his spectacles dramatically. Of course, it wasn’t the coat’s weight that he was referring to, but the burden of carrying the hopes and dreams of an entire town on his broad, padded shoulders.

However, not everyone was happy. A group of dissidents, always prone to pessimism, began murmuring in discontent. “Why is so much money being spent on a coat when there are real issues to address?” asked a particularly irritating school teacher whose salary had been delayed for three months. But these voices were quickly drowned out. “This is the problem with our society,” countered a prominent local businessman. “We never think big. We always focus on trivial matters like food, education, and sanitation. Can’t you see that this coat will elevate our entire district’s status? When the Officer walks into meetings with other bureaucrats, they will all look at his coat and think, ‘Now here is a town that knows how to dress its leaders!'”

Finally, the day arrived when the coat was unveiled. The town gathered in the central square, decorated with garlands and banners reading “Long Live the Officer’s Coat!”. Children were given half-holidays from school so they could attend the historic event. The coat, when revealed, gleamed under the sun. It was a work of art—each stitch a testament to the craftsmanship, dedication, and patriotism that had gone into its making.

As the Officer donned the coat, the crowd erupted in applause. Tears of joy were shed. Old women clutched their hearts in awe. Even the stray dogs gathered around, as if sensing the momentousness of the occasion. The Officer, his chest puffed out in pride, waved regally at the masses, who cheered and shouted, “Long live the coat!”

Thus, a new era began for our town. The coat became a symbol of everything we stood for—our priorities, our values, and most importantly, our commitment to ensuring that those in power always look the part, even if nothing else changes.

And as the Officer basked in his newfound glory, we all went back to our lives, still walking on broken roads, drinking dirty water, and waiting for the next great decision.

*

© 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 Great Festive Season Loot. 

☆ Witful Warmth # 23 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ The Great Festive Season Loot ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

As the festive season descended upon the bustling streets of the city, a peculiar phenomenon took hold of its residents: an almost involuntary urge to part with their hard-earned money in a frenzy of shopping, gifting, and celebrations. The air was thick with the fragrance of freshly made sweets, the sounds of garish music, and the sight of shopkeepers grinning like Cheshire cats, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting customers. Yes, it was that time of year again—the great Indian festive season, where every man, woman, and child seemed to transform into a walking, talking cash register, emitting jingles rather than coins.

In this grand carnival of consumption, our protagonist, Mr. Shyamlal Gupta, found himself caught in the whirlwind. A simple clerk by profession, Shyamlal was no stranger to the annual ritual of emptying his pockets to celebrate the festival of lights, but this year, the intensity of the festival-induced madness reached new heights. “Why should I let my neighbors outshine me with their extravagant displays of wealth?” he mused, as he glanced at the impressive new car parked outside his affluent neighbor’s house, which incidentally had replaced the old one—a mere month old, as if it were a seasonal item.

“Lights, gifts, sweets—this year, I shall become a symbol of prosperity!” Shyamlal declared, his voice brimming with optimism. With this newfound ambition, he set off into the chaos of the marketplace, armed with a list of purchases that would make even the most seasoned shopaholic raise an eyebrow. As he maneuvered through the throngs of shoppers, he was greeted by the usual cacophony of vendors shouting at the top of their lungs, urging customers to buy the “latest” in festive attire, which bore an uncanny resemblance to last year’s collection—albeit with a few sequins strategically placed to justify the inflated price tag.

“Ah, Mr. Gupta! Looking to dazzle the neighborhood this festive season?” chirped a shopkeeper, his eyes gleaming with the promise of a sale.

“Yes, yes! I need the best!” Shyamlal responded, puffing out his chest as if he were entering a beauty pageant rather than a clothing store.

With each purchase—saris, sweets, new earthen lamps, and an elaborate assortment of plastic decorations—Shyamlal felt a mixture of exhilaration and dread. He knew deep down that he was falling prey to the age-old trap of festive consumerism, but the thought of being outdone by Mrs. Sharma, his neighbor, who had already set up an extravagant light display, sent shivers down his spine.

By the time Shyamlal returned home, bags in hand, he felt like a victorious warrior, albeit one who had been utterly defeated in the realm of finances. His wife, Mrs. Gupta, looked at the mountain of purchases with a mix of awe and disbelief. “Darling, have you considered that perhaps we don’t need to spend so much just to keep up appearances?”

“Of course, we do!” he retorted, feigning bravado. “What will people say if we don’t compete with the Sharmas? This is about our reputation!”

Thus, the stage was set for a festival of embarrassment and regret. With lights adorning every corner of their modest abode, Shyamlal soon discovered that the electricity bill would likely be the true testament to his festive zeal. The entire neighborhood had transformed into a veritable competition of illumination; the Sharmas had installed an entire light show that could only be likened to a mini New Year’s Eve in Times Square.

As the festival day approached, Shyamlal’s desperation reached its zenith. With each new advertisement he encountered, promising the latest gadgets and gizmos—none of which he truly needed—he felt an insatiable itch to spend more. “What if I don’t buy a new smartphone? How will people know I am technologically advanced?” he fretted.

The festive season climaxed in a chaotic whirlwind of parties, where Shyamlal found himself perpetually trapped in a cycle of forced hospitality and obligatory gifting. Each neighbor’s extravagant gift demanded an equal or greater response, leaving Shyamlal in a state of perpetual anxiety and indebtedness.

At a particularly lavish gathering, while sipping a drink that tasted suspiciously like sugar water, Shyamlal overheard Mrs. Sharma boasting about her “cutting-edge” air fryer. “It can fry anything! Even your financial sense!” he thought bitterly, glancing at his own hand-me-down cooking appliances, now obsolete in the face of his neighbor’s culinary technology.

“Ah, Shyamlal, you must come over to try my new air fryer!” Mrs. Sharma called, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You simply must—everyone is raving about it!”

“Yes, I’ll bring you something special from my collection of antique spoons!” he countered with a forced smile, realizing he had nothing of value to offer but his growing sense of financial doom.

The festive season marched on, and so did Shyamlal’s desperation. With every extravagant gathering came the crippling realization that he had spent more than he earned, and the once joyous spirit of celebration had turned into a grim parade of credit card bills and the haunting specter of unpaid loans.

As the last festival day drew to a close, Shyamlal sat down with a heavy heart, surrounded by the remnants of his ill-advised purchases. The lights dimmed, the sweets had dwindled, and all that remained was the bitter taste of his financial folly. He pondered the irony of a festival meant to celebrate abundance leaving him in the throes of scarcity.

In that moment of clarity, Shyamlal made a decision. Next year, he would break the cycle of festive season loot. He would embrace minimalism, resist the siren call of extravagant consumerism, and perhaps even encourage his neighbors to do the same. After all, as he gazed at the empty wrappers and fading lights, he realized that true celebration lay not in material possessions but in the spirit of togetherness, not in competition but in camaraderie.

But that was next year’s resolution. For now, as he buried his head in his hands, he could only lament the fleeting joy of a festive season turned farcical—a cycle he had unwittingly perpetuated, one plastic decoration at a time.

*

© 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 He Was Gone. 

☆ Witful Warmth # 22 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ He Was Gone ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

The reader’s lifeless body lay sprawled on a sofa, his phone placed before him, pinging and ponging relentlessly. Around him echoed the noise of his friends— “What happened?” “Why are you sleeping?” and “Yet another book left unfinished!” Someone, in sheer frustration, had even unfollowed him.

The reader, once a most ardent user of social media, was now utterly oblivious to the world. The writer, who had long been chasing recognition and esteem, stood amongst the shattered promises of unread pages. His thoughts drifted back to that reader—who once engaged in earnest, thoughtful discussions on his works. But now, that same reader had been swallowed whole by the vast abyss of ‘likes’ and ‘shares.’

Memories of the reader lay scattered across his room—books that had once formed the very foundation of his intellect now gathered dust, neglected and forgotten. For the writer, it was a dirge for his beloved reader, though those around seemed only interested in the final status update he had posted.

During the funeral procession, the writer received a deluge of messages: “A great lover of books has left us!” and “Is there any way to pay tribute with a retweet?” The writer was at a loss—was this man even a person anymore, or had he become merely a digital identity?

The mourners stared solemnly, yet the incessant notifications lighting up their phones lent an oddly comic lightness to the proceedings.

As the final rites were performed, the writer recalled the days when the reader had devoured books with genuine passion. Now, he was lost among the masses of people who hastily ‘react’ and ‘comment’ without thought or care.

In the end, when the reader was consigned to the flames, a single tear slid down the writer’s cheek. He wondered aloud, “Perhaps in the world of books, someone might bring him back.” But could the land of retweets ever restore such a true reader to his former glory?

Someone had said it best: “These days, books are sold, while followers on social media never seem to dwindle!”

*

© 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 Great Pension Dilemma. 

☆ Witful Warmth # 21 ☆

☆ Satire ☆ The Great Pension Dilemma ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆

As the clock strikes sixty, many find themselves at a crossroads, armed with nothing but the promise of a pension. In an age where “working hard” is often accompanied by the phrase “for a secure future,” retirees are left grappling with the irony of having spent their golden years to save for a retirement that’s as elusive as the Loch Ness Monster.

The Golden Ticket

Imagine, if you will, a retiree named Mr. Singh. After decades of dutifully clocking in and out, he anticipates his pension with the glee of a child awaiting a birthday gift. But alas, upon his retirement, he is met not with a confetti parade, but with a bureaucratic obstacle course more complicated than a season of reality television.

“Congratulations! You’ve earned this,” the retirement office proclaims, handing him a pamphlet that could rival the length of a Tolstoy novel. It details forms, approvals, and a labyrinthine process to finally access his pension—a veritable quest worthy of Indiana Jones. Mr. Singh, holding his pamphlet like a treasure map, realizes he must first navigate the Valley of the Lost Documents and the Forest of Unanswered Questions.

The Wait Game

Weeks turn into months, and Mr. Singh finds himself in a Kafkaesque situation, waiting for approval from a committee that seems to have taken a vow of silence. In the meantime, his savings dwindle faster than a popsicle on a summer day. “Isn’t retirement supposed to be relaxing?” he wonders, as he tries to piece together a meal from expired cans in his pantry.

Meanwhile, other retirees gather at the local park, sharing stories of their pension pursuits like war veterans recounting their greatest battles. “I waited three years for mine!” exclaims Mrs. Patel, proudly waving her rejection letters like badges of honor. The group laughs, but there’s a bittersweet edge to their camaraderie, as they all know the truth: retirement is a minefield.

The Pension Puzzle

In the modern age of technology, one would think that pension disbursement would be as simple as clicking “buy” on an online shopping site. Yet, the process is akin to deciphering an ancient script. “Have you tried the app?” asks a well-meaning friend, only to find that the app is less user-friendly than a cat during a bath.

“Oh, and don’t forget to use your ‘unique identifier’!” they chime, but Mr. Singh isn’t sure if that means his birth date, his first pet’s name, or perhaps his favorite flavor of ice cream. It’s as if the pension system is a club, and the entrance fee is a knowledge of obscure passwords and cryptic instructions.

The Economic Conundrum

To add fuel to the fire, there’s the question of inflation—a term that sounds more like a magic trick than an economic principle. Just as Mr. Singh finally figures out how to access his pension, he realizes that the purchasing power of his hard-earned savings has evaporated. The monthly stipend is now barely enough for a cup of coffee and a day’s worth of Wi-Fi, which, as we all know, is the true currency of modern life.

“You’re telling me I worked for forty years to enjoy a life that’s just below the poverty line?” he scoffs, raising his voice in disbelief. The irony isn’t lost on him; after all, he spent decades paying into a system designed to ensure his comfort in old age. Instead, he feels like a contestant on a game show where the prize is disappointment.

The Bureaucratic Ballet

Let’s not forget the charming interactions with customer service, where every call feels like a Shakespearean play. “Thank you for holding! Your call is very important to us,” says a voice with all the warmth of a frozen dinner. After what feels like a lifetime, he finally reaches a representative who, despite their cheery disposition, speaks in a language that sounds suspiciously like “corporate jargon.”

“Sir, your request is in the queue,” they say, as if it were the next episode of a binge-worthy series. “We’re experiencing higher than normal delays due to, well, you know… everything.” Mr. Singh, in disbelief, hangs up, realizing that “everything” is an all-encompassing excuse that justifies the state of the pension system.

The Comedy

As the months drag on, Mr. Singh’s initial enthusiasm has morphed into a resigned acceptance. “Well, at least I’m not alone,” he thinks, glancing at his fellow retirees, all united in their quest for a system that seems to favor the young and the agile, leaving the elderly feeling like the forgotten characters in a long-lost play.

Eventually, Mr. Singh receives a letter announcing the approval of his pension, but it’s accompanied by the faint scent of irony. His first check arrives just in time for him to finally treat himself to that long-awaited vacation—a trip to the local grocery store where he can finally afford more than just instant noodles.

And so, the saga of pensions continues, a never-ending ballet of bureaucracy and hope, where the only certainty is uncertainty. In the end, Mr. Singh might not have found the paradise he envisioned, but he has a good story to share with his friends at the park—a testament to their shared struggle, proving that even in the face of absurdity, laughter is the best pension of all.

*

© Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’

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