I am deeply saddened by the unfortunate demise of Respected Ratan Tata ji. I vividly remember our meeting at a Tata Hospital function where I had the pleasure of performing. After my concert he met me warmly and was so appreciative. I also had the honour of presenting to him the portrait of JRD crafted by my father Shankar Phenany thru a now forgotten but a very difficult art form called Scrapper board. He was thrilled to receive this portrait.
I am confident that his soul must have been welcomed in Heaven with Great enthusiasm. So let us celebrate the legacy of this great Human being and try to imbibe in our lives the path of rightiousness & Morality which he proudly prescribed all his life. OM SHANTI 🙏🏻🕉️
☆ Ratan Tata… । In His Own Words! ☆ Compiled by – Mrs Manjusha Sunit Mulay ☆
“I had a happy childhood, but as my brother & I got older, we faced ragging because of our parent’s divorce, which in those days wasn’t as common. My grandmom brought us up.
“Soon after, when my mother remarried, the boys at school started saying all kinds of things about us. But our grandmother taught us to retain dignity at all costs, a value that’s always stayed with me. It involved walking away from these situations instead of fighting back.
“And if it weren’t for grandmom, I wouldn’t be half the person I am today.
“My father and I couldn’t agree on the same thing – I wanted to go to college in the US, he insisted on UK. I wanted to be an architect, he insisted on me becoming an engineer. If it weren’t for my grandmother, I wouldn’t have ended up at Cornell University in the US. It was because of her that even though I enrolled for mechanical engineering, I switched majors & graduated with a degree in architecture. My father was upset, but I was finally my own, independent person in college & it was my grandmother who taught me that courage to speak up can also be soft.
“After college, I landed a job at an architecture firm in LA, where I worked for 2 years. It was a great time – the weather was beautiful & I loved my job. It was in LA that I fell in love & almost got married. But at the same time I’d made the decision to move back, at least temporarily, since grandmom wasn’t keeping too well. So I came back to visit her & thought that the person I wanted to marry would come to India with me, but because of the 1962 Indo-China war her parent’s weren’t okay with her making the move anymore & the relationship fell apart.
“After the move, I did spend some time with my grandmom. I’d run with my dog, catch up with her & we’d have long chats. I’m glad I got that time with her before she passed, because right after I moved to Jamshedpur for an internship at what’s known as Tata Motors now.
It was a waste of time – I was moved from one department to another & since I was a family member, no one told me what to do – I spent 6 months trying to be ‘useful’.
“It was only after I moved to Tata Steel that I got specific work & my job got interesting. I started from the floor & understood the plight of those working there. So years later, when we downsized Tata Steel from 78,000 to 40,000, we ensured to pay them their present day wages until retirement–it’s been in our DNA to serve those who serve us.
“Then, in 1991, JRD stepped down as the Chairman of Tata Industries and then from Tata Sons, there was vicious criticism.
There were other aspirants, who were vocal of him having made the wrong decision. I had been through this before, so I did what I knew best–maintained silence & focused on proving myself.
The criticism was personal–JRD got clubbed with nepotism & I, as the wrong choice. I was under scrutiny, but the time I spent on the floor served as a big plus – I hadn’t gotten there from nowhere!
“All in all, it was a big move. I remember after I was appointed Chairman, I walked with JRD to his office, where he told his secretary that he had to move out. I said, ‘No, J, don’t move out, this is your office for as long as you want.’ He said, ‘Where will you sit?’ I said, ‘Where I’m sitting today–I have an office down the hall & that’s fine.’
“I was lucky to have him there. He was my greatest mentor & the years that he was alive, I used to go into his office & say, ‘J, I wish this had happened 10 years ago, we have such a great relationship.’ He was like a father & a brother to me & not enough’s been said about that.
“Ever since, my life has been for & about growing the company. When I was appointed Chairman, it was believed my surname got me the position, but my focus was on creating something bigger than us all & on giving back, which has been in the TATA DNA since the start.
With Jamshedpur for instance, while our workers were thriving, the surrounding villages were suffering. It became our goal to uplift their quality of life as well … things like these came naturally to us.
“Even with the Nano – I remember seeing a family of 4 on a bike in the heavy Bombay rain—I wanted to do more for these families who were risking their lives for lack of an alternative. By the time we launched the Nano, our costs were higher, but I’d made a promise & we delivered. Looking back, I’m proud of the car & the decision to go ahead with it.
“That’s what my life has been about—work became a lifestyle. I was always at Bombay House or travelling, that’s why even though I came close to marriage with 2-3 different partners, I couldn’t go through with it because they’d have to adjust to my lifestyle & that didn’t sit right with me.
“Now that I’m retired, that lifestyle has changed again. People ask if I’m truly ‘retired’ & to that I say—there’s no doubt about it. I’m enjoying the separation from the company—I don’t look at newspapers & worry about the bad stuff anymore.
“But let me tell you, retirement isn’t about playing golf, or reading on a beach, whilst sipping on a cocktail. In fact, never before has the urge to do more, been greater. From affordable cancer treatment, to making the lives in rural India easier—I’m looking forward to making it happen at the Tata Trust. I’m trying to enjoy myself to be honest— I’m spending time with friends —old & new, across age groups, who I’m constantly learning from.
“At 82, I’m still learning, so when you ask me to give advice, I feel like the ‘right advice’ changes over a period of time—but the one thing that remains unchanged is the desire to do the right thing.
“So I’ll say this —leave the advice & do the right thing, even if it isn’t the easiest thing to do. When you look back at your life, that’s what’s going to matter the most. Doing the right thing.”
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.
(Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi—an ex Naval Officer, possesses a multifaceted personality. He served as Senior Advisor in prestigious Supercomputer organisation C-DAC, Pune. An alumnus of IIM Ahmedabad was involved in various Artificial Intelligence and High-Performance Computing projects of national and international repute. He has got a long experience in the field of ‘Natural Language Processing’, especially, in the domain of Machine Translation. He has taken the mantle of translating the timeless beauties of Indian literature upon himself so that it reaches across the globe. He has also undertaken translation work for Shri Narendra Modi, the Hon’ble Prime Minister of India, which was highly appreciated by him. He is also a member of ‘Bombay Film Writer Association’.)
We Congratulate Capt. Pravin Raghuvanshi ji who has been appointed as a reviewer for the literary work published by the international poets and littérateurs… It’s a great opportunity to express views on their scintillating literary work. Capt. Pravin Raghuvanshi ji thanked President and his fellow colleagues of Global Writers Academy for this unique honour…!
Ms Leena Thampi whose imposing poem, ‘Encounter with Soul’, is truly एन्थ्राललिंग..। He humbly attempted to deep-dive into her composition to fetch some pearls of wisdom… though unraveling her poetic verses is certainly not a mean task…yet this chutzpah…!
☆ ~ Ms Leena Thampi’s Poem: Encounter with my soul~ ☆
☆
Everything stops for a while
When she’s gone
The sun hides, the birds stop singing
the flowers refuse to bloom,
Trees become still, the clouds don’t care anymore, forget the rains
Nothing breathes and all of life
Turns a dull grey…
Then she returns
And everything falls in place
In whispers soft and sweet, a dance with words and thoughts,
In solitude I meet the lyrics of old songs
A symphony of emotions, in silence, I express,
For in my quietude, I find my soul’s caress.
The shadows of my mind, Unravel in this space,
A canvas of my heart, Where colors fill my grace.
I converse in my solitude, With the echoes of my soul,
A journey through the labyrinth, Of thoughts, I fearlessly control.
In every word, a story,in every breath, a verse,
I converse in my solitude,
As a poet, I confess.
In quiet chambers of my mind,
A dialogue with self,I cherish
Questions arise, answers sought, flow peacefully in this journey of thought.
Reflecting on the path I’ve trod, the choices made, the lessons taught. Emotions stir, a symphony within,
A fountain of joy and sorrow,a subtle kin.
In the mirror of introspection, I see my reflection.
The light and the dark, the highs and lows,
A spectrum of colors, in life’s ebbs and flows.
Valleys ,mountains ,beauty unexplored
You take me through euphoria manifold
This conversation with the self, so deep,
Unveils the mysteries, the secrets to keep.
A journey of growth, of self-discovery,
A path that leads to wisdom, and a heart so free.
It’s where I meet myself
Who could I love more than thee?
~ Leena Thampi
Review:
ENCOUNTER WITH MY SOUL is a beautiful poem by equally beautiful poetess Leena Thampi, where her resplendent beauty reflects in her enigmatic journey in a scintillating poetic form. The flight that she undertakes with her amazing indomitable wings into myriad shades of life…while wandering around the rapturous environment, in the symphony of emotional melodies… oscillating between the crests and troughs of sombreness and exultation…
It’s her blissful interaction with the soul that defines her swing of moods…as she recalls about somberness: “…everything stops for a while when she’s gone…” Takes it further as she sums up:
“Nothing breathes at all and all of life turns into dull grey…!”
But on her return, everything becomes exuberant…as she dances in the whispers of tender sweet words and lovelorn thoughts…
She enjoys her solitude as she dives deep into the reclusive privateness, where the symphony of spirited sentiments, plays ceaselessly…
Finally, she finds her soul’s embrace in her quietude. The shadow of her mind, unravels the canvas of her heart, where myriad rainbowish hues fill her inner self…as she converses with her solitude, with resonating echoes of her enchanting soul.
This deep interaction with the self, unfolds many mysteries, scripting the odyssey of her growth and wisdom, which in turn sets the heart free, where she finds her ultimate love…!
Leena has created a masterpiece which is more of a volcanic eruption of the heart than a willful composition…!
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, 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, 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 New Art of Leaders Shedding Tears.
☆ Witful Warmth# 20 ☆
☆ Satire ☆ The New Art of Leaders Shedding Tears☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆
When we look at leaders who wail after not seeing their name on the list of those who dream of greenery, prosperity, and development, a natural question arises: Is their entire political career based solely on opportunism? How many pairs of glasses must the leader have used to read the ticket list, yet none of these glasses ever weakened so much that they couldn’t reveal the right name. Ah! Is this the true essence of politics?
Let us sprinkle some satire on the plight of these familiar tear-shedding leaders. Once considering themselves lions of politics, these leaders now howl like those same lions after seeing a list without their names. It seems as though the political cup, into which we all hoped to pour ourselves, has now begun to overflow from the eyes of these leaders. Crying over a name not appearing on the list is indeed a comic-tragic spectacle that words can barely capture.
Shedding tears over not seeing their name on the list is the latest achievement of these leaders. These are the same leaders who once claimed to wipe away others’ tears, and now, they’re seen shedding tears themselves. Leaders who once roared like lions are now crying like jackals. Oh! Politics is like a colorful blanket, showing shadows on one side and weaving irony on the other.
When these leaders supported the Agniveer scheme, it wasn’t surprising. But now, as Agniveer-style politics has come back to bite them, tears flow like rivers. Their situation has become like watering a garden but offering snacks to each plant instead. Everything was fine as long as their tanks were full, but now that wings have sprouted, they lament the lack of water.
At one time, these leaders boasted when their names were absent from the unemployment lists. Now, seeing their own name missing from the list, they cry and create an uproar. Oh, dear leader! When it was time to throw around the unemployment list, no one thought these same tears would someday knock on their own doors.
The political journey of these leaders is like a play where each scene tells a different story, and in the end, everything seems worthless. Now, these leaders resemble bad actors in that play, who, when they step onto the stage, only perform strange antics. Is this the real meaning of their politics—that as long as there’s profit, they smile, and when trouble strikes, they shed tears?
The leader’s condition resembles that of a drowning man grasping at straws. These leaders once, like the mythical Sanjeevani herb, reassured the public with their promises, but when faced with adversity themselves, they unleashed a flood of tears. Oh, brother! Instead of crying over your name missing from the list, had you thought about those whose recruitment was canceled, your heart might have grown bigger!
In the midst of all this, both the politics of the leader and their art of shedding tears have become subjects worthy of deep study. This satire is not merely a comment but a harsh question on the reality of our politics. Is politics merely a search for opportunities, or does it genuinely have anything to do with public welfare?
The leader’s tears over not finding their name on the list adds a new layer to the theater of politics. It is crucial to understand that shedding tears in politics is easy, but doing true deeds and working for the welfare of society is the real challenge. Until these leaders emerge from their tears, their politics will remain a humorous play.
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 Blind Belief: The Day-to-Day Show.
☆ Witful Warmth# 19 ☆
☆ Satire ☆ Blind Belief: The Day-to-Day Show☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆
Every morning starts the same for Mohan. He wakes up, stretches his arms, and without a second thought, reaches for his phone. Not to check the news or messages, but to consult his “lucky horoscope app.” After all, why leave the day’s success to chance when stars, moons, and planets are willing to do the heavy lifting?
Mohan nods solemnly. He wouldn’t dare to anger the stars. It’s a well-known fact that Venus, hundreds of millions of kilometers away, has nothing better to do than ensure whether he gets that parking spot near the office.
But Mohan isn’t alone in this cosmic madness. His neighbor, Mr. Sharma, believes deeply in numerology. “Eight is unlucky,” he says with the conviction of someone who’s seen the future—or at least paid someone else to tell him. His car’s number plate has been changed so many times that the RTO suspects he’s laundering numbers. But Mr. Sharma knows better. “Safety first,” he says, locking eyes with the driver behind him as if his faith alone will prevent the inevitable rear-end collision. After all, it’s the number plate that ensures safety, not things like brakes or traffic rules. Who needs airbags when you have astrologically aligned number plates? A perfect blend of science and superstition.
In office life, the blind belief express only accelerates. There’s Anita, the HR manager, who’s glued a tiny lemon and chili charm to her computer screen. “It wards off evil eyes,” she explains, convinced that someone from the IT department has cursed her last salary raise. “The evil eye is real!” she declares every time her system crashes—blaming dark forces rather than shoddy Wi-Fi.
The office itself is a temple of superstition. Every Friday, the boss walks in with a tilak on his forehead and a coconut in his hand. He places it carefully in front of his desk, right next to the stapler, ensuring it is positioned “just right” to appease the office gods. “When the coconut cracks properly, business goes well. Last week, it didn’t crack right, and we lost the Gupta deal,” he says, shaking his head gravely. Apparently, all those Excel sheets and PowerPoint presentations are mere trivialities in the grand cosmic design of tender deals. Who knew coconuts could dictate the stock market? It’s time the Sensex started publishing coconut-cracking indexes alongside financial reports.
Back in Mohan’s household, his wife, Suman, has her own battle against evil forces—though hers are much more personal. Every time she hears a dog howl at night, she lights an agarbatti and starts chanting mantras. “Dogs can sense spirits,” she insists, staring into the distance with wide, worried eyes. The fact that the neighbor’s dog howls every night because it’s lonely seems irrelevant. Clearly, the house is under siege from the spirit world.
And then there’s the great ‘Lemon-Laden Defense System’ that Mohan’s family has deployed outside their front door—a lemon and seven green chilies, dangling like an ancient talisman. It’s supposed to ward off evil spirits and financial troubles, though judging by Mohan’s credit card bills, the spirits seem to be winning. Mohan once suggested they could simply cut the chilies and use them in the dal. He was met with such horror you’d think he suggested inviting the spirits for dinner. Lemon chilies – cheaper than insurance but with the added benefit of warding off imaginary foes. No wonder inflation isn’t an issue in the spirit world.
Mohan’s colleague, Ramesh, has an entirely different kind of blind faith: chain messages. “Forward this message to 10 people or suffer bad luck,” reads his latest WhatsApp broadcast. Ramesh believes in these with the devotion of a priest. Once, he forgot to forward a chain message about “Shri Ganesh’s blessings,” and his bike broke down the next day. Now, he forwards them religiously. Better safe than sorry, he says, as though WhatsApp has become the digital age’s temple, where prayers are sent one meme at a time.
But let’s not forget the most universally adored blind belief: the TV astrologer. Every evening, households across the nation tune in to hear predictions from a man who, judging by his wardrobe, is half-astrologer, half-magician. “Today, Pisces should avoid wearing red and making any financial decisions,” he warns with authority. Meanwhile, a man from the Pisces zodiac, sitting in front of the screen in his red pajamas, pauses his online shopping spree with a mix of terror and guilt. What if buying those red shoes ruins his life? Maybe he should settle for the blue ones instead. It’s not about style or preference—it’s the cosmos telling you which shoes to wear!
And yet, the cherry on top of this grand blind belief cake comes during election season. Political parties parade astrologers, babas, and godmen on TV, as if divine intervention is a viable campaign strategy. Manifestos are written in the stars—quite literally. If Saturn is in the right house, the flyover will get built. If Mars is upset, better postpone that metro project. “Development isn’t about budgets or urban planning,” the candidates say, “it’s about planetary positions.” Why rely on policy when you can consult the heavens? After all, if Venus approves, maybe we’ll finally get those potholes filled.
It’s clear—whether it’s the alignment of stars, the crack of a coconut, or the swing of a lemon-chili charm, we all love a bit of blind belief. After all, it’s much easier to blame the cosmos than to face the realities of everyday life.
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 Cost of Not Insuring!.
☆ Witful Warmth# 18 ☆
☆ Satire ☆ The Cost of Not Insuring☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆
In a small town nestled in the heart of India, there was a man named Hari who had never understood the allure of insurance. He believed that life was a gamble, and he preferred to play it without any safety nets. His friends, however, often warned him about the dangers of such recklessness. “You should get insurance,” they would say. “It’s essential.”
Hari would scoff at their advice. “Insurance is just a scam to make people pay for something they’ll never use,” he would retort. His skepticism was as thick as the fog that rolled over the town every morning.
One day, Hari was traveling by train, an experience he loathed as much as he disliked insurance. The creaky old coach was filled with the typical assortment of travelers, each lost in their own world. Hari, trying to make the best of it, found a spot by the window and settled in, his grumbling about the inefficiencies of the railway system creating a minor distraction.
As the train rattled along, Hari’s attention was drawn to a young man in a sharply pressed suit, who appeared to be selling insurance policies to the passengers. The young man was relentless, his pitch a well-oiled machine of promises and reassurances.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” he began, with a flourish. “Are you prepared for the unexpected? Do you have insurance? If not, you might want to reconsider!”
Hari rolled his eyes. “Another insurance peddler,” he muttered. But the young man’s enthusiasm was unrelenting. “Take it from me,” he continued, “insurance is like a safety net. It’s there when you need it the most. Ever heard of the phrase, ‘Prevention is better than cure’? Well, insurance is prevention!”
Hari, irritated by the intrusion, snapped back, “I’m perfectly fine without insurance. I’m more worried about this train breaking down than my life.”
The young man, undeterred, leaned in and said, “Ah, but imagine if this train were to break down and you didn’t have insurance. The trouble, the heartache! Isn’t it better to be prepared?”
Just then, the train lurched violently. Hari’s face turned ashen as he glanced out the window and saw the tracks leading into a dense forest. The train screeched to a halt. The young man’s face lit up with a knowing smile. “Looks like we’ve had a bit of a hiccup. But don’t worry, this is exactly why you need insurance. It’s the safety net you don’t realize you need until it’s too late.”
As panic spread through the carriage, Hari’s unease grew. The young man’s words seemed to take on a new, ominous weight. “You see,” the young man continued, “insurance is like a guardian angel. It’s there, silently protecting you.”
Suddenly, two men in masks burst into the compartment. They brandished knives, demanding everyone’s valuables. The entire train car erupted in chaos. Hari, caught between disbelief and terror, found himself paralyzed. The masked men moved swiftly, collecting wallets and purses.
The young insurance salesman, unfazed, continued his pitch even in the midst of the heist. “And this, my friends, is why insurance is essential. If you had it, you’d be protected even from situations like these!”
Hari, his hands trembling, pulled out his meager savings—a few coins and a train ticket—and handed them over. The robbers, clearly unimpressed, scoffed and moved on. Hari’s heart raced as he tried to make sense of the situation. The young salesman, still grinning, added, “Well, at least you didn’t lose everything. Remember, insurance is there to cushion the blow.”
As the robbers left and the train resumed its journey, Hari was left in a daze. The young man approached him with a pat on the back. “See? It’s all about being prepared. You should really consider getting insurance for the future. It might just save you from more than you think.”
Hari, too shaken to respond, simply nodded. The train arrived at the next station, and Hari quickly exited, desperate to escape the bizarre ordeal. The young salesman’s voice followed him, “Don’t forget to insure your loved ones, chacha! They’ll need it too!”
Hari walked away, the weight of the encounter heavy on his shoulders. He realized that he had survived the ordeal, but at what cost? The irony of the situation was not lost on him. He had been saved from the immediate threat but was left with an unsettling feeling about the insurance salesman’s relentless pitch.
A few weeks later, Hari’s life took a tragic turn. A severe accident left him with mounting medical bills, and his savings were quickly depleted. He found himself in a desperate situation, without the safety net he had so long dismissed. The irony was cruel; the insurance salesman’s words echoed in his mind as he struggled to cope with the harsh reality of his circumstances.
Hari’s story became a cautionary tale in the town, a reminder of the unpredictable nature of life and the role that preparedness—or the lack thereof—plays in our lives. As Harishankar Parsai once said, “Life is a series of unfortunate events, and the best we can do is laugh at the absurdity of it all.” Hari’s laughter had long since faded, leaving him to ponder the lessons learned too late.
The tragedy of Hari’s life was not merely in the loss he faced but in the realization that the simple wisdom he had once dismissed had become his harsh reality. The irony of the insurance salesman’s final words haunted him as he faced the bitter end of his journey, a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the importance of being prepared for its uncertainties.
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 𝓟𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓽𝔂, 𝓸𝓱 𝓹𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓽𝔂!.
Poverty, oh poverty, what a dear friend you are to us! You never fail to make an appearance in our lives, always there to remind us of our humble beginnings and how well we have managed to stay connected to you through the years. Your presence has become so familiar to us that we couldn’t imagine life without you.
Yes, my fellow comrades in poverty, let us revel in our shared misfortune and bask in the glory of our empty wallets and rumbling bellies. For who needs material wealth and worldly possessions when we have the richness of our poverty to sustain us?
In our dear country, poverty is not just a fact of life, it’s practically a way of life. The government may claim to have various poverty alleviation programs in place, but let’s face it, they are about as effective as a broken dam in a drought-stricken desert.
The irony of our situation is truly something to behold. We live in a land of plenty, where the elite flaunt their wealth like peacocks displaying their feathers, while we, the impoverished masses, scrounge around for leftovers like hungry street dogs.
Oh, how we must admire the ingenuity of our leaders who have managed to turn poverty into an art form. They make grand speeches about eradicating poverty, all the while lining their pockets with the sweat and tears of the downtrodden.
But fear not, my fellow paupers, for we have our own unique set of skills to survive in this harsh world. We have mastered the art of stretching a dollar further than a rubber band, of making a meal out of scraps that others would discard without a second thought.
And let us not forget the endless entertainment that poverty provides us with. Who needs cable television when we have the spectacle of politicians squabbling like greedy children over the crumbs of our meager existence?
Yes, poverty may rob us of material comforts, but it has gifted us with a keen sense of humor. We laugh in the face of adversity, knowing that we are stronger than any obstacle that life may throw our way.
So let us stand tall, my dear friends, for we are the true warriors in this battle against poverty. Let the rich wallow in their excess while we revel in our simplicity. Let them hoard their treasures while we share the wealth of our poverty with each other.
And as we navigate the treacherous waters of life, let us remember the immortal words of our esteemed leader, “Let them eat cake!” For we are the masters of our own destiny, the champions of our own fate.
So let us raise a toast to poverty, our constant companion and faithful friend. May we continue to embrace its challenges and triumph over its obstacles, for we are the warriors of the underclass, the champions of the downtrodden, the conquerors of poverty!
– Living in poverty is like being a contestant on a never-ending game show where the prize is a lifetime supply of struggle and hardship.
– Poverty is the great equalizer, ensuring that no matter how much money you have, you can always feel like you’re one missed paycheck away from disaster.
– They say money can’t buy happiness, but poverty can definitely rent out misery on a daily basis.
– Poverty is like a bad roommate that refuses to leave, constantly making a mess of your life and never chipping in for rent.
– The only thing more reliable than taxes is poverty, always there to remind you that your bank account is just a sad reflection of your existence.
– Being poor is a full-time job with zero benefits and a retirement plan that consists of hoping you’ll hit the jackpot in the lottery of life.
– Poverty is the gift that keeps on giving, like a never-ending subscription to a misery magazine that nobody wants to read.
– They say money talks, but poverty screams louder and with a more annoying voice that never seems to shut up.
– Poverty is like a bad tattoo that you can’t remove, a constant reminder of past mistakes and poor decisions.
– They say laughter is the best medicine, but when poverty is the punchline, it’s more like a bitter pill that’s hard to swallow.
– Poverty is the ultimate test of patience, like waiting in line at the DMV while your life falls apart around you.
– They say you can’t take it with you when you go, but poverty ensures that you won’t have anything to take even if you wanted to.
– Being poor is like being stuck in a never-ending traffic jam, always moving forward but never getting anywhere.
– Poverty is like a dark cloud that follows you everywhere, raining on your parade and ruining any hope of sunshine in your life.
– They say money can’t buy love, but poverty ensures that you’ll never have the chance to find out.
– Poverty is the great leveler, ensuring that no matter how rich or powerful you are, you can always feel like life is just one disaster away from falling apart.
– They say life is what you make of it, but poverty ensures that you’ll be stuck with the cheapest ingredients and the worst recipe.
– Being poor is like trying to swim upstream in a river of debt, always struggling against the current and never getting ahead.
– Poverty is like a bad addiction that’s impossible to kick, always there to tempt you with a quick fix and a lifetime of regrets.
– They say the best things in life are free, but poverty ensures that you’ll never be able to afford them.
– Poverty is the ultimate reality check, like a harsh wake-up call that reminds you that dreams are for those who can afford to sleep.
– They say money can’t buy happiness, but poverty ensures that you’ll never know for sure.
– Being poor is like living in a house of cards, always on the verge of collapse and never sure if the next gust of wind will be your last.
– Poverty is like a broken record that keeps playing the same sad song on repeat, never letting you forget how out of tune your life really is.
– They say that life is a journey, but poverty ensures that you’ll never have enough gas money to get where you’re going.
– Poverty is like a bad haircut that you’re stuck with forever, a constant reminder of past mistakes and poor choices.
– They say that the best things in life are worth waiting for, but poverty ensures that you’ll spend your whole life waiting and never getting anywhere.
– Being poor is like trying to run a marathon with one leg tied behind your back, always struggling against the odds and never reaching the finish line.
– Poverty is like a bad case of food poisoning, always leaving you feeling sick and never satisfied with what life has to offer.
– They say that life is a gift, but poverty ensures that you’ll never be able to afford the wrapping paper, let alone the present inside.
☆
