(Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi—an ex Naval Officer, possesses a multifaceted personality. He served as a Senior Advisor in prestigious Supercomputer organisation C-DAC, Pune. He 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 present Capt. Pravin Raghuvanshi ji’s amazing poem “~ Bird of Destiny…~”. We extend our heartiest thanks to the learned author Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi Ji (who is very well conversant with Hindi, Sanskrit, English and Urdu languages) for this beautiful translation and his artwork.)
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
Honoured with ‘Shrestha Navayuvva Rachnakar Samman’ by former Chief Minister of Telangana Government, Shri K. Chandrasekhar Rao.
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.
Meeting the famous litterateur Shri Vinod Kumar Shukla Ji, honoured with Jnanpith Award.
Got the privilege of meeting Mr. Perfectionist of Bollywood, actor Aamir Khan.
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.
(Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi—an ex Naval Officer, possesses a multifaceted personality. He served as a Senior Advisor in prestigious Supercomputer organisation C-DAC, Pune. He 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 present Capt. Pravin Raghuvanshi ji’s amazing poem “~ Time’s Relentless March…~”. We extend our heartiest thanks to the learned author Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi Ji (who is very well conversant with Hindi, Sanskrit, English and Urdu languages) for this beautiful translation and his artwork.)
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.
Anonymous Litterateur of social media # 232 (सोशल मीडिया के गुमनाम साहित्यकार # 232)
Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi NM—an ex Naval Officer, possesses a multifaceted personality. He served as a Senior Advisor in prestigious Supercomputer organisation C-DAC, Pune. An alumnus of IIM Ahmedabad was involved in various Artificial 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’. He is also the English Editor for the web magazine www.e-abhivyakti.com.
Captain Raghuvanshi is also a littérateur par excellence. He is a prolific writer, poet and ‘Shayar’ himself and participates in literature fests and ‘Mushayaras’. He keeps participating in various language & literature fests, symposiums and workshops etc.
Recently, he played an active role in the ‘International Hindi Conference’ at New Delhi. He presided over the “Session Focused on Language and Translation” and also presented a research paper. The conference was organized by Delhi University in collaboration with New York University and Columbia University.
In his Naval career, he was qualified to command all types of warships. He is also an aviator and a Sea Diver; and recipient of various awards including ‘Nao Sena Medal’ by the President of India, Prime Minister Awards and C-in-C Commendation. He has won many national and international awards.
He is also an IIM Ahmedabad alumnus.
His latest quest involves writing various books and translation work including over 100 Bollywood songs for various international forums as a mission for the enjoyment of the global viewers. Published various books and over 3000 poems, stories, blogs and other literary work at national and international level. Felicitated by numerous literary bodies..!
English translation of Urdu poetry couplets of Anonymous litterateur of Social Media # 232
Anonymous Litterateur of social media # 231 (सोशल मीडिया के गुमनाम साहित्यकार # 231)
Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi NM—an ex Naval Officer, possesses a multifaceted personality. He served as a Senior Advisor in prestigious Supercomputer organisation C-DAC, Pune. An alumnus of IIM Ahmedabad was involved in various Artificial 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’. He is also the English Editor for the web magazine www.e-abhivyakti.com.
Captain Raghuvanshi is also a littérateur par excellence. He is a prolific writer, poet and ‘Shayar’ himself and participates in literature fests and ‘Mushayaras’. He keeps participating in various language & literature fests, symposiums and workshops etc.
Recently, he played an active role in the ‘International Hindi Conference’ at New Delhi. He presided over the “Session Focused on Language and Translation” and also presented a research paper. The conference was organized by Delhi University in collaboration with New York University and Columbia University.
In his Naval career, he was qualified to command all types of warships. He is also an aviator and a Sea Diver; and recipient of various awards including ‘Nao Sena Medal’ by the President of India, Prime Minister Awards and C-in-C Commendation. He has won many national and international awards.
He is also an IIM Ahmedabad alumnus.
His latest quest involves writing various books and translation work including over 100 Bollywood songs for various international forums as a mission for the enjoyment of the global viewers. Published various books and over 3000 poems, stories, blogs and other literary work at national and international level. Felicitated by numerous literary bodies..!
English translation of Urdu poetry couplets of Anonymous litterateur of Social Media # 231
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 Progressive Ox and the Modern Plow.
☆ Witful Warmth# 43 ☆
☆ Satire ☆ The Progressive Ox and the Modern Plow… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆
It was a lazy Sunday morning at the village square. Old Kaka, with his wrinkled wisdom and a perpetually lit pipe, sat under the giant banyan tree. His gaze was fixed on the horizon as he puffed out smoke circles that seemed to mock the monotony of life. The younger folks gathered around him—they had just returned from their city escapades and were brimming with stories of “modern solutions” and “startups.”
Kaka cleared his throat, “I hear progress is galloping ahead like a wild horse. But tell me, how do we hitch an ox to this modern plow?”
The youth laughed. “Kaka, oxen are outdated now. We’re talking drones for farming, AI for irrigation, and apps that tell you when the crops are thirsty!”
Kaka’s brows furrowed. “Ah, so we’ll teach the ox to download an app next? Or is progress about abandoning the ox and buying one that runs on batteries?”
The crowd chuckled, but Gopal, the self-proclaimed village intellectual, stepped forward. “Kaka, you’re missing the point! Progress is about replacing old methods with innovative technology. Think of it this way—farming 2.0!”
Kaka took a deep drag from his pipe and exhaled with a smile. “So, we make farming so expensive that a farmer has to sell his land to afford the progress? Progress has become a race where the ox is left behind, and the farmer is left chasing loans.”
“But Kaka,” Gopal retorted, “Technology is the future. The villagers must adapt or perish. It’s survival of the smartest!”
Kaka chuckled softly. “Yes, but remember, Gopal, even the smartest fox cannot grow crops. Progress that leaves the ox, the plow, and the farmer behind is just a balloon—beautiful to look at, but bursts at the first prick of reality.”
The conversation spiraled from drones to digital wallets, as the youth defended their newfound faith in technology. Kaka listened patiently, occasionally nodding, as his pipe smoke seemed to form questions they couldn’t answer.
Finally, he stood up, tapped his pipe against the tree trunk, and declared, “True progress is when the ox and the plow walk hand in hand with technology—not when one is sacrificed at the altar of the other.”
The village square erupted in laughter and applause, not because they fully agreed with Kaka, but because they saw in his words the humor and irony of their reality. And as he walked away, one of the youths whispered, “Maybe the old man isn’t so outdated after all.”
Anonymous Litterateur of social media # 230 (सोशल मीडिया के गुमनाम साहित्यकार # 230)
Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi NM—an ex Naval Officer, possesses a multifaceted personality. He served as a Senior Advisor in prestigious Supercomputer organisation C-DAC, Pune. An alumnus of IIM Ahmedabad was involved in various Artificial 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’. He is also the English Editor for the web magazine www.e-abhivyakti.com.
Captain Raghuvanshi is also a littérateur par excellence. He is a prolific writer, poet and ‘Shayar’ himself and participates in literature fests and ‘Mushayaras’. He keeps participating in various language & literature fests, symposiums and workshops etc.
Recently, he played an active role in the ‘International Hindi Conference’ at New Delhi. He presided over the “Session Focused on Language and Translation” and also presented a research paper. The conference was organized by Delhi University in collaboration with New York University and Columbia University.
In his Naval career, he was qualified to command all types of warships. He is also an aviator and a Sea Diver; and recipient of various awards including ‘Nao Sena Medal’ by the President of India, Prime Minister Awards and C-in-C Commendation. He has won many national and international awards.
He is also an IIM Ahmedabad alumnus.
His latest quest involves writing various books and translation work including over 100 Bollywood songs for various international forums as a mission for the enjoyment of the global viewers. Published various books and over 3000 poems, stories, blogs and other literary work at national and international level. Felicitated by numerous literary bodies..!
English translation of Urdu poetry couplets of Anonymous litterateur of Social Media # 230
Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra, known for his wit and wisdom, is a prolific writer, renowned satirist, children’s literature author, and poet. He has undertaken the monumental task of writing, editing, and coordinating a total of 55 books for the Telangana government at the primary school, college, and university levels. His editorial endeavors also include online editions of works by Acharya Ramchandra Shukla.
As a celebrated satirist, Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra has carved a niche for himself, with over eight million viewers, readers, and listeners tuning in to his literary musings on the demise of a teacher on the Sahitya AajTak channel. His contributions have earned him prestigious accolades such as the Telangana Hindi Academy’s Shreshtha Navyuva Rachnakaar Samman in 2021, presented by the honorable Chief Minister of Telangana, Mr. Chandrashekhar Rao. He has also been honored with the Vyangya Yatra Ravindranath Tyagi Stairway Award and the Sahitya Srijan Samman, alongside recognition from Prime Minister Narendra Modi and various other esteemed institutions.
Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra’s journey is not merely one of literary accomplishments but also a testament to his unwavering dedication, creativity, and profound impact on society. His story inspires us to strive for excellence, to use our talents for the betterment of others, and to leave an indelible mark on the world. Today we present his satire The Great Deceiver Maya, Our Mistress.
☆ Witful Warmth# 42 ☆
☆ Satire ☆ The Great Deceiver Maya, Our Mistress… ☆ Dr. Suresh Kumar Mishra ‘Uratript’ ☆
So, dear friends, the story begins on that fateful day when the greatest con artist of all—the human mind—decided to play its grandest trick on me. I woke up in the morning, rubbing my eyes, thinking, “Today, I’ll do something big, something that’ll go down in history!” But history? I couldn’t even cross my doorstep before Maya threw her first punch. “Beta, make some tea!” came my mother’s voice. Now, making tea isn’t exactly a grand feat, but Maya wove such a web around it that it wasn’t just tea—it squeezed the life out of me. No sugar, curdled milk, empty gas cylinder—and there I was, standing on the street with a pot in hand, singing like an unemployed poet, “Oh life, what have you given me?” Maya laughed, “This is just the trailer, the movie’s yet to come!” And trust me, the movie was so intense that even Shah Rukh’s films would pale in comparison. The shopkeeper said, “Cylinder will come tomorrow, cook on a stove today.” A stove? Is this 2025 or 1825? But behold Maya’s game—she turned me into a poet even while I hauled wood: “Life’s a stove, all smoke, no glow.” Neighbors laughed, “You’re quite the craftsman!” There was pain in that laughter, but who sees the tears in my eyes? Maya whispered, “Don’t cry, the day’s just begun.” And I, the fool, believed her and stepped out to embrace the day. Embrace? More like I got choked.
The sun rose higher, and I thought, let’s hunt for a job. I grabbed my resume, polished my shoes, and set off—“There are more destinations to conquer!” But Maya had already written the script. I boarded the bus, reached for my pocket—my wallet was gone. The driver barked, “Ticket or get off!” I pleaded, “Brother, adjust a little, I’m jobless.” He laughed, “Then this isn’t a bus, it’s a train straight to Footpath Station!” The crowd clapped, and I stepped off—not as a hero, but as a villain. Standing on the road, I wondered, “Is this Maya or my fate mocking me?” Just then, a beggar approached, “Sir, spare two rupees.” I said, “Brother, I’m a beggar myself, you give me some.” He laughed, “You’re worse off than me!” Maya cackled, “See, I’ve made you the king of the streets!” King? Yes, without a crown, without a kingdom. My shoes were worn out, my stomach growled, and Maya shouted, “The interview’s still left!” Interview? That became a distant dream because by the time I reached the office, it was night.
Evening fell, and I thought, let’s meet some friends—maybe my heart will feel lighter. But Maya outdid herself here too. My friend said, “Good you came, I’m broke, lend me some money.” I replied, “Brother, my pocket’s full of air—and that’s polluted too!” He said, “No worries, sit, I’ll get tea.” Tea arrived, I started sipping, and the dhaba owner yelled, “Who’s paying?” My friend vanished, and I was trapped. The owner said, “Wash the dishes, then leave.” Now witness Maya’s magic—my day began making tea, and ended washing dishes. Hands covered in soap, eyes brimming with tears, and a single question in my mind—“Is this life or a punishment?” Maya placed her hand on my shoulder, “Not punishment, my art.” Art? This isn’t art, it’s cruelty! But who can reason with Maya? She just kept laughing, and I, like an empty vessel, kept sobbing. My friend called later, “Sorry, I was joking.” Joking? My life’s become a joke, and Maya’s sitting in the director’s chair, clapping away.
Night arrived, and I returned home. Mom said, “Where were you? The food’s cold.” I replied, “Mom, I’ve gone cold from life itself.” I ate, but where was the taste? Maya had stolen that too. I tried to sleep, but Maya had kidnapped my sleep. Lying in the dark, I wondered, “What did I do wrong?” Maya answered, “Wrong? You were born—that’s your mistake!” And then her laughter echoed—ha ha ha! I buried my face in the pillow, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Outside, a dog was barking—perhaps another victim of Maya. “Brother, are you crying too?” I asked. The dog fell silent, maybe Maya scolded him too. I survived the night, morning came, and Maya was ready again—“New day, new drama!” I pleaded, “Enough, Maya! I can’t take it anymore.” But she said, “You’ll have to, because I’m Maya, the Great Deceiver!” And I, like a puppet, got entangled in her game again.
Morning followed the same routine. I made tea, but this time Maya added a new twist—she swapped the sugar with salt. Mom shouted, “What is this?” I said, “Mom, this is the taste of my life—salty tears!” She snapped, “Stop the nonsense, go get milk.” I went, but the shopkeeper said, “Money first, milk later.” Empty pockets, teary eyes. I returned, and Mom taunted, “You’ll always be useless.” Useless? Yes, Maya had made me the emperor of the useless. The day progressed, and the phone rang. The electricity guy said, “Pay the bill, or we’ll cut the power.” I said, “Brother, my life’s already cut off, what’s electricity?” He laughed, “Then cry in the dark!” Darkness? It’s become my friend. Maya said, “See, I’ve shown you every shade—black, white, salty!” And I, without electricity, sat with a candle, talking to my shadow—“You’re better than me, at least Maya doesn’t toy with you.”
Noon arrived, and a neighbor came by, “I hear crying from your house.” I said, “Brother, that’s my life, clinging to me and weeping.” He asked, “Some girl trouble?” I laughed, “Yes, a girl named Maya!” He didn’t understand and left. Then the postman arrived with a letter. I opened it—a job rejection: “You’re unfit.” Unfit? Maya taunted, “See, you’re unfit even for my game!” I tore the letter and screamed, “Maya, you’ve won!” But she said, “Won? The real fun of defeat is yet to come.” That evening, the power was cut. Sitting in the dark, I wondered, “What’s left?” Then water dripped from the ceiling—rain had started. Maya laughed, “I’ve summoned your tears from the sky!” I got drenched, and Maya danced.
The night deepened, and I had a dream. Maya stood before me, saying, “You think I’m cruel? I’m your teacher.” I asked, “What have you taught me? To cry?” She said, “No, to endure!” Endure? Yes, Maya had turned me into an endurance machine. I woke up, my pillow soaked. The rain had stopped outside, but the storm inside me raged on. Mom said, “Get up, do something.” I replied, “Mom, what can a man defeated by Maya do?” She stayed silent—perhaps she sensed Maya’s presence. The day began, but for me, every day was the same—Maya’s game, Maya’s trap. I looked at the sky, “Oh Maya, you’ve taken everything, what’s left?” She said, “Your tears are left—I’ll squeeze those too!” And she did, while I kept crying.
In the end, I was sitting on the street. A child approached, “Uncle, why are you crying?” I said, “Son, what else can a man defeated by Maya do?” He asked, “Who’s Maya?” I laughed, “The guest who’ll soon visit your life!” The child left, and I sat there. Maya came to me, “Game over, now go.” I asked, “Where?” She said, “Back where you came from.” I thought, maybe it’s time to die. But Maya threw her final punch, “I won’t even let you die—keep living!” And I, like a living corpse, lay on the street. The crowd watched—some laughed, some cried. But Maya? She moved on, hunting for her next prey. My tears dried, but a sigh escaped my heart—“Oh Maya, you’ll always be the Great Deceiver!” And reader, if you’re crying too, know this—Maya has already arrived at your doorstep.
Anonymous Litterateur of social media # 229 (सोशल मीडिया के गुमनाम साहित्यकार # 229)
Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi NM—an ex Naval Officer, possesses a multifaceted personality. He served as a Senior Advisor in prestigious Supercomputer organisation C-DAC, Pune. An alumnus of IIM Ahmedabad was involved in various Artificial 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’. He is also the English Editor for the web magazine www.e-abhivyakti.com.
Captain Raghuvanshi is also a littérateur par excellence. He is a prolific writer, poet and ‘Shayar’ himself and participates in literature fests and ‘Mushayaras’. He keeps participating in various language & literature fests, symposiums and workshops etc.
Recently, he played an active role in the ‘International Hindi Conference’ at New Delhi. He presided over the “Session Focused on Language and Translation” and also presented a research paper. The conference was organized by Delhi University in collaboration with New York University and Columbia University.
In his Naval career, he was qualified to command all types of warships. He is also an aviator and a Sea Diver; and recipient of various awards including ‘Nao Sena Medal’ by the President of India, Prime Minister Awards and C-in-C Commendation. He has won many national and international awards.
He is also an IIM Ahmedabad alumnus.
His latest quest involves writing various books and translation work including over 100 Bollywood songs for various international forums as a mission for the enjoyment of the global viewers. Published various books and over 3000 poems, stories, blogs and other literary work at national and international level. Felicitated by numerous literary bodies..!
English translation of Urdu poetry couplets of Anonymous litterateur of Social Media # 229
~ Bird of Destiny… ~ 
Anonymous Litterateur of social media # 232 (सोशल मीडिया के गुमनाम साहित्यकार # 232) 
