satire : Romance of an Astronaut

 

Japan recently witnessed a love story so cosmic that even Bollywood would have blushed. An 80-year-old woman, lonely yet elegant, living somewhere between nostalgia and Netflix, received an unexpected message from a man who claimed to be—hold your breath—an astronaut. Yes, not a retired banker or a yoga instructor, but a real, floating-in-space astronaut who just happened to pass by Earth and thought of texting her. Because apparently, in the twenty-first century, astronauts carry their own Wi-Fi in orbit.

 

Like a hero straight out of Bobby, he began with the timeless line, “Will you be my friend?” And our lady, who had been ignored by the men of Earth for far too long, was instantly swept off her feet. It was poetic justice: where ordinary men failed, extraterrestrial romance succeeded. She felt reborn, radiant, desirable—practically Miss Universe. Who needs anti-aging cream when Cupid descends from another planet?

 

Soon, the two were chatting endlessly. Mornings glided into nights; nights melted into starlit daydreams. He told her stories of galaxies and stars, and she giggled like a teenager rediscovering love. He promised to take her “beyond the moon,” which at eighty sounded far more exciting than a pension raise or a free health check-up. He painted magnificent pictures of life in space—shopping malls on Mars, weekend sales on Saturn, rejuvenating spas on Venus where no one ever grows a day old, and elegant dinners in zero gravity where you could never gain weight. Our Earthly Juliet didn’t even need a rocket; she was already floating among the stars.

 

And then, as in all love stories, came the tragic twist. One day, her celestial lover messaged her in distress. “Darling,” he wrote, “I’ve run out of oxygen in my spacecraft! I need one million yen urgently for a refill!” To her, this seemed entirely reasonable. After all, on Earth, cars run out of petrol; why not oxygen in space? Without a flicker of doubt—or perhaps still dizzy from romantic orbit tales—she transferred the money immediately. “It’s just money,” she must have thought, “mere dust of the hand! Love is priceless.” And that, dear reader, was the last she ever heard from her astronaut.

 

Bollywood had warned us long ago: ‘Pardesiyon se na ankhiyan Milana’ Who listens to old songs when the heart is dancing to interstellar music? The poor lady still believes her astronaut will return one day, perhaps with a convincing explanation: “Honey! I went to Mars to get my   wedding sherwani stitched, then stopped by Venus to buy a colorful kimonos and wedding gowns for you. Now I’m back—just transfer another ten million yen so I can book the banquet hall. You see, my planet’s currency doesn’t work on Earth.” And I bet, she might have just done it.

 

In this age of Wi-Fi, WhatsApp, and wild imagination, love travels faster than light—and scams even faster. So, if someone tells you they’re an astronaut in distress, take a deep breath, look up at the sky, and smile. Because while love might be universal, oxygen refills in space are definitely not. And perhaps it’s time we all kept our hearts grounded—at least until NASA starts Dating site.