Turnip Goes “Fourth”…

“Chaar botal vodka, kaam mera rozka…na mujhko koi roke, whatever, whatever, whatever…”

Inspirational lines from a man who could easily be mistaken for a poorer looking cousin of Harbhajan Singh. (Yes, the same guy who can actually turn a cricket ball. Feel sorry for him. For a while now, he has been under the severest misconception that turning the cricket ball was necessary to be “India’s number one spinner”…someone should tell him he needs an Engineering degree and an India Cements team jersey (clever, right?…I’m not naming the actual franchise!) to “cement” his place).

But getting back without going back and “fourth” any further, to the chosen turnip…Darn even taking that name sends barbed shivers down the spine. I mean, how can somebody choose to call oneself YO – YO Honey Singh!!!??? Or maybe he did not.

You know how Punjabis have this quirky habit of keeping “pet names?”… The scarier looking the infant, the sweeter the name. (People from that part of the country…please put your weapons back…I mean no harm, really…er…yes please also the weapons that are in the living room…and also the gun under your pillow…You see I get scared with these things…and I mean no harm really…just a mere observation. Err…just repeating for the people “around” NCR…you know Haryana border and stuff…near the highways etc., you know…er…sometimes they take a wee bit longer to assimilate…can you please remove the bullet first and then keep that gun aside???…thanks…appreciate it)

So back to the “pet-name” thing – So I have this theory on the guy. So scary was the sound of his wailing when he was a pooping and dunging (Ah, see…referring to my Chetan Bhagat blog…experience, you see!) toddler, that his family had to first attract his gaze with a melodic “yo…yo” followed by his “pet name” which is H-O-N-E-Y, followed immediately by a tight whack on the cheeks saying “sing” (don’t wail)…”sing” (don’t wail).

That kinda stuck with the guy…you know how it happens when one childhood memory stays with you forever. So somewhere, that small delicate unused brain, turned into a slightly bigger delicate unused brain, believing that his name was a function of the type concatenate (“yo yo”, ” “, “honey”, ” “,”singh”). (He forgot the second “sing”, as his brain was already very taxed, but remembered his religion, so ingeniously wove it into the complete name)

So there you go…wasn’t very difficult now, was it?

But you gotta give it to the guy. He’s blown everything up in the air…music, lyrics, songwriting, lungis, competition…you name it! I mean, last heard, Anu Malik was buying used MBA books on OLX…as they say it’s never too late to change your stream, especially if you are threatened by somebody far superior in the ranks, which in this case is certainly true. I mean, for Gods’ sake, Malik’s earth shattering “unchi hai building…lift teri band hai…” seems like Kipling’s verse, compared to all our protagonists songs put together! God bless your soul AM…may you find your true calling soon (PS – try the Mumbai Central Railway train announcer audition…unless Himesh-bhai has pipped you there already!)

Look, I don’t half expect a guy with a name like YYHS, to give me Floyd-ian songwriting!…I’m not that turnipy! But what is wrong in expecting something even remotely sensible? But then these are turnipy times we live in, very turnipy times indeed!

I guess what has gotten me going so stark raving mad is that my three year old knows the lyrics backwards! So here I am, sitting with a business client at the wheel of my car, picking up my daughter en-route. We are in the middle of talking valuations and stuff, and the US economy and all the pain those dumb American so-and-so’s have caused us, and our protagonist starts crooning the “vodka” song on the radio…my three year old starts gyrating like a doll possessed, screaming out the entire darn thing verbatim (yes!…including that “sooji sooji ankhein, meri phir bhi …!!!)

I needed to complete the other extreme of my bipolarity…and I had to do it quick. So, I locked myself in my room for 10 hours straight and listened to Pink Floyd, back to back. Phew…that was a close shave. My immediate instinct was to file an FIR for proposed threat to fellow human. The wife talked me out of it though, by promising to extend her visit to her parents’, by two days. She also promised me that if we ever had another child, she would not completely dismiss the idea of naming it “Kubrick” ,for my sake, irrespective of it’s sex. That was her way of buying me out with substantial leverage (“LBO” you see, for our banking fraternity!…smart right?).

I CAN DO ANYTHING NOT TO LISTEN TO THAT MONSTROSITY AGAIN…ANYTHING…EVEN SUPPORT THE ENGLISH FOOTBALL TEAM AT MAJOR EVENTS! (Yes, I know. That is very desperate of me!)

By now, some of you may have spotted the fact that the title, very subtly, alludes also to the song in question…you know “chaar botal” and all…see us at Triple T think very long and hard, before reaching such high levels of random brilliance!

Two ending “sprouts” to end this very turnipy turnip…completely unrelated though, and outrageously out of context.

Sprout 1 – Can somebody point out the latest big budget film NOT to have received “3 stars” or more from The TOI group and noted critic Taran Adarsh? (don’t look at me like that…I’m only asking for GK…not that these will be a future Triple T topic…whatever gave you that idea???)

Sprout 2 – I hear the earth-turd’s Humshakals is going to be premiered on the tele soon. Funny thing is, the title sponsors are a gutka company. That’s like slapping the Govt. and saying, “you can take away our income through prohibitions, but we will still find ways to kill you!!!”

Happy Turnip-ing!

PS- The disclaimer goes “fourth” as well…

 

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Teen Thay Turnips…

I have still not fully recovered from watching a Tushar Kapoor interview on the tele (he does something weird with his spelling right?…what’s it, TUSSSHAAR or something??? …Just wondering if he has started adding a “K” to his first name…but that won’t change a thing!).

So we saw yet again, what an abysmal bunch of turnips our cricket team is…I mean for Gods’ sake don’t they have the common sense to even look heaven-wards in their quest for answers?…because that is literally all they had to do, to get an answer this time around! With the heaven’s also all set to shed more than just a tear at their turnipy state, it could have well been a blessing in disguise (a watery grave).

So I am sure each one of you esteemed reading fraternity has mentally flogged these guys to your own kink and liking (as you bloody well should…!) and each one of you has different levels of enjoyment imagining your chosen ones in different stages of agony, depending of course on how creative you are (my personal favorite is hanging Dhawan upside down with two identical 1-tonne cannon balls tied to the two ends of his up-twirled mouche…)

Which brings us to the first turnip – DHAWAN. (Notice how subtly I got you – the reader – from your chosen turnip to mine!…experience counts you see!)

He reminds me so so much of a certain ex-captain now commentator…who in his time had to be flogged on his back side to move in the field, yet was so so nimble to run off and even fake injury, to avoid playing the real fast stuff. (gotta be careful here…I don’t want to get on the wrong side of the Kolkata brigade…lovely guys and all really, but…ahem…a bit more on the perpetually-opinionated-and-argumentative side, right?…). By the way, you should hear him commentate about India’s fielding…hysterical coming from somebody who, in his time, celebrated after taking a dolly, with the elation of somebody who has just discovered a new life-form! (See how subtly I referred to the guy without actually naming him?…experience).

But let’s be fair to Dhawan. He’s good in the field. But the problem is that he is just not good enough to do what he is in the team to do. This is the main problem with all the turnips you see ( 18 turnips on this tour right?…excluding the always-frowning big daddy turnip Fletcher).

Let’s now get to the second and third turnips, as subtly promised by the title of this piece. Well, turnip two and three are step brothers. (Some of you geeky ones must have already started googling to see if Pujara and Kohli have a common fore-bearer…calm down…they don’t..so cut their family-tree some “honest” slack and settle down in your arm chairs or whatever it is that offices these days provide you guys with)

Pujara is not the second turnip. Surprised? Well here’s more…Pujara is not even the third turnip!…

It all goes like this – the second turnip is Kohli and the third turnip is Kohli’s ego.

I could well end this piece here and the really sensible one’s will agree with me. But I quote the iconic Ledger again, “It’s a funny world we live in”…so some people will still look askance for an explanation. Now we all know that Kohli is a supremely gifted model. He has done really well in cricket too. But give me a break – calling him the next Tendulkar, is way way too pre-mature, if not being down right weird. (I’d love to know what these people were smokin’ up!)

And it is these very people who are to blame for this herculean fall-from-grace, if you can call it. Well one more person plus these very people but we will get to that person (subtly) at the fag end of the piece. And it’s hush hush and a wee bit sensitive, so…

It is one thing being super confident (which he has every right to be…I mean he has all the endorsements and commercials in the bag for some time to come…!) and another being arrogant to the point of nursing an ego the size of the parathas of the state he hails from. I mean, I understand the natural “aggro” that most people from that territory are born with, and you know like all things, it grows as you do. But in his case it “graduated” with distinction to the arrogance stage and “post-graduated” with honors, into ego, and that cannot be good for any nation’s GDP. (Ah, see how subtly yet again I’m referring to economic jargon, using that as a reference point for my own vocation?…blogging experience you see!)

So there was this very amusing dialogue that prompted the scripting exercise of “Teen Thay Turnips”. A guy at work walks up to me and says, “I hate the Akhtar’s.”

I go – “Akhtar’s who?”

He shoots back – “Farhan and Zoya, you dumb so and so…!”

I look away from my “boring” screen, straight at the guy’s face and go – “Dude, what have they done? I mean in this nutty country of farcical film personalities (subtly referring to my first blog), the Akhtar’s are among the few respectable folks left!”

Suddenly he got emotional…”Then why did she do this?”

I was like “She?…who? Zoya???”

“Why did she cast Anushka with Ranveer in a much anticipated film where the longest shooting schedule was on a yacht, when she knew India was playing England on an important away tour?”

It took me a minute to take it all in, and another (enjoyable) minute to decipher…I gave a strengthening pat on his shoulder…I turned back to my “delicious” screen and gave a wry smile to myself!

See you folks in the fourth edition!

 

 

 

 

The “2.5th” Turnip

Sorry, Could not resist. Completely unplanned…

Just saw Tushar Kapoor on the tele…do not believe anybody who tells you that ability in anything is worth anything at all in this world – it’s a hoax!

So carry on dunging Chetan! 

The title spells it all…

I rest my case…

PS – No disclaimer as the person in question is not even a full turnip.

 

Turnip Two Point Oh!

So I generally don’t ascribe to forcefully “generating” creative content, thereby compromising on quality. I therefore had no intention of banging my keyboard to come up with this so soon. I mean, even the earth-turd takes a year and a half to release the turdy sequel to his previous turd, does he not? But, something happened that changed my mind.

So, over a few drinks a while back, I was introduced to Mr. and Mrs. X – now the only reason I choose not to reveal their names, in spite of promising the readers to the contrary, in my previous inspirational piece, is that I hope to wangle another meal at their place sometime soon. (With the wife at her parents’, it’s difficult to get an equally competent maid now-a-days, at such short notice).

Back to the point then – Mr. and Mrs. X introduced me to their bespectacled son who wanted to be a writer. I was instantly in love with him and for a moment was even prepared to offer some serious advice, me being a blog-and-a-half old in the business now, you see.

I asked him – “So, what’s next now?”

He looked at me as if it were the dumbest thing to pose – like a “Hello, are you from Mars?”, kinda look.

After which I obliged, and genuinely gave him the look that he was so desirous of.

And then he thundered – “I’ll join IIT”.

All my love evaporated that instant and I must have searched my pockets for an AK-47.

Having not found one, I looked around for a hunter. Having failed again, I composed myself.

I politely refused dessert and just to leave behind a mark of my disgust, left a chewing gum stuck under the table.

You see, the point is this. When one buffoon vomits out alphabets on a piece of paper, ties them neatly with his shoe-string, finds another nincompoop (and convinces him, mind you!) to publish it, and releases it ultimately as fiction, it is bound to do this to civilized society.

So, Chetan Bhagat – take a bow my friend! You have inspired a generation of youngistaanis, to push the Government into introducing more prestigious institutions so that more trees are felled to create something that would otherwise be used in case of water-shortage, by Indian households atleast…Westerners would obviously use it in that manner, anyway!

Good on you mate!

Thank God for the fact that there still exist people like Raju Hirani, who make those monstrosities at least palatable and…dare-I-say…enjoyable on occasions. Imagine the earth-turd stumbling upon Chetan Bhagat’s latest!

Now trust the Flipkart guys to find some use for their $1bn dough. (I’m an investment banker first, remember?)

What do they do? Put pressure on the guy to eat more over-cooked rajma (red kidney beans, for the firangi types) to generate noxious drivel in the form of a random combination of alphabets, and release it only on their platform, to be ultimately bought by impressionable young minds of this rotting nation. Brilliant! That’s like taking a rotting turnip and dipping it in dung, in the time that is required to soak the aforementioned beans.

Bad on you Flipkart! But smart thinking actually – The only thing I think Amazon can do now is to buy huge sheets of paper ($2bn pumped into India operations, remember?) and put them under toddlers, lifting them occasionally and shaking off the poop, drying them and publishing them. But that will take some dunging and doing…and if they do it, then they deserve to pip the Flipkart folks to the podium of literature idiocy.

Anyway, enough said. Apologies again, for not bringing out the “Gunda vs. Gunday” slugfest-for-moronic-supremacy edition. (I guess it gives some more time to the unfortunate few uninitiated as yet, to the Gunda phenomenon. I kid you not, it’s an imdb 8 pointer…so watch it!)

Our team, as you can see, has been rattled and in sore need of a few litres of restoratives.

PS: The usual disclaimer still holds.

 

The First Turnip

Purple Turnip

 

So here’s the deal…it is with a completely disillusioned (friends call it delusional) outlook of the world leading to a severely bipolar medical condition, that I start off on my odyssey of penning the first piece of The Turnip Times (Triple T). “It’s a funny world we live in,” said the iconic Ledger in an even more iconic screen avatar. It indeed is. A world where Anu Malik calls himself a composer of a form of vocation as close to nirvana as music (I stopped using elevators since, well, if you must, I shall quote…”unchi hai building…lift teri band hai…”…trust me, it reads better than it sounds), a world where Sajid Khan is allowed to roam free and is not handcuffed with rusted nails going at least 9 inches deep into the main vein, just to make doubly sure, a world where Sajid Khan is not released as unwanted earth-turd into the vastness of space (entirely crowd-funded by even the last dying mosquito that was present in the theater when the turd chose to eat three badly cooked biryanis that resulted in the nine farts that were re-christened Humshakals) and in staying with the same theme, just to make triply sure, a world where the crowd funding effort continues to perpetuity so that the floating earth-turd does not get kicked back from some other hitherto peaceful alien life-form infested planet (I mean they have ignored us for so long, but aren’t we testing them here?), to within a few zillion light years (raised to perpetuity) of Pluto? If you thought the first edition of triple T is about Sajid Khan, well…it is not, but I had to get that out of my system. Look at the bright side, he did the same with the three bad biryanis, and as they traveled from one intestine to the other and finally to the bowel, he created a pastiche of scenes that matched his facial expressions and finally added the sound effects and charged you honest money for it – in contrast, all I demand is your attention for listening to my grouses. I also had to give the reader an introduction of what to expect, if he (I am sexist) were to continue patronizing this.
Triple T will speak about everything under the sun, everything. So it’s not about movies alone, although it’s very tempting to start off with a bigger bang by critiquing masterpieces such as Kukku Kohli’s Kubrickian “Jaani Dushman – Ek Anokhee whatever”. Really, those of you who have endured that monstrosity will feel like pulling the earth-turd back into the confines of gravity. (Imagine this though – beginning credits – starring Armaan Kohli, written (???) and directed by Sajid Khan, produced by Kuku Kohli…Jesus H Christ!…Yikes! – somebody call Tanisha!)
Now hold on here, don’t get me wrong – I love the kind of cinema where you have ten drinks and reach out for the eleventh, while watching Tashan or the other “filmed by Priyadarshan” types. They can be fun too. But even Akshay Kumar must have a limit. (Although, off late, apparently not…but that’s for another edition of Triple T).
The key to Triple T’s resonance (I hope) will be it’s randomness. In that randomness, each one of you (I hope, again) will find, at varying times and to varying degrees, a vent to all that you always believed was just wrong (and there is so much wrong in this country, that the earth-turd need never be featured after this) but knew could not set right. I mean, Anu Malik will continue to judge people, Kuku Kohli will continue to be a rich producer and the earth-turd??? well…he will continue to release his turd upon us.
In return for providing you reflective and deeply meditative pieces such as the one above, Triple T seeks ideas and potential tirade-targets. So come on board and get it out. Write to Triple T! We welcome every eye-opening monstrosity being perpetrated in this country. Have no fear – we WILL write about it (and how!).
The Triple T team is currently working on an innovative next – providing proof as to why the Kanti Shah-Mithunda combine masterpiece “Gunda” is better than the recently-released-easily-mistaken-for-being-a-Sajid-Khan-masterpiece “Gunday”. (This one is tough – but any Indian Engineering student who has NOT seen the iconic Gunda while smokin’ up, must be asked to return his degree- it was not worth it)
In the end an honest disclaimer-
Any effort to malign, castigate, abuse, humiliate etc. should be taken as being purely intentional and the team (a neurotic, disillusioned, bipolar investment banker) takes full responsibility for it.
AND NO…I’M NOT RAJA SEN.