Why?

This had to be done... There aren't enough cynics around

Introducing the Bald Shady- Yet another Critical Analysis

                I came across this picture while rummaging through countless stupid posts in the social media… It is something like this…

                                “You are not deep
                                 You are not an intellectual
                                 You are not an Artist
                                 You are not a Critic
                                 You are not a Poet
                                 You just have an internet collection”

                That was when the truth hit me. I do have an internet connection and I am none of the above but I have someone who is a critic and considers himself an “Author” (agreed, he has a published work of art that was understood by 7 people, excluding him, for, he has not the slightest clue about what he had written. He has written every critical review we have published in this blog (Yup, those cynical, dastardly, elitist views were not mine). So let me introduce my beloved friend and trusted advisor and that annoying voice inside my head- The Bald Shady. Over to T.b.S.

                Hi all. Yeah it was me. Like this dokku doc could come up with intellectual assessment of works of art by self anointed writers. This however is different… This story is…

                “Sai, dei… what is the name of the book where the eeroini constantly pees?”

                “Just You Me and a Secret”

                “Fine... I’ll keep it between just us. Won’t tell anyone you read that book. Tell the title for God’s sake”

                “That is the title da”

                 Yeah right. The Story’s intensity hurts you so much that you are too confused to spell your name and the word hiccups. Maybe that was exactly what happened to our protagonist who swallows water, air, and fire and captain planet too. Sadly, the limited imagination provided ensures there is no Hannibal L to make her swallow her tongue and die ending her misery right there and saving us an agonizing search. The word swallow has so many appearances that it basically puts Aachi to shame.

                The plot is about a girl with an overactive bladder from all the coffee her fiancé gives her while she tries to kill herself (and the reader) all the while random people provide chunks of randomer expositions to her in the randomest of situations so that she can find out that she is in love with a weird guy in a weird and disturbing relationship with his cousin and is playing daughter to a ‘naughty’ daddy with ‘surprises’ for his little girl while vilifying a competent female plastic surgeon who is short of cash. I actually want to ramble on about how the aperture called pupil cannot be folded or lowered or roll in the floor laughing. The earth rotates, revolves and you live right here but if I took you out of the planet, you won’t rotate or revolve and odds are you will fall into nothingness which was the feeling I experienced reading a ton of exposition rushed in the last 2 chapters which are also the most self-indulgent pages ever written in the history of mankind.


                I am no expert in literature (or sports or philosophy or music or acupuncture) but I guess the story probably sounded a lot better when in the ideation stage. I mean, we all loved Puthiya Mugham, agreed, it was more for the songs and we scratched our heads when Vineeth transformed into that tall dude. That was because modern medicine (and common sense) doesn’t work that way. Also you just can’t vilify short balding doctors who are so bold that they wear pink. You keep on calling a competent, qualified person whose struggles you have no idea about, a pumpkin and unless you are humanizing a pumpkin in a tale a la White Fang where the protagonist is a pumpkin and his adventures are chronicled; you are failing. To sum up, we will withhold our criticisms for now and will wait for the next outing hoping it is a charm.

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