On my first day of a class on postcolonial theory, our professor ended the lecture with a simple exercise that we would reflect back on at the end of our semester.
Although there is much merit to the representation of women’s pain, the evolution of the heavily aestheticised “sad girl” trope in popular culture has started to make a mawkish caricature of real women’s suffering
For the first time, I also found myself giddy over a male protagonist from the world of my father and uncles. The character of Nadeem, Selina's boyfriend, can be best described as a "man written by a woman".
The girl stared back at her and asked a question that made Mrittika’s heart beat faster. “Don’t you recognise me?”
On my first day of a class on postcolonial theory, our professor ended the lecture with a simple exercise that we would reflect back on at the end of our semester.
Although there is much merit to the representation of women’s pain, the evolution of the heavily aestheticised “sad girl” trope in popular culture has started to make a mawkish caricature of real women’s suffering
For the first time, I also found myself giddy over a male protagonist from the world of my father and uncles. The character of Nadeem, Selina's boyfriend, can be best described as a "man written by a woman".
The girl stared back at her and asked a question that made Mrittika’s heart beat faster. “Don’t you recognise me?”