Life & Style

How Swiss theatre pedagogue Manuela Runge trains actors to be in the moment while on stage


Manuela Runge, a Zurich-based theatre and dance artist, conducting a workshop for amateur actors in Tiruchi.

Manuela Runge, a Zurich-based theatre and dance artist, conducting a workshop for amateur actors in Tiruchi.
| Photo Credit: M MOORTHY

On a Saturday morning, with the cows lowing in the background, and the wind whistling through the trees at a farm in a suburb of Tiruchi, a small group of amateur artistes practices the art of mirroring, following the lead of Swiss theatre and dance pedagogue Manuela Runge, learning to mimic each other’s movements without touching.

Manuela, a German national based in Zurich, has nearly 20 years experience in teaching theatrical skills and dance to children, young adults and people with disability.

Currently on a personal visit to southern India, Manuela has been conducting workshops for students in Tiruchi, Chennai, Tirunelveli and Dindigul.

Mirroring is among the many techniques the teacher-artiste uses to help actors ease their body language on stage.

The performing arts, especially theatre, can be a powerful tool to help children hailing from troubled backgrounds find positive role models outside their familiar social circles, she says. “I know this is true because my father was a heavy drinker and prone to violent behaviour. My parents separated when I was six years old. My mother raised me and my older brother. Theatre was where I could see the different possibilities for the future,” says Manuela.

Theatre is also a family and a place to belong, she adds. “Very often you can see others with similar problems here. It is a safe space where you do not feel alone. And this gives you power.”

The learning curve

Manuela, wanted to be an actor from an early age. “But I was too shy to go to acting school. I got employed as a school teacher, and that’s when I realised that I could channel my interest in performing arts by teaching theatre to children,” she says.

Delving into theatre pedagogy, she realised that drama need not be only about dialogues and declamation. Manuela specialises in training people to feel physically comfortable while performing in front of an audience. “Through acting, we can connect with each other, perform together and express ourselves through our actions, because not everyone can use speech the same way,” she says.

It is rewarding for a teacher to see her students gaining confidence with each rehearsal. “In the beginning they doubt themselves. But after a while, acting gives them power and helps them find their voice. They learn that it is okay to make mistakes and this makes them more open to others’ ideas.”

Currently she is helping actors grasp the art of how to be in the moment during a live performance. “It is a reaction-based activity like billiards or football. I teach students to study their co-actors to see how they can connect on stage,” she says.

On a sabbatical from full-time teaching in Switzerland for the next few months, Manuela is discovering the vicissitudes of India’s theatrical traditions. “I am impressed by the purity of craft that young people display on stage. Indian artistes are passionate about their art, be it dance or theatre.”



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How Swiss theatre pedagogue Manuela Runge trains actors to be in the moment while on stage


Manuela Runge, a Zurich-based theatre and dance artist, conducting a workshop for amateur actors in Tiruchi.

Manuela Runge, a Zurich-based theatre and dance artist, conducting a workshop for amateur actors in Tiruchi.
| Photo Credit: M MOORTHY

On a Saturday morning, with the cows lowing in the background, and the wind whistling through the trees at a farm in a suburb of Tiruchi, a small group of amateur artistes practices the art of mirroring, following the lead of Swiss theatre and dance pedagogue Manuela Runge, learning to mimic each other’s movements without touching.

Manuela, a German national based in Zurich, has nearly 20 years experience in teaching theatrical skills and dance to children, young adults and people with disability.

Currently on a personal visit to southern India, Manuela has been conducting workshops for students in Tiruchi, Chennai, Tirunelveli and Dindigul.

Mirroring is among the many techniques the teacher-artiste uses to help actors ease their body language on stage.

The performing arts, especially theatre, can be a powerful tool to help children hailing from troubled backgrounds find positive role models outside their familiar social circles, she says. “I know this is true because my father was a heavy drinker and prone to violent behaviour. My parents separated when I was six years old. My mother raised me and my older brother. Theatre was where I could see the different possibilities for the future,” says Manuela.

Theatre is also a family and a place to belong, she adds. “Very often you can see others with similar problems here. It is a safe space where you do not feel alone. And this gives you power.”

The learning curve

Manuela, wanted to be an actor from an early age. “But I was too shy to go to acting school. I got employed as a school teacher, and that’s when I realised that I could channel my interest in performing arts by teaching theatre to children,” she says.

Delving into theatre pedagogy, she realised that drama need not be only about dialogues and declamation. Manuela specialises in training people to feel physically comfortable while performing in front of an audience. “Through acting, we can connect with each other, perform together and express ourselves through our actions, because not everyone can use speech the same way,” she says.

It is rewarding for a teacher to see her students gaining confidence with each rehearsal. “In the beginning they doubt themselves. But after a while, acting gives them power and helps them find their voice. They learn that it is okay to make mistakes and this makes them more open to others’ ideas.”

Currently she is helping actors grasp the art of how to be in the moment during a live performance. “It is a reaction-based activity like billiards or football. I teach students to study their co-actors to see how they can connect on stage,” she says.

On a sabbatical from full-time teaching in Switzerland for the next few months, Manuela is discovering the vicissitudes of India’s theatrical traditions. “I am impressed by the purity of craft that young people display on stage. Indian artistes are passionate about their art, be it dance or theatre.”



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Homo Opportunisticus: the making of caste


The origin of the caste system does not lie in religious ideas of purity and pollution, racial differences, tribal or Harappan customs — or even the British census, as recent social media commentary would suggest. It lies in ancient political contingencies and economic circumstances.

The earliest mention of a four-tiered hierarchy occurs in the Purusha Sukta of the Rigveda. But it is commonly accepted that this is a late book, and that the Purusha Sukta is a later insertion. There is no mention of the shudra in the Rigveda outside of the Purusha Sukta. There are only doubtful and rare occurrences of even ‘brahmana’ as a social category. Therefore, one can agree with Stephanie W. Jamison and Joel P. Brereton in their 2014 translation of The Rigveda, that in the earliest religious poetry of India, the caste system is embryonic.

The Rigveda : The Earliest Religious Poetry of India

The Rigveda : The Earliest Religious Poetry of India

But how did that embryo come to be? Studies by scholars Michael Witzel (The Realm of the Kuru) and Thennilapuram Mahadevan (The Rsi Index of the Vedic Anukramani System and Pravara Lists: Toward a Prehistory of the Brahmans) provide the keenest insight.

To recount Witzel’s arguments briefly, the tribe of the Kurus became predominant after the Battle of the Ten Kings or Dasrajna mentioned in the Rigveda. After the battle, the “geographical centre of the Vedic civilization” moved eastwards from Punjab to Kurukshetra, the land lying between rivers Sarasvati and Drishadvati, about 175 kilometres northwest of New Delhi. (This region would later come to be subsumed under the term Aryavarta, defined as being the region between the Himalayas and the Vindhyas, and to the east of where river Saraswati disappears and west of the Kalaka forest, which is supposed to have been at the confluence of the Ganga and Yamuna.)

As they consolidated their power, the Kurus felt the need for a unified canon, drawing on the sacrificial hymns of their own tribe as well as defeated tribes. The last hymn of the Rigveda is about unity. It says: “Come together, speak together; together let your thoughts agree…”

Rigveda bundles, with illustrations from each of the sections of the Veda. On display at the Saraswati Mahal Library in Tanjore.

Rigveda bundles, with illustrations from each of the sections of the Veda. On display at the Saraswati Mahal Library in Tanjore.
| Photo Credit:
The Hindu Archives

Until this happened, around 1000 BCE, writes Witzel, “the Rigvedic hymns were held as ‘personal or clan property’”. When a common canon was made out of these collections, writes Mahadevan, the families that were once in charge of their own hymnal traditions became the backbone of a ‘pan-Vedic agency to sing a pan-Vedic corpus’. There being no writing at this time, they were now an ‘oral agency’ carrying forward a common tradition, now ‘bound into a biological body’ through new rules regulating marriages among them.

The first ‘caste’ takes shape

As Mahadevan tells it, each of those who had a collection of family songs was now called a gotra. The new rules were that marriages must not occur within the same gotra (exogamy), but must occur within the 50-odd gotras (endogamy), thus creating ‘One, Out of Many’, “the ‘caste’ of Brahmans”. The brahmanas are thus the first and perhaps the only real ‘varna/caste’ to be formed at a particular time and place, with enormous implications for the future.

The ‘ksatriya’ or the warrior/ruler caste will be mostly decided de facto: those who manage to get and keep power are regarded as ksatriyas. Historian D.D. Kosambi once wrote: “Don’t be misled by the Indian Ksatriya caste, which was oftener than not a Brahmanical fiction.” Those who do not fall into either of these categories are considered ‘vaisya’ or common folk — the residual category of the Arya community.

In the following centuries, those who were outside the Arya culture, but served the Arya as domestic workers or as farm labourers, were accommodated within the system as low-status ‘shudra’. Those who were outside of all four categories, such as the tribes who lived in the forests, were regarded as ‘outcastes’. But this fully fleshed-out varna-jati system will take time to develop, being dependent on the speed with which agriculture and, therefore, the need to engage non-family labour, took off.

An engraving from 1872 of brahmana men learning

An engraving from 1872 of brahmana men learning
| Photo Credit:
Getty Images

Many things follow from this. One, the caste system did not arise out of a purity-pollution cline; nowhere in the Rigveda or other samhitas is it suggested that there is a hierarchy of purity among the brahmanas, rajanya and the vis or vaisya. Two, it did not arise out of differences in eating habits; the idea of vegetarianism originated centuries later with the ascetic sramana traditions such as Jainism and Buddhism in Greater Magadha, which lies to the east of Aryavarta.

Three, it had little to do with race or ethnicity to begin with; the three varnas were all considered Arya. Four, the idea of a varna system did not spread from a pre-Aryan or Harappan Civilization. And five, it was not brought to India by the Steppe pastoralists, who called themselves Arya. It was made in India, and ideas such as purity and pollution were justificatory accruals that occurred centuries later.

Varanasi was important for those on both sides of the debate over varna: brahmanas and sramanas

Varanasi was important for those on both sides of the debate over varna: brahmanas and sramanas
| Photo Credit:
Getty Images

The trigger for the beginning of the caste system was the need of a victorious kingdom to have a unified religion and a priesthood to administer it. The best model that fits this evidence is that of a universal ‘Homo Opportunisticus’, and not an Indian ‘Homo Hierarchicus’ which, according to sociologist Louis Dumont, represents a cultural predilection for hierarchy. Given the opportunity, political and economic man will create a system of belief and along with it, a social system, to perpetuate his status and power.

What began as an embryonic scheme in the Rigveda bloomed into a full-fledged system in the later brahmana texts when settled agriculture began to take off. These texts elevated the four-fold hierarchy from the world of mortals to the universe itself. Gods, animals, hymns, seasons, were all mapped into the varna system so that, as professor Brian K. Smith wrote in his book Classifying the Universe (1994): “…certain humans could present what was an arbitrary social status or status claim as natural and sacred…”

The Rigveda title sheet in the Saraswathi Mahal Library collections

The Rigveda title sheet in the Saraswathi Mahal Library collections
| Photo Credit:
R. Shivaji Rao

Contest over the meaning of dharma

The next step in the evolution of caste happened in the context of a vigorous resistance to it from the sramanic religions. Buddhism and Jainism refused to acknowledge the authority of the Vedas, condemned animal sacrifices and accepted into their monastic orders people from all classes. Emperor Asoka’s espousal of the cause of ‘dhamma’, without mentioning varna, queered the pitch further. In response, newly composed Dharmasutra and Dharmasastra that lay down the rules of conduct for members of the Brahmanical society restated the varna ideology with vigour and patterned it into every nook and corner of Arya custom, from the cradle to the pyre. Manusmriti (or Manava Dharmasastra) was only one of many similar texts written around the beginning of the Common Era.

Dharmasutras

Dharmasutras

But when these texts were being written, the varna hierarchy was far from commonly accepted. Buddhism, especially, was experiencing the kind of expansion never before seen, riding a wave of prosperity caused by booming trade. But this would change when, between 235 CE and 284 CE, the Roman Empire was hit by a crisis that almost brought it down, the Kusana empire started disintegrating, and world trade was disrupted.

The next source of prosperity, however, was already evident: the deepening and widening of agriculture across the subcontinent. This could only happen if millions of people were drawn into the agricultural system as labourers, especially as farm settlements moved into the lands of forest-dwelling or semi-nomadic groups. And this was a humongous task, which the dozens of new kingdoms that came into being took on eagerly from around the middle of the first millennium CE.

In this task, they found the social framework based on a hereditary hierarchy useful. To implement the new system — and to lend it legitimacy — many kings, including those professing Buddhist or Jaina faith, invited brahmanas from Aryavarta to come and settle in their kingdoms on lands granted to them. Following this, the varna-jati system, whose two core principles are (a) an alliance between the ruling and priestly powers, and (b) ‘an ascending scale of reverence and a descending scale of contempt’ as Ambedkar put it, spread to the rest of the subcontinent through agro-temple-state formations in the first millennium CE.

This will shape many social attitudes, perhaps leading sociologist Dumont to think up the concept of Homo Hierarchicus in 1966, but without paying attention to the long resistance against it and the way it was shaped by political and economic contingencies. Thirty-five years later, anthropologist Nicholas Dirks would publish another last-mile snapshot of caste in his book Castes of Mind, but without paying attention to the step-by-step evolution and geographical expansion of caste.

What we know now is that caste was historically contingent in its origins and socially contested throughout its history and eventually gave rise, in the 20th century, to Ambedkar’s call to ‘annihilate’ it.

The writer, author of Early Indians, is working on a sequel focusing on India’s cultural formation.

The full text of his guest lecture at the Indian History Congress on December 28, 2025 titled ‘Homo Opportunisticus: The Contingent, Contested Evolution of Caste’ is available here.

NB: This article does not make a hard distinction between varna and jati because in the ancient texts we are dealing with, there is no indication that the two were treated as different systems.



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Sankranti memories: How food, kites and village rituals shape festive nostalgia


The kite festival in Hyderabad held during the month of January every year is a crowd puller.

The kite festival in Hyderabad held during the month of January every year is a crowd puller.
| Photo Credit: NAGARA GOPAL

Sankranti arrives as a pause at the start of the year — a festival rooted in harvest, homecoming and shared rituals. It is remembered through simple, tactile moments: kites cutting through winter skies, fresh muggus traced at dawn, journeys back to villages, and meals shaped by the season’s first produce. For many, these memories form the emotional grammar of Sankranti, carried forward even as celebrations shift from fields and terraces to apartments and city streets.

Nandini Reddy

Nandini Reddy
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

Nandini Reddy, director

“I was brought up by my maternal family in Telangana, so Sankranti was largely about kites. I remember being on the terrace with friends and family, flying kites all day with music playing. Trips to Charminar to buy kites and manja were part of the ritual, as was running through lanes to catch drifting kites. I learnt early how to tie the string, roll the charkha, and manage different kinds of pench.”

Actor Thiruveer

Actor Thiruveer
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

P. Thiruveer, actor

“I was born in Mamidpally, Nizamabad district, and moved to Hyderabad’s Old City after Class VI. My city memories of Sankranti revolve around building Gobbemma — collecting fresh cow dung, garika grass, and regi pandulu. In the village, the festival stretched over three days. Fresh bengal gram drying outside homes signalled Sankranti, meant for bobbatlu. I also remember nuvvulu rotte. On Kanuma, my father and I would walk to the village square to collect our share of mutton, measured by kuppa, carried home in a tiffin box. This year is special — it is our first Sankranti with our baby. In apartment life, I miss chariot muggu and asking the local English expert to write ‘Happy Sankranti’.”

Madhu Reddy, permaculture farmer

“Our apartment was among the first five-storeyed buildings in the area, so neighbours and friends gathered on our terrace to fly kites. I remember repairing torn kites with home-made glue, careful not to add weight. Food memories are bobbatlu and sakinalu. I grew up in Delhi and Goa, so Sankranti blends with Lohri — rewdi, bonfires, roasting hara channa, and long conversations about home.”

Rajeshwar Reddy, artist

“Sankranti brings families together and celebrates Nature’s bounty. I grew up in Vizianagaram, where decorated bulls, detailed muggus, and shared food marked the festival. My father, a folk artist, painted a new Sankranti scene every year — people, animals, food, and games — hung up as part of the celebration.”

Annapurna Madipadiga

Annapurna Madipadiga

Depiction of Prabhala Theertham by E Rohini Kumar

Depiction of Prabhala Theertham by E Rohini Kumar

Annapurna Madipadiga, art curator

“My father moved from Sakuru in East Godavari to Hyderabad for studies, but after turning 60, he built a house in the village. Every Sankranti, we return to meet cousins and extended family. My mother would make pottikka buttalu, a dish we ate only then. Our small village, dotted with coconut farms, turns festive during Prabhala Theertham, when colourful structures are carried between villages. These traditions continue. I also have a painting by my father, E. Rohini Kumar, that captures the spirit of the festival.”



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Tata Harrier & Safari Petrol: Small heart, big authority


For years, the Tata Harrier and Safari have been closely associated with diesel power. They became default choices for buyers seeking strong road presence, torque-rich performance and that unmistakable “big SUV” feel. Introducing petrol engines into this equation was always going to be a delicate move. Get it wrong, and the SUVs risk feeling underwhelming. Get it right, and Tata could open the door to an entirely new audience. With the arrival of the Hyperion petrol variants, it is clear Tata has leaned firmly towards the latter.

Harrier petrol handling city traffic effortlessly, highlighting its agile steering and composed ride quality.

Harrier petrol handling city traffic effortlessly, highlighting its agile steering and composed ride quality.
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

At the core of both SUVs is the new 1.5-litre Hyperion turbo-petrol engine. It is a four-cylinder, direct-injection unit producing 170 PS at 5,000 rpm and 280 Nm of torque available across a wide 1,750–3,500 rpm band. On paper, the numbers appear respectable rather than extraordinary, particularly for SUVs of this size. But driving them tells a different story. This is a case where calibration, torque spread and real-world tuning matter far more than displacement alone — and Tata has clearly invested heavily in getting that balance right.

The first thing that stands out is refinement. The Hyperion engine feels notably smooth, aided by a stiffened engine block, advanced acoustic insulation and careful NVH management. Vibrations at idle are well suppressed, and even when pushed harder, the engine note remains controlled and mature. In urban conditions, this refinement becomes a genuine advantage. Both the Harrier and Safari feel easy to live with, masking their size well in traffic. Throttle response is progressive, not abrupt, and the initial pick-up is strong enough to make quick gaps without feeling jumpy or nervous.

Advanced safety and tech features in the Safari petrol, including Level 2+ ADAS and a 36.9 cm Harman Neo QLED infotainment system.

Advanced safety and tech features in the Safari petrol, including Level 2+ ADAS and a 36.9 cm Harman Neo QLED infotainment system.
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

As speeds build, the engine’s character reveals itself more clearly. The low-end response is good, but it is the mid-range where the Hyperion truly shines. There is a strong, sustained surge of torque that makes highway driving effortless. Overtakes require little planning, and the SUVs hold cruising speeds comfortably without the engine sounding stressed. Despite being just 1.5 litres, the motor never feels out of its depth. That is largely down to the broad torque band and Tata’s decision to prioritise linear power delivery over dramatic top-end theatrics.

This linearity defines the overall driving experience. Power builds smoothly and predictably, inspiring confidence rather than excitement—and that is exactly what buyers in this segment tend to seek. There is no sudden spike, no sense of the turbo arriving too late or too aggressively. Instead, the engine works with the vehicle, not against it. Tata’s AI- and ML-based engine management systems, including smart shift and launch assist functions, subtly contribute to this seamless feel, particularly in varying driving conditions.

The 1.5-litre Hyperion turbo-petrol engine delivers smooth, linear power for urban and highway driving in the Harrier.

The 1.5-litre Hyperion turbo-petrol engine delivers smooth, linear power for urban and highway driving in the Harrier.
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

An often-overlooked benefit of the petrol variants is the reduction in weight. Compared to their diesel counterparts, both the Harrier and Safari shed close to 80 kg, and the effect is noticeable from behind the wheel. Steering responses feel a touch lighter, and the front end feels less burdened, especially during quick direction changes or tight urban manoeuvres. It does not transform these SUVs into sporty machines, but it does make them feel more agile and cooperative in everyday driving.

Ride quality remains one of the Harrier and Safari’s strongest attributes, and the petrol variants do nothing to dilute that strength. Built on Tata’s OMEGARC platform, derived from Land Rover’s D8 architecture, both SUVs continue to offer a composed, planted ride. Broken roads are dispatched with ease, high-speed stability is reassuring, and body control is well judged for vehicles of this size. There are genuinely no faults to point out when it comes to overall driving dynamics — everything feels cohesive and well resolved.

Tata Safari petrol interior with rich, dramatic cabin colours and spacious seating for families.

Tata Safari petrol interior with rich, dramatic cabin colours and spacious seating for families.
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

Beyond the mechanicals, Tata has ensured that the petrol variants feel special through feature differentiation. Both SUVs get the brand’s flagship 36.9 cm Harman infotainment system with Samsung Neo QLED technology — currently unmatched in the segment for clarity and visual impact. Paired with a JBL audio system tuned for Dolby Atmos, the in-cabin experience feels genuinely premium, bordering on indulgent. Add to this connected car tech via iRA 2.0, Alexa Home-to-Car integration, built-in navigation, and a voice-operated panoramic sunroof, and it is clear Tata is targeting buyers who value technology as much as physical presence.

The interiors further underline this intent. The Harrier’s lighter, more contemporary cabin themes contrast well with the Safari’s richer, more dramatic colour palettes and larger wheels. Both feel solidly built, spacious and thoughtfully laid out. The Safari, in particular, continues to stand out as a family SUV, with excellent second-row comfort and a usable third row—something few rivals manage convincingly.

Safety remains a non-negotiable strength. Both the Harrier and Safari petrol variants carry a 5-star Bharat NCAP rating and come equipped with Level 2+ ADAS, offering features such as adaptive cruise control, lane keep assist, autonomous emergency braking and blind-spot monitoring. These systems are well integrated and reinforce the sense that these SUVs are engineered for modern Indian conditions, not just marketing brochures.

Tata Harrier petrol variant showcasing its contemporary cabin with lighter interior themes and modern technology.

Tata Harrier petrol variant showcasing its contemporary cabin with lighter interior themes and modern technology.
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

That said, even well-rounded packages have room for improvement. One notable omission is the lack of one-touch up and down functionality for the driver’s window. In SUVs that otherwise feel premium and technologically advanced, this feels unnecessary and slightly out of character. It is a small detail, but one that stands out precisely because everything else feels so carefully considered.

Viewed as a whole, the petrol-powered Tata Harrier and Safari are not intended to replace their diesel siblings—they complement them. They offer a quieter, smoother and more refined alternative for buyers whose driving is largely urban or highway-focused, without sacrificing presence, comfort or confidence. The Hyperion engine, despite its modest displacement, proves to be a strong match for these SUVs, delivering a peppy yet polished driving experience that feels thoroughly engineered rather than compromised.

In the final analysis, Tata has succeeded in expanding the Harrier and Safari’s appeal without diluting their core identity. The petrol variants feel complete, competent and convincingly premium—an evolution that speaks not loudly, but with quiet authority.

Tata Harrier Petrol Expected Starting Price: INR 13.50 lakh

Tata Safari Petrol Expected Starting Price: INR 14.50 lakh

Motorscribes, in association with The Hindu, brings you the latest in cars and bikes. Follow them on Instagram on @motorscribes

Published – January 08, 2026 03:09 pm IST



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Rock band Scorpions to tour India with four concerts in April


 Iconic rock band 'The Scorpions' performing live at Palace Grounds, Bengaluru as a  part of their World Humanity Tour on December 16, 2007.

Iconic rock band ‘The Scorpions’ performing live at Palace Grounds, Bengaluru as a part of their World Humanity Tour on December 16, 2007.
| Photo Credit: K MURALIKUMAR

After nearly two decades, German hard-rock legends Scorpions will take the stage in India with their iconic anthems ‘ Rock You Like A Hurricane’ and ‘Wind of Change’,  as part of their Coming Home 2026 tour in April.

Their four city tour, produced and promoted by BookMyShow Live, the live entertainment experiential division of BookMyShow, will have concerts at Shillong on April 21 at JN Stadium, Delhi-NCR on April; 24 at HUDA Grounds, Bengaluru on April 26 at NICE grounds and Mumbai on April 30 at Jio Gardens, BKC. 

“We are incredibly excited to finally be touring India again after such a long time and are looking forward to meeting our many, many fans in India. The concerts will also be a very special experience for us,” says Klaus Meine from Scorpions. 

Founded in 1965 by guitarist Rudolf Schenker, Scorpions have a legacy spanning over five decades and are considered among the most influential rock bands in history. The group has performed in over 80 countries and have sold over 120 million records worldwide, with their music continuing to transcend listeners across generations. As a hugely successful live rock act, their 2026 tour is being framed as a part of a farewell tour of sorts. 

“Scorpions’ return to India after nearly two decades is significant, not only for fans who have grown up with their songs but also as a reflection of how far India’s live entertainment ecosystem has evolved. This tour marks a watershed moment for rock culture in the country, celebrating music history, fan devotion and the enduring power of live performance,” says Naman Pugalia, Chief Business Officer – Live Events, BookMyShow. 

The Artist pre-sale for tickets begins on Wednesday, January 14 at 12 pm and will be followed by a pre-sale of tickets for Kotak Mahindra Bank credit card customers on January 15 at 12 pm. The general on-sale tickets will go live from 1 pm on January 17 on BookMyShow. 



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Geeta Doctor, the sharp observer


Truthfully, I was rather intimidated by Geeta Doctor. For she was not a traditional person. Geeta was, I think, a non-believer. She seemed to critique different art expressions with what you might call ‘a clean slate’. She was happy to learn, to observe, comment on all art forms — literary and performative, visual and tactile, Indian or world art, not burdened by the rules thereof. Simply as ‘the other’.

She was watchful and witty, a giggle lurking behind her smile, ready to unbalance you. I was often tongue-tied. (In fact, ever since I was asked to write this tribute, I have been picturing her laughing at the choice.) But that was till I was on the other side, as it were. Once I got to know her, I shared in the amusement as we took on the dance scene like buddies, if I may say so in her absence. I wouldn’t dare in her presence!

‘She was witty, a giggle lurking behind her smile, ready to unbalance you’

‘She was witty, a giggle lurking behind her smile, ready to unbalance you’
| Photo Credit:
Mala Mukerjee

Geeta read (and wrote) voraciously, and in the early ‘70s, she was present in her role as journalist, with a ringside seat, at a host of art movements that then emerged in Chennai. Writing a review of visual artist S.G. Vasudev’s exhibition called Vriksha in 2010, she recalled the many layered world of the ‘60s, when Vasudev and a group of artists set up the self-contained Cholamandal Artists’ Village. “It’s been described as a Village by the Sea,” she wrote. “It was in a way an epic undertaking, the old man-teacher-friend and preceptor, [founder] Paniker leading his band of faithful to make a mark for themselves in what was then a wilderness.”

Read Geeta Doctor’s words for The Hindu

This was also when I first met Geeta — when Vasudev and his now deceased wife Arnawaz, a fine artist, invited me to dance on the sands outside their new home. A performance was always followed by a discussion over a simple meal and drinks. Such a vital act, when an exchange of ideas helped in understanding our own arts and the need of the time.

A bohemian spirit

Geeta began working as a journalist in Mumbai in the 1970s, for publications such as Freedom First, a liberal monthly, and Parsiana, the Parsi magazine that shut last October. She helped start Inside Outside, India’s first design and architectural magazine. She moved to Chennai in the 1980s and wrote for many other publications, including The Hindu.

Geeta Doctor, when she had taken artist Jehangir Sabavala to Pulicat Lake

Geeta Doctor, when she had taken artist Jehangir Sabavala to Pulicat Lake
| Photo Credit:
Mala Mukerjee

A few days ago, Meenakshi, her daughter, shared some of Geeta’s writings with me that gave me an understanding of the range of subjects she reviewed. Even the headlines of the articles reflected the happy nature of one who seemed pleased to have walked with that book, that performance, that exhibition awhile.

For instance, writing about the food memoir A Bite in Time: Cooking with Memories, she remarked that it “mirrors the larger-than-life personality of Tanya Mendonsa’s invitation to take a bite of her life. Her real talent, as any bohemian spirit who has lived in Paris in the second half of the 20th century will recognise, is to be a flâneur, loosely translated it means just floating above the ground in a state of permanent enjoyment”. To me, Geeta was also a flâneur. Her own nature was reflected time and again in her reviews of others. And so we got to know her.

Geeta Doctor at Dhanushkodi

Geeta Doctor at Dhanushkodi
| Photo Credit:
Special arrangement

In December 2016, she wrote passionately about dancer and choreographer Astad Deboo. “Does he remember it as I do, the short series of six movements in which Astad trampled upon the canvas of contemporary dance in India and laid it wide open to different interpretations? Did he actually feel the pain when he slit his arms open with a blade and allowed the blood to drip? Or later, in what became a showstopper moment, contort his lithe body, so that his tongue became part of the performance. He licked the floor of his stage as though it were his most beloved other. The floor. The stage. The dancer. The audience. We became one with the performance. Astad Deboo became contemporary dance.”

Then she stated her non-partisan, broad outlook on society: “He could be a Parsi at home, a Christian at the school taught by Jesuit priests, and a student of Islamic traditions because of the Kathak dance teacher. The influences that he imbibed included that of the Bengali families, the Biharis and South Indians, all of whom enriched his idea not just of who he was but what being an Indian might be.”

It was pitch-perfect. Even now, I can let out a cry of joy at that line describing what it is to be truly Indian. Penned by a writer and critic who was born in India, but grew up in France, Sweden, Switzerland and Pakistan, following her father who was in the Indian Foreign Service.

One who spoke from her heart

Geeta, an octogenarian who presided over a four-generation family of strong women, often talked about how she loved food, laughter, and the company of strangers she met on her travels. Glimpses could be seen in her reviews.

‘Geeta loved food, laughter, and the company of strangers she met on her travels’

‘Geeta loved food, laughter, and the company of strangers she met on her travels’
| Photo Credit:
Mala Mukerjee

In 2005, she could not contain her glee after she visited Malaysia to watch Kuala Lumpur-based choreographer and classical Bharatanatyam dancer Ramli bin Ibrahim. “Ramli follows in the tradition set by a Ram Gopal or even an Uday Shankar in taking the heroic moment by the hand and treading the path that is often so dangerous between becoming too exotic or too enchanted with his own sensuality. By insisting that it is a tribute to Odissi, perhaps, what he is also exploring is this very same appeal to the gorgeousness of Odissi that surrenders to the feminine in all its manifestations of desire.”

Months before she was diagnosed with a terminal disease, she wrote about Marghazhi and the people she lived among. Although inadvertently, I believe few have summed up the season so succinctly as Geeta did in her review of the book The Tamils: A Portrait of a Community. “It’s that time of the year when the invisible call of ‘The Season’ fills the air around Chennai inviting multitudes from distant lands. There is an almost imperceptible hum of the Tamil heartbeat written on the wind… that speak of a fabled past that finds expression in music and dance at different venues. In every generation, a scholar reaches into these storied depths and finds a way through the tangled roots… It makes Nirmala Lakshman’s extraordinarily vivid treatise on The Tamils doubly interesting.”

For me, Geeta’s was that independent outside-the-theatre- of-the-arts voice that spoke directly from the heart. It was a democratic voice. It held in it the echoes of a worldview that could see the connections and almost imperceptibly rejoice in them. She was not partisan; she did not beat about the bush. And for some of us, who recognised this, she will not be replicated. She will be missed. May she rest in peace.

The writer is a Bharatanatyam dancer and choreographer, and the former director of Kalakshetra in Chennai.

Published – January 08, 2026 01:28 pm IST



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The Meher I knew: A fashion insider who changed Indian style narratives


Whenever I would think of Meher Castelino, or read or hear her name, I would imagine her at a fashion show.

That was where we met most often, in the days when fashion weeks were events that held meaning and which I attended as a journalist interested in tracking what designers were doing, and in turn sharing trends and new sartorial ideas with my readers.

Meher would be sitting at an aisle seat, often in the third or fourth row, away from the hustle and bustle and flashing phones of the front row journalists. Quietly, with no fuss, she would watch every show, taking notes as required, looking up to smile should someone address her, but otherwise totally engrossed in what she was there for.

Covering fashion weeks

Former Miss India and fashion journalist Meher Castelino (left) and designer Krishna Mehta in Hyderabad in 2007.

Former Miss India and fashion journalist Meher Castelino (left) and designer Krishna Mehta in Hyderabad in 2007.
| Photo Credit:
Nagara Gopal

For years, through Lakmé Fashion Week and other fashion weeks later, Meher took on the role of in-house reporter, translating fashion into simple, easily understandable sentences that would go out as press notes. It was a bulwark for many a journalist newly minted as a fashion writer: thanks to Meher, she would understand fashion terminology, and trends, and more important, get the gist of what a collection was all about. It would be the first step to many a journalist’s fashion education.

As the week rolled, I would sometimes miss a show or two, as fatigue set in. But not Meher. I know there were times when she was not too well, and the walk to and from the show area to the press room eight or more times in a day was hard on her. But she never grumbled, or complained as some of the younger reporters would (me included); she just went on doing what she had taken on.

Her attitude to work was not the only inspiring thing about Meher. Her attitude to life was a lesson in quiet courage and dignity.

First Femina Miss India

Former Miss India Meher Castelino in Hyderabad in 2003.

Former Miss India Meher Castelino in Hyderabad in 2003.
| Photo Credit:
P.V. Sivakumar

Perhaps, Meher never forgot that she had been Femina’s very first delegate to the Miss Universe Contest. She would also represent India at the Miss United Nations. It had all happened much before I came to Bombay in 1979 to join the Femina magazine. I was still a school girl in faraway Gauhati (now Guwahati), and we read books, not magazines. But I do remember, much later when discussing the Femina Miss India Contest, Meher telling me that she had been selected in a ‘contest’ — very different from the selection process that came in later. I remember asking her how she felt being sent off for an international beauty contest with no training or backend support. Remember that in 1964, there was only the telephone and the telegram as means of communication in absentia, so a crisis, should it occur, would have to be handled by the teenaged contestant alone. She smiled and said, that’s how it was, adding she wished she had been a delegate much later, when the contestants had better means of preparation at their disposal.

The aura of being a Miss India never left her, though Meher wore it lightly. She was always perfectly turned out; never flashy, always elegant, hair in place, soft jewellery at ears and throat, and more dazzling than that, her ready, happy smile.

She hid the challenges life threw her way, including her husband’s early demise, the fact that she was then a single mother supporting two young children, and who knows what else was swept away behind the smile. She was not one to let anything get her down.

Fashion first, always

(Left) Former Rathi Vinay Jha, director general of FDCI (Fashion Design Council of India) with Meher Castelino, fashion journalist at Abids Lakhotia Institute of Art and Design in Hyderabad in 2007.

(Left) Former Rathi Vinay Jha, director general of FDCI (Fashion Design Council of India) with Meher Castelino, fashion journalist at Abids Lakhotia Institute of Art and Design in Hyderabad in 2007.
| Photo Credit:
Nagara Gopal

She genuinely loved fashion. I remember her telling me, at Femina, that she was taking designers to Igedo (in Germany), for a fashion exposition. At that time, I did not know much about fashion beyond a love for clothes, but as I read her write-ups in the newspapers, I realised she had been instrumental in Indian designers showcasing their work at international expositions. I remember asking the late Wendell Rodricks, one of the designers who had travelled with her to write about his experiences. After initial hesitation, Wendell was persuaded enough to write his first article. He went on to become a fashion columnist for Femina, and I learnt valuable lessons on fashion by editing his essays. Looking back, I think if it were not for Meher, neither would have happened.

She had, I realised, set up an award for Innovative Garment Construction, given in her name at the National Institute of Fashion Technology (NIFT), Mumbai, to a promising student. It told me how deep her involvement with fashion ran.

Last month, reading the social media posts eulogising her, I realise that she was also an advisor to many fashion houses, and wrote two more books besides the one titled Fashion Musings (2020) she had gifted me.

The world we are in now, where every moment of the day is reported on Instagram, the food we eat, the dishes we cook, the clothes we wear, the events we attend and the travelling we undertake, Meher might be easily forgotten by the very fact of her absence on these websites.

But to me, she is an example of someone who did what she loved, spreading her skills quietly across the world of fashion, and contributing significantly to it.

Hers was an impeccable life, lived with grace and dignity.

The writer is a Mumbai-based editor and author.

Published – January 08, 2026 12:45 pm IST



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Abstract artist Ramani Mylavarapu turns curator for the group show Golden Horizon in Hyderabad


Work by Ramani Mylavarapu

Work by Ramani Mylavarapu
| Photo Credit: Special Arrangement

“Sankranti is an opportunity to welcome new beginnings,” says artist Ramani Mylavarapu, referring to her debut as an art curator for Golden Horizon. To be held from January 8 to 14, the six-day art showcase featuring 23 new artworks of 14 established and senior artists is a canvas of celebration resonating with warmth, colours and renewed perspectives. The display featuring paintings, drawing, sculpture and video art spans various genres and styles.

For Ramani, the Hyderabad-based abstract artist, the show is conceived as a celebration of renewal, abundance, and quiet optimism, as it takes place just after New Year and comes before Sankranti. “It is a festival deeply rooted in harvest, gratitude, and cyclical continuity,.” says the artist.

Different expressions

Ramani Mylavarapu 

Ramani Mylavarapu 
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

If mythology takes centrestage in artist Sachin Jaltare and Anjani Reddy’s works, Ramesh Gurjala explores a different colour scheme in his Kalamkari works on Krishna, Vishnu and Lakshmi. Known for his distinctive imagery and expression, prominent artist V Ramesh from Visakhapatnam evokes Sankranti spirit with an oil painting of an urli with hibiscus flowers.

Vishnu and Lakshmi, a Kalamkari work by Ramesh Gorjala

Vishnu and Lakshmi, a Kalamkari work by Ramesh Gorjala
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

Visitors can check out octogenarian Thota Vaikuntam’s 27-year-old artwork depicting his iconic Telangana women and contemporary artist Bhaskar Rao Botcha’s Tulasi kota painting. “Bhaskar garu is in Ayyappa deeksha and has interwoven his consistent theme — the tree motif with spirituality,” says Ramani, who is also showcasing her works in acrylics. “The floral concept is intentional; Flowers symbolising life and renewal goes with the festive spirit,” says the artist. With a strong desire to create her own identity, she turned to art, studied MFA (master of fine arts) after her children grew up, and also pursued a short course in contemporary art from Slade School of Fine Art, London.

Bhaskar Rao Botcha’s Tulasi kota painting

Bhaskar Rao Botcha’s Tulasi kota painting
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

Other notable works are by HR Devulpalli and Sumantha Choudhary, who is also showcasing a bronze sculpture.

(Golden Horizon is on view from January 8 to 11 at State Art Gallery, Madhapur, Hyderabad).



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