Latest news with #Henna
India.com
19-07-2025
- Entertainment
- India.com
This top heroine of 90s, who became Akshay Kumar's wife, left her career at its peak; She is now…
Many Bollywood beauties tried their luck in the 1990s. While some rose to become top heroines of the Hindi film industry, others faded into obscurity soon after entering. Today, we'll talk about one such beauty from that era who worked with nearly every major star from Rishi Kapoor to Akshay Kumar and Salman Khan. Despite gaining popularity with her performances, this well-known actress suddenly disappeared from the screen. Now, her look has changed significantly. Who is Ashwini Bhave? The name of this beauty is Ashwini Bhave. There was a time when people were mesmerised not only by her acting but also by her beauty. The glow on her face and her stunning photos could captivate anyone instantly. She made her debut in 1991 with the film Henna . In this film, she played the role of Rishi Kapoor's fiancée. The movie was a hit and received a lot of appreciation, after which her career took off. Following Henna, she was flooded with offers. She went on to appear in films like Sainik, Zakhmi Dil, Cheetah, Ashant, Yugpurush , and Judge Mujrim. However, she quit films at the peak of her career. After that, she married software engineer Kishore Bopardikar and moved to the United States. The couple has two children — a daughter and a son. After 1999, Ashwini Bhave returned to the screen with the film Kadachit in 2008. This is how Ashwini Bhave looks now Five years later, she appeared in a Marathi film. After that, Ashwini did one or two more films, but she has not been fully active in the film industry. It has been 34 years since her debut, and over time, her appearance has changed significantly. Interestingly, she played Salman Khan's sister in the movie Bandhan , while she portrayed Akshay Kumar's onscreen wife in Sainik .
CairoScene
14-07-2025
- Entertainment
- CairoScene
The Night of Henna: A Celebration Across Arab Homes
Before I understood what weddings meant, I understood butterflies. Every Thursday night, my sister and I would visit my auntie's Sudanese friend in Cairo for henna. She would draw butterflies on our shoulders with a toothpick dipped in henna and a steady hand. One night, that same auntie turned to us and asked, 'You've never been to a real Henna Night?' I was seven when she took me to Maadi, where I walked into a living room alive with noise and more noise. Teenage girls in belly dancing belts. Aunties feeding each other sweets. A bride performing in a short dress before disappearing for her next outfit change. I remember sitting with the henna lady on the balcony, overstimulated but wide-eyed, a butterfly drying on my shoulder as I watched women carve joy into the air. Seventeen years later, I was invited to my school friend's Henna. Crazy, right? The same girl I used to whisper to in class now stood before me in gold coins and heels, ready to get married. This time, I saw everything differently. The event was structured, with DJs, outfit changes on a strict timeline, a planner whispering to a team. Still, something tender crept in when we all sat on the floor with plates in laps, eyes on the bride. I sat there thinking about the traditions that used to bloom around nights like this, especially the ones that have quietly faded. Girls biting sugar cubes in hopes of being the next bride, manifesting their wedding as they pinched the bride's knee, a tradition that comes from a phrase meaning, 'I'll pinch your knee to get married the next Friday." A woman tossing salt behind the bride's shoulder to protect her from envy. Bowls of herbal water placed near her feet, the kind with mint and parsley, for a green, fresh start. Coins pressed into her palms, tied with henna for blessings. Some of these barely exist any more, but I don't think they disappeared; I think they drifted, and maybe we'll find them again. Instead of telling you just what Henna Nights look like in Egypt, I wanted to know how they unfold across the Arab world. So I asked my friends from Sudan to Bahrain, Algeria to Jordan, what this night means to them. Egypt Shahd Sabry In Egypt, Henna Nights, or 'Leilat el Henna', serve as the emotional prelude to the wedding itself. Typically held the night before the katb el kitab (religious contract) or farah (reception), it's a women-only celebration that blends personal joy with collective ritual. Traditionally, the bride wears a folkloric or belly dance–inspired outfit, sometimes changing into several looks over the course of the evening. A henna artist is usually present, decorating guests' hands while family and friends gather to sing, clap and dance. The night often includes shaabi music, belly dance tracks and nostalgic wedding staples, songs passed from cassette tapes to Bluetooth speakers. Older generations might bring Nubian or Sa'idi influences, depending on the family's background, while younger brides often layer in aesthetics from South Asia, the Gulf or global pop culture. What defines an Egyptian Henna Night is its balance: tradition infused with improvisation, glamour softened by intimacy, and above all, women taking up space together in celebration. Before she became a bride herself, Shahd had attended many Henna Nights for close relatives, and always loved how intimate and culturally rich they were. 'They were simple, but full of meaning,' she told me. 'The bride would change into several outfits, each from a different culture, and there was always a henna artist doing designs for everyone, with extra love for the bride.' It always felt, to her, like a bonding ritual between women, full of excitement and laughter. So when it came time to plan her own Henna Night, she wanted to keep that same essence but add her personal touch. 'I wore different outfits throughout the night, an Indian look, an Egyptian belly dancer outfit, and a few more,' she said. 'Each one had its own accessories, hairstyles, even a different vibe.' What she changed most was the decoration. 'I wanted it to feel more immersive and festive, so I really focused on the lighting, the setup, the mood of the space.' It was, as she put it, 'A classical Henna Night with a Gen Z twist.' The music carried everything: classic belly dance tracks, shaabi songs, and some Indian hits that never fail to get people dancing. 'The dancing didn't stop all night.' For food, she kept it light and fun; finger food and small bites people could grab while mingling or waiting for their henna. But her favourite part of the night came in a quiet realisation. 'I just looked around and saw all the women I love - my friends, cousins, aunts - dancing and laughing with me,' she said. 'It was all girls, which made it feel even more special. There was so much freedom in the room, so much closeness. It was everything I had dreamed of and more.' Algeria Aryne In Algeria, the Henna Night - 'lemlila' or 'la nuit du henné' - is a deeply familial ritual, often held in the bride's home. The event differs across regions: in Algiers, it might include Andalusian melodies and urban customs, while in cities like Constantine and Tlemcen, older Amazigh and Ottoman influences linger. The bride wears the Katefa, a traditional velvet gown embroidered with golden thread, often inherited from previous generations. Close women relatives gather to apply henna, a symbol of fertility, protection, and joy, often accompanied by zaghareet, soft ululations, and the scent of orange blossom water. Coins, candles, and sugar-coated almonds - dragées - are passed around as gestures of sweetness and blessing. Aryne grew up in Constantine, where Henna Nights start quietly. A hush settled over the room as her grandmother began to sing. 'She always mixed the henna herself,' Aryne told me. 'Powder, milk, orange blossom water, it smelled like something sacred.' The bride sat still while coins were pressed into her hands. Two girls, one on each side, held candles and waited to be blessed. 'We'd all repeat the song after my grandmother. That's the part I remember most, all our voices in one breath.' In Aryne's family, a traditional Katefa dress has been passed down for generations. 'All my sisters wore it for their Henna. I hope my daughter wears it one day too.' When the singing ended, the mood shifted, dragées falling like confetti. Someone shouted 'Salu 'ala Mohammed', and the dancing began. 'That dress carries our whole story,' Aryne said. 'Wearing it feels like being held by everyone who wore it before.' Bahrain Zain In Bahrain, the Henna Night blends Khaleeji rhythms with deep-rooted tribal traditions. Unlike the more formal wedding reception, the Henna is an intimate, women-led celebration filled with music, poetry, and teasing chants. It's held in the bride's home or a rented hall, with friends and relatives dancing in embroidered jalabiyas and kaftans, hair loosened, gold glinting under fairy lights. Henna is applied to the bride's hands in delicate patterns, often by a relative or hired artist, while the women gather around her singing traditional Bahraini song, passed down word for word. Clapping and rhythmic stomping become their percussion section, and ululations rise between verses as blessings echo through the night. Zain's voice note started mid-song: "حنّاج عيّين يا بنية", a traditional Bahraini chant meaning, "Henna on your hands, O Daughter." 'We sing this around the bride, clapping, teasing her with love,' she said. 'The lyrics are blessings, jokes, praise. They build and build until everyone's screaming 'Allah, Allah, Allah' together.' She told me the bride sits in the middle of the room as women circle her, dancing in kaftans that shimmer under fairy lights. 'It gets sweaty, messy, joyful. Someone always forgets the sweets, and it's still perfect,' Zain said. 'There's no need for structure. The rhythm knows what to do.' For her, the songs carry the ceremony. 'They're not just tradition,' she said. 'They're memory you can sing.' Sudan Nermien In Sudan, Nermien explained, Henna celebrations are thoughtfully split across gendered spaces - Laylat Al-Henna for the bride, and Jirtiq or Henna Night for the groom. The bride's night is an intimate gathering of women, often held at home, filled with 'Aghani Banat' (girls' songs) that mix flirtation, wisdom, and play. Henna is drawn in dark, intricate designs using a locally made black paste, usually covering the hands, feet, and sometimes arms, depending on region and custom. Perfumed smoke from bukhoor wafts through the room, while aunties and grandmothers take turns leading dances and applying the henna with practiced care. The groom's night, by contrast, is public and performative, part wedding, part communal offering. Guests arrive bearing gifts or write their names and contributions in a daftar (notebook). A sheep might be sacrificed. The groom wears a red firka (waist sash), and sits atop a wooden angareb (traditional bed), where an elder woman - not his mother, but another person who is respected - applies henna to his palms. Music, poetry, and candlelight shape the night into a blessing wrapped in rhythm. 'It's always someone with enough love and distance,' Nermien added. Candles are lit, and the night closes in song. 'This is how we carry responsibility. With joy, with music, with each other.' Lebanon Zeena Henna Nights in Lebanon don't follow a rigid template, but when held, they take on the texture of a family's history -intimate, musical, and shaped by what each generation chooses to carry forward. While not universal, the tradition has grown more visible in recent years, especially among families reconnecting with village customs or Levantine heritage. Music is central: Fairuz, zaffe chants, and dabke beats often bleed into each other, echoing from balconies and basements. The bride might wear a heavily embroidered gown, layered with jewellery passed down or borrowed. The setting could be a living room lit with fairy lights or a small hall lined with folding chairs and food. Henna itself is often applied casually by relatives, not for show but for meaning - more gesture than ornament. There's rarely a line between guests and performers; everyone sings, dances, serves, remembers. 'I don't think we know how to do a chill Henna in Lebanon,' Zeena laughed. Her sister's Henna was a full-out affair - a gown embroidered in gold, layered jewellery, tables packed with kibbeh, tabbouleh, maamoul, and knefeh. Fairuz played as friends danced around the bride, singing zaffe chants. 'Seeing my mum dance with my sister was the moment,' Zeena told me. 'That's when I cried.' She described the night as a celebration of presence. 'Everyone was looking at my sister, but really, they were seeing every woman they've ever loved. Their daughters, sisters, mothers. We all saw ourselves in her for a second.' She said her aunt whispered, 'We danced like this in '81,' and the room felt layered with memory. 'Henna lets us step into joy that belongs to all of us,' Zeena said. 'It's our night as well as the bride's." Somalia Sagal In Somali culture, Henna Nights are known as 'Shaash Saar', a celebratory ritual that marks the bride's transition into marriage. The ceremony varies by region and family, but traditionally includes poetry, singing, dancing, and the symbolic tying of a shaash (headscarf) around the bride's head to signify her new status. While the ritual is deeply rooted in Somali heritage, its practice continues and evolves in the diaspora, where Henna Nights have become powerful spaces for memory, connection, and cultural continuity. Tea, halwa, and sweets are staples; music might include traditional Somali buraanbur poetry or pop songs played on someone's phone. Henna itself is applied not only to the bride, but often shared among sisters, cousins, and guests. These nights are less about strict protocol and more about gathering, where care is expressed through movement, scent, and shared ritual. For Sagal, who grew up in the Somali diaspora, Henna Nights connect past and future. 'We're not always in Somalia, but we bring Somalia into the room,' she said. Tea is poured, halwa passed around, and aunties lead wedding dances as girls trace henna on each other's arms. 'My grandmother always had henna on her hands,' Sagal said. 'She said it made her feel beautiful. She didn't wait for a wedding.' Henna, for them, is about rhythm and softness. 'It fades,' she said, 'but it leaves something behind. A reminder. A conversation between generations.' Sagal sees the night as rehearsal, not for marriage, but for care. 'It's the one night where we make celebration look easy.' Jordan & Palestine Dana Henna Nights across Jordan and Palestine carry layers of meaning that shift by region, but remain anchored in memory, land, and matriarchal tradition. Though called different names- 'Laylat al-Henna', 'Heffeh' or simply 'the night before' - the gathering usually takes place in the bride's family home, where women from across generations sing, dance, and prepare the bride for her transition. Embroidered thobes are central: each city or village carries its own patterns and colour schemes, stitched into the fabric as living geography. Songs like 'Zareef al-Toul' or 'Dal'ona' echo over hand claps and dabka steps that start suddenly and spread through the room. Henna is not always applied by a professional, often, it's brushed on slowly by relatives, mid-conversation, mid-song. The atmosphere is intimate, but never quiet: a mix of soft chaos, shared food, prayer, teasing, and blessing. Across borders and displacement, Henna Nights remain one of the most enduring communal rituals in Palestinian and Jordanian wedding culture, rooted in land, carried in movement, and made tender by the women who keep it alive. Dana's cousin's Henna opened with women holding olive branches, entering in a line. 'The olive branch means so much- peace, land, memory,' she said. Everyone wore embroidered thobes specific to their cities. 'You could read the room like a map,' Dana told me. 'Gaza blues, Ramallah reds, Bethlehem patterns. Each one told you where that woman came from.' Dabka broke out in every corner. Women sang over each other. 'It was chaos, but soft,' she said. The henna was applied while women whispered advice and held hands. 'It wasn't about the design. It was about the act, one woman caring for another.' Even the food felt like archive: msakhan rolls, fatayer, Arabic coffee passed hand to hand. Dana smiled. 'Someone always says, 'Drink it all, for barakeh.' That's what Henna is. A room full of barakeh.'
New York Post
30-06-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Post
Robots replace hotel check-in staff — and a tourist freaks out when they talk back: ‘Don't look at me'
Is it artificial inn-telligence? Machines are seemingly rendering us obsolete in every sector, from manufacturing to the restaurant industry. In a recent example, an Argentinian tourist was taken aback after discovering that her hotel in Japan had replaced its receptionists with talking robots, as seen in a dystopian TikTok video with more than 845,000 views. 'The receptionists are robots,' wailed the traveler — who goes by @manuenalemania — in the clip, before panning to the cybernetic clerks, who stand stiffly behind the counter in white outfits and pillbox hats like something out of 'Blade Runner.' Advertisement 'Don't look at me, don't look at me, don't look at me,' frets the TikTokker as one of the robo-receptionists greets her. 3 One of the robo-receptionists at the Henn na Hotel in Tokyo. @manuenalemania/TikTok At one point, it even wishes her a 'delightful stay.' Advertisement She was reportedly staying at a Henn na Hotel — 'Henn na' translates to 'strange' in Japanese — in Tokyo, a chain that enlists a variety of humanoid hospitality bots to cater to guests, The Travel reported. The first Henn na opened in Nagasaki with the goal of revolutionizing the hospitality industry by providing visitors with more expedient service. There are now more than 20 branches of the futuristic inns, whose lobbies are staffed by either humanoid or — wait for it — dinosaur droids. Other high-tech amenities include interactive holograms and RoBoHoN, a mobile robot assistant. 3 'The receptionists are robots,' wailed the traveler. @manuenalemania/TikTok While the intent was to enhance the check-in experience, Manu found the experience extremely unsettling. Advertisement 'You scare me a lot,' she says to one of the automatons while checking in. She scans her passport at the automated kiosk and inputs the dates of her stay, after which the machine deposits a key card. 3 The Henn na Hotel in Tokyo. Ned Snowman – That's when the robot addresses her. 'Your check-in is now complete,' the droid rigidly declares. 'We hope you have a delightful stay at our hotel.' Advertisement It then bows, prompting the freaked-out Manu to exclaim, 'Ay noooooooo!' Commenters were similarly creeped out by the check-in droids, whose role appears to be purely cosmetic. 'You study hospitality for this,' said one, commenting on the phenomenon of robots replacing human staff. 'At least they didn't treat you badly,' said another, while others compared the bots to something out of the sci-fi thriller series 'Black Mirror.' Coincidentally, Henna has notably 'furloughed' over half of its 240 robotic staffers due to operational challenges, including malfunctions and a failure to meet guest expectations, which ironically created more work for their flesh-and-blood counterparts, the Travel reported. Many customers claimed that the robot receptionists would often misinterpret commands, highlighting the limitations of this so-called high-tech hospitality. Advertisement As such, Henna has hired more human employees to pick up the slack.
India.com
28-05-2025
- Entertainment
- India.com
Meet Pakistani actress who made her debut with Rishi Kapoor, got divorced thrice, her ex-husband is famous Bollywood actor, now she is married to.., she is..
Meet Pakistani actress who made her debut with Rishi Kapoor, got divorced thrice, her ex-husband is famous Bollywood actor, now she is married to.., she is.. In the glitzy and glamorous world of Bollywood, there is a lot that happens that meets the eye. Behind the picture-perfect life of an artist, there are often turbulent interpersonal relationships, complex dynamics that are overshadowed by the glamour. However, being a public figure, actors are always under high scrutiny, especially with the new age media where even an Instagram engagement becomes the headline. One such story is of an actress whose name started rising because of her work, however, it was her personal life that actually gained more attention from the audience. The person we are talking about is no other than Zeba Bakhtiar. She is a Pakistani actress who captivated millions with her role in the film Henna, which came out in 1991. Starring opposite Rishi Kapoor, this film was produced and directed by Raj Kapoor's son, Randhir Kapoor. With this performance of hers, she quickly rose to fame and became a fan favorite; however, her Bollywood career didn't last long. Zeba did a few more Hindi films, but they didn't quite hit the mark, and eventually, she returned to Pakistan. Zeba went back to her home country and became a popular star there. She resumed working in the film and TV industry there, eventually making her one of the most respected stars in Pakistan. Besides Zeba's successful career, it was her personal life that made headlines. Zeba was born in Quetta, and she is the daughter of a former Attorney General of Pakistan, late Yahya Bakhtiar. She was raised in Quetta and later moved to Karachi, where her acting career started. However, it was her married life that was quite eventful. Zeba was married four times. First, she got married in 1982 to Salman Waliyani, a man from Quetta. They also have a daughter, but their relationship didn't last for long, and they got divorced eventually. Her second marriage was in 1989 with the famous Bollywood actor and comedian, Javed Jaffrey, which created a lot of buzz. Initially Zeba also denied the marriage but Javed Jaffrey exposed their marriage certificate, confirming their marriage. Their marriage was also short lived and ended up in a divorce within a year In 1993, the Pakistani actress got married to Pakistani singer Adnan Sami for the third time. Their union also attracted significant attention. The couple even starred together in the Pakistani film called Sargam, but their relationship ended in divorce in 1997. They had a son, Azaan Sami Khan, who is now a well-known figure himself. After their split, both parents fought for custody, eventually agreeing to co-parent. Azaan is now married and has children, making Zeba a proud grandmother. Finally, in 2008, Zeba married Sohail Khan Leghari, marking her fourth marriage. Sohail and Zeba are happily married now and in a steady marriage. Today, Zeba Bakhtiar continues to act in Pakistani television, enjoying both her professional life and family time as a grandmother.
Time of India
21-05-2025
- General
- Time of India
6 Plants That Bring Bad Luck to Your Home (According to Vastu & Feng Shui)
Not every plant is a green thumb's blessing; some, according to ancient wisdom, are more like botanical bad omens. Houseplants typically purify air and lift spirits, but Vastu Shastra and Feng Shui caution against certain leafy companions, believing they can attract negative energy, stagnation, or even financial woes. So, before you perfectly position that trendy cactus by your vision board, you might want to check its cosmic resume. Here are 6 plants believed to bring bad luck to your home: Plant (Imli): In Indian traditions, tamarind trees hold sacred significance, but their presence inside or very near a home is often advised against. It's thought to attract restless spirits and disturb domestic peace, potentially ushering in drama worthy of a daily soap opera. Plant: Soft, fluffy, and seemingly innocent, cotton plants are surprisingly considered harbingers of misfortune and poverty. Vastu principles suggest they can lead to financial instability, making them the quiet disruptors of the plant world. A low-maintenance, Instagram-friendly favorite, but beware its prickly charm. According to Feng Shui, the sharp thorns of a cactus are believed to invite conflict, stress, and tension into the home. It's like placing a constant source of passive-aggressive energy right on your coffee table. These miniature trees are undeniably artistic, yet their symbolism in Vastu and Feng Shui is concerning. They represent stunted growth, both financially and personally. Keeping a Bonsai indoors is often seen as subtly signalling to the universe that your content with limitations. or Dried Plants: While seemingly obvious, it's worth reiterating. Holding onto that crunchy, neglected corner plant for "vibes" is a no-go. Dried or deceased plants are potent symbols of decay, stagnation, and blocked energy flow, essentially acting as the unintentional haunted house props of home décor. (Henna) Plant: Despite its beautiful cultural uses, the Mehendi plant is traditionally believed to attract paranormal activity and emotional turmoil if grown within the confines of a home. As grandmothers often wisely advise: listen to their wisdom on such matters. A Friendly Reminder: These beliefs are rooted in traditional Vastu Shastra and Feng Shui practices and are not scientifically substantiated. However, when it comes to energy flow and household harmony, many prefer to err on the side of caution. Discover everything about astrology at the Times of India , including daily horoscopes for Aries , Taurus , Gemini , Cancer , Leo , Virgo , Libra , Scorpio , Sagittarius , Capricorn , Aquarius , and Pisces .
