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The Print
19 hours ago
- Entertainment
- The Print
I hated dogs but adopted one. I didn't know it then, but I was the one being rescued
There was a time I would flinch whenever a dog walked too close, quickly crossing the street while averting my gaze and clutching my pants like they were the last defence between me and a mouthful of slobber. I couldn't understand why people kept dogs as pets. The mess, the hair, the privacy intrusion – it all sounded quite unappealing to me. I grew up on the first floor of an apartment building. And whenever I saw a dog resting on the stairs, I would hesitate to go downstairs. They were, to me, noisy, needy, and irrational creatures, unpredictable at best and terrifying at worst. I wasn't just indifferent to them; I was a hater. To the point where I even tasted dog soup during my first visit to South Korea — until one film made me see them differently. I hired a trainer to help me do better, and it worked. Now, I step out with treats in my hand. Whenever Hachi starts reacting to other dogs, I just say 'leave it' and gently guide him away. The leash pulling still happens, but I have made my peace with Hachi's personality, and we co-exist happily. My Hachi was an extremely reactive dog – he lunged at other pets, and barked incessantly. I didn't know how to handle it in the early days. I would either shout at other dog parents to take their pets away, or hit Hachi on the head to discipline him. He would immediately cower and bury his head in his legs, afraid of being struck again. But that was me as an inexperienced, first-time pet parent, being over-reactive to my reactive dog. That was me making mistakes and punishing my dog without knowing his trauma. That was me, a former dog hater, frustrated that my pet wasn't 'normal' like many others. Kannada movie 777 Charlie (2022), which follows the journey of a lonely factory worker and his Labrador, stayed with me long after it was over. It wasn't a perfect film, but it was sincere, and it made me decide that it was time to get a dog of my own. Hachi had been abandoned and had spent some time on the streets until he was put in a cage shelter. I named him after the loyal Japanese dog who waited forever for his owner at the same spot. Hachi mesmerised me with his soulful eyes and the lion-hearted way he carried his weather-beaten body. He was riddled with scars, had signs of hip dysplasia, and had the quiet patience of someone used to waiting. I didn't know it then, but I was the one being rescued. I was clear from the start that I wouldn't buy affection. While those uneasy around big dogs generally buy small-sized 'toy' breeds, I wanted a regular-sized dog. And unlike most, I wasn't keen on a particular breed either. If more people adopted dogs instead of buying fancy breeds from dubious sources, we would have fewer dogs suffering in shelters. Hachi always had a playful glint in his eyes. The moment the cage opened, he jumped at me and scratched my arm. And everything I thought I knew about animals, about myself, and about the very essence of love, shattered and reformed. Also read: Dogs were adored in medieval India. They saved cows from asuras, fought boars & tigers A ball of anxiety Hachi was a whirlwind of anxieties when he first arrived. Rescued from unforgiving streets, he carried the scars of survival: a wary glance, a flinch at sudden movements, and a deep-seated fear of enclosed spaces. He was a living example of the harsh realities faced by India's street dogs. These resilient creatures navigate a world teeming with traffic, hunger, and, all too often, human cruelty. They live on the fringes, their lives a precarious balance between scavenging for scraps and dodging dangers. Bringing Hachi home was less an adoption and more a reluctant truce. I, the lifelong dog hater, found myself navigating a world of puppy pads, chew toys, and the bewildering language of barks and whines. The initial weeks were a test of patience, a battle against ingrained biases. But then, a subtle yet profound shift occurred. Unconditional affection It's almost magical how dogs know what you're going through. Hachi walks into my room, sits beside me and just looks at the wall. How does he know that caressing him will make me happy? He stares into my eyes and says a lot without speaking anything. It's like he's saying: 'I know what you're going through, and I'm here for you'. He's like an anti-depression pill in furry form. And that look he gives me when I'm leaving him alone at home– it always breaks something inside me. I have a camera installed in my living room, and every time I step out, I check on him. He's always plonked next to the door, waiting for me. Dogs truly spend most of their time waiting for us. When he runs to me upon my return from work, all the tension of a supposed bad day goes away. Hachi can't read time, but he waits for me exactly outside my room when it is time for his walk, and barks in desperation if his food is late by even five minutes. It's like his biological rhythm is the same as mine. Hachi is always there, tail wagging a frantic rhythm, eyes shining with an almost unbearable joy at my mere presence. It is a love so pure, so uncomplicated, that it has bypassed all my cynicism. He doesn't care about my bank balance or my bad hair days. He simply loves. This wasn't the unconditional affection I was accustomed to in human relationships, which are often riddled with expectations and unspoken demands. This was absolute, unwavering devotion. Hachi never demanded affection. He simply stayed. Beside me when I worked. A few steps behind me during evening walks. Curled at my feet during monsoon power outages. Asking for nothing but giving everything. Also read: World's most expensive dog turned out to be a hoax. Abusive breeding is still very real Dogs don't judge, they just love Hachi is naughty and gets irritated when there's noise outside. Many times, I shout at him because he won't stop barking. He gets traumatised by noise, and I get irritated by his noisier response. He often tugs at his leash and makes me go around in circles. But I give in each time. After all, he only gets 30 minutes a day to see and smell the world. I cannot forget how euphoric he was on his first visit to the beach, so happy that he refused to come out of the water. One day, I will take him to see the snow and even the desert, so that he knows that the world is bigger than our apartment. Dogs have this mysterious ability to make you more human. They hold up a mirror to your better self – the version of you that's patient, present, and open-hearted. With Hachi, I began noticing things I never had the time or tenderness to appreciate before: the gentle rhythm of his breathing as he rested on my lap, the sheer joy on his face during windy auto rides, and the trust in his gaze whenever our eyes met. It softened something in me. And from that softness bloomed empathy not just for him, but for people. Also read: India can resolve dog-human conflict like US and Netherlands without killing the canine Brevity that burns and blesses If dogs have one flaw, it's that they don't live long enough. It's a truth every dog parent faces, a poignant reminder of impermanence. Years pass in a blur of belly rubs, fetch games, and countless moments we didn't know we'd cherish until later. Each day with my dog feels like a precious gift. It forces me to appreciate the present, to cherish every sloppy kiss, every tail wag, every quiet moment of companionship. I know he will be the first in our family to die. But I have to be practical and learn to make peace with it. Getting a dog is setting yourself up for eventual heartbreak. All I can do is make his time with me special. I'm only human, so I may not be perfect every day, but I try to be for Hachi. He has hip issues like most Labradors, so I have already saved up for a customised wheelchair for when he gets older and can no longer jump over people. My journey from dog hater to devoted dog parent has been nothing short of a revelation. Hachi didn't just change my life; he expanded it. He taught me about a love so pure that it transcends words, about empathy that requires no language, and about gratitude for life's simple joys. He showed me that sometimes, the greatest lessons come on four paws, with a wagging tail and a heart full of devotion. In doing so, he helped me find a piece of my own humanity I didn't even know was missing. Not everyone is born a dog lover. Some of us need a little nudge – a quiet presence on a rainy evening, a pair of steady eyes that see through the walls we've built. But once you let them in, dogs have a way of rewriting your soul. They remind you that you are capable of deep tenderness. That empathy is not a trait you're born with, but a muscle you can build if you're willing to learn. Vaibhav Wankhede is a creative marketer and writer. Views are personal. (Edited by Zoya Bhatti)
Time Out
16-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Time Out
Peak in the Park takes over the grass with pets, films and live orchestra
Chula's 100th Anniversary Park is going paws first. For the first time ever, the Property Management of Chulalongkorn University and Skyline Film Bangkok May 16-18, from 6.45-8.45pm. Kick back with your best four-legged friends and stretch out on the grass for three handpicked dog lover films: May 16 : You've Got Mail May 17 : Hachi May 18 : 101 Dalmatians Before the sun dips and movie nights begin, catch mellow orchestra tunes from Chula's own ensemble 4.30pm-6.30 pm, along with tasty bites from Banthat Thong's cult-fave food stalls. The vet faculty of Chulalongkorn University will also host a free doggo health check station. All proceeds after costs go to the student led stray animal club so your pup's wellness check does more good than one tail wag.
Forbes
16-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Forbes
Kenshi Yonezu Talks World Tour, Music Styles, And The Future Of A.I.
Photo by Jiro Konami Kenshi Yonezu is a man of few words. Though he may be one of the biggest Japanese artist in the world, he doesn't want to talk about it, but rather use his music to speak for him. It may be one of the many reasons why he's reached domestic and international success, creating experimental Vocaloid songs as Hachi in 2009 and, later, his own music, which includes the theme songs to the Academy Award-winning animated feature film The Boy and The Heron and the popular anime series Chainsaw Man. Known for his eclectic blending of J-pop, rock, and electronic sounds, Yonezu's music has been said to pull 'listeners into a unique and dynamic musical journey" with his captivating melodies, masterful visual concepts, and deep, thoughtful lyrics. His music has been his gateway of expression, as the 34-year-old 'shy' artist admits he finds it difficult to have a conversation, often leading him to second-guess his responses. But, when he's on stage and in the studio, he becomes a different person – one where he feels the most 'open and free.' 'When I'm performing music, that's music I've created and been playing for a long time,' Yonezu says through an interpreter over Zoom. 'I had this time to work out my feelings as I'm [making] music. [My music is] very honest in terms of how I feel because I know that it comforts me.' U.S. fans got the opportunity to see this side of Yonezu as he performed sold-out shows in New York and Los Angeles last week for his JUNK World Tour. His set included music from his singles and many albums – including his latest album Lost Corner (2024) which features 'Kick Back,' the opening theme for Chainsaw Man and the first Japanese song to receive RIAA Gold certification. For Yonezu, he was 'ecstatic' to be able to perform for his fans in the U.S. Although he was last in LA about 14-15 years ago, his stop at Radio City Music Hall was the very first time he's been to New York. He nods, giving a slight grin, 'I'm having a lot of fun.' Below, the J-pop star talks about his decision to finally tour Europe and North America and how different the fans are from Japan, how he defines his music style, J-pop's emerging popularity, and how he feels about artificial intelligence (A.I.) in art and music. Kenshi Yonezu: As you know, Japanese music has gradually become welcomed overseas recently. That's the present situation right now. Since I've been doing Vocaloid for a long time, there have been people who have been waiting for me, and I thought the time was right to be able to go overseas and do a live performance for them. Kenshi Yonezu: I'm not really interested in pursuing my own style per se or one fixed style. Since the beginning, I've always been more of the type to pursue what I'm interested in. What I feel is fun for me at the moment [is] Kenshi Yonezu: I'm a person who creates songs, so melody is very important to me. That's the core of what I do. It might be interesting to be able to [make] music that doesn't rely on melody too much. Maybe rap [would] be interesting. Photo by Jiro Konami Kenshi Yonezu: My music career started on the internet, so I benefited from new technology at the time, which was Vocaloid. Nowadays, Vocaloid has gone beyond Japanese borders and has been accepted around the world. But, when I was creating Vocaloid music, it was really a culture within the Japanese scene, so that was where I come from. Recently, the Japanese music scene has become even more domestically oriented. Sadly, not many [Japanese] people are listening to music from overseas. It's usually the choice between either Japanese music or K-pop. That's the tone in Japan at the moment. But I've been influenced by Western music, so it makes me sad that that's the situation right now. On the other hand, it might indicate that the Japanese are more comfortable with their own identity. I don't think that [is] a bad thing if you think of it on those terms. Of course, the population in Japan is receding right now, so the Japanese music industry hasn't grown exponentially recently. I'm not sure what sort of changes are to come. As a musician, whether there is going to be or won't be a change, I have to keep thinking about which way to travel in the future. I do sense the change and shift [in the West] very strongly. The COVID pandemic was the catalyst for Japanese anime to expand even more in the global scene. That helped a lot. When I started, it was the Vocaloid scene. So the internet was huge in that respect, serving as a way for cultural exchange between my music and people from other countries. That was part of it. The internet isn't always good, but it can be used for good purposes, [despite] some negative aspects to it. However, the fact that people overseas listen to my music makes me very happy. Kenshi Yonezu: In terms of A.I., it's a huge problem or theme for people working in music. I've heard songs on the internet where people have used A.I. to imitate me. They're really well crafted. When I listen to these songs, they're supposedly my voice- sometimes I really think that was me. Did I actually sing that? Perhaps there might not be a need for myself because A.I. can take over. Of course, when most people come across something beneficial or easy to access, they'll use it because it's there. So, why wouldn't you use it? But my generation of people [has] an aversion towards things created by A.I.. Eventually, there will be generations to come who will accept it wholeheartedly. You might not feel the same way we do at the moment. Of course, when I started in the Vocaloid scene, [many] people used to say,' these aren't songs [and] you're demeaning songs' [in a trivial way.] It [was] silly. Nowadays, for young people at the time in my generation, it was fascinating. You can't equate A.I. with Vocaloid. They're totally different things, and you can't speak of them in the same terms, but it's not exactly the right way to go. But in culture, what we accept as natural now or [what they're used to] becomes a form of habit- it depends on the age you're living in. Western chamber music started with the bourgeois. It eventually filtered down to us, regular human beings. I'm not from aristocratic roots or not virtuous at all, but if that hadn't happened in the course of [that] time, [then it wouldn't have] become acceptable as an everyday form of music. [They] wouldn't have been okay with listening to chamber music at all. I don't want you to take this to mean I'm advocating A.I. I do feel strongly that it's immoral. But, as a musician, I have to find a way to work together with it. That's how I feel at the moment. There are some core aspects of myself that I can't let go of, but I have to find a healthy way to work with it and move forward. Kenshi Yonezu: Personally, I was most surprised by the stomping of the feet that accompanied the cheering from the crowd. The sound was almost akin to the rumble of the ground from deep below. I'd never experienced anything like that at my concerts in East Asia, so that caught me by surprise. Kenshi Yonezu: Right now, I've become more focused on how long I'll be able to continue creating [music]. I don't have a concrete goal, but this world tour has helped me realize just how many people outside of Japan have been listening to my music. I was profoundly moved to have been so passionately welcomed by them. So in the future, I'd like to be more conscious of these people who live outside of Japan as I continue with my career in music.
CairoScene
22-03-2025
- Entertainment
- CairoScene
District 5's Newest Japanese Eatery is All About ‘Flavour over Excess'
Having just opened its doors, Hara Hachi Bu doesn't want you to eat till you're full, here's why. In Japan's Okinawa, 'Hara Hachi Bu' is not merely a phrase but a rule. Eat until you're 80% full, no more. It's about restraint, balance, knowing when to stop. In District 5, it's now the name of Cairo's newest Japanese restaurant. Founded by Tamer Leithy—the force behind Mori Sushi, Tamara, Mince, Ted's, and The Grocer— alongside Egyptian actor Asser Yassin and other partners, 'Hara Hachi Bu' is a deliberate departure from Cairo's usual sushi free-for-alls. No overloaded platters, no endless rolls drowned in sauce. Just a measured approach to Japanese food, where quality isn't lost in excess. 'It's essentially a concept that guides you to eat lightly—it's all about fostering a holistic lifestyle,' Leithy tells SceneEats. The idea extends beyond portion sizes. Seafood is flown in twice a week, never frozen, only chilled. The menu is stripped down to the essentials: premium sushi, carefully built ramen, dishes that speak for themselves. 'We're not just serving sushi platters and huge sushi offers; it's a slower experience,' Leithy says. Still in its soft-opening phase, Hara Hachi Bu is easing into its full form. The menu will grow, but the ethos is set: precision over indulgence, balance over abundance.
