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<ul><li>Even though the ‘<keyword id="3080230" type="General" weightage="20" keywordseo="gig-economy" source="Orion">gig economy</keyword> workforce’ is a new concept, the <keyword id="37465" type="General" weightage="20" keywordseo="film-industry" source="Orion">film industry</keyword> has been working with such a model for decades.</li><li>The Indian film industry employed over 2.5 lakh people in 2017 alone.</li><li>Despite the unionisation of the Indian film industry that protects the rights of freelancers, there are a lot of issues left to be dealt with.</li></ul>Gig workforce is the hottest new trend that has emerged with the rise of the digital economy leading to the advent of companies like Zomato, Swiggy and <keyword id="8681398" type="General" weightage="20" keywordseo="urban-company" source="Orion">Urban Company</keyword>. Widely overlooked, but the concept of hiring contractual employees has been around for decades, if not centuries. That’s right. The Indian film industry has been one of the biggest employers of gig economy workers since its beginning. The Indian film industry employed over <a href="https://www.statista.com/statistics/731218/employment-in-the-film-industry-india/">2.5 lakh </a>people in 2017 alone. Business Insider hosted Academy Award winner and Indian film producer Guneet Monga and Urban Company’s cofounder Varun Khaitan in its Future of Work event — held on September 16 and 17 — to throw more light on the topic. Monga said that the film industry in general has been employing several freelancers for decades, whether it is light boys, dancers, junior artists, art directors, cinematographers and more. The term <keyword id="7771650" type="General" weightage="20" keywordseo="gig-workers" source="Orion">gig workers</keyword> has come up with the advent of the digital economy. “It can seem unstructured, but it actually works very well in the <keyword id="278613" type="General" weightage="20" keywordseo="freelance" source="Orion">freelance</keyword> business there… There is a union in this segment and that brings about a structure. But there are also some major challenges that come with it,” she added. She elaborated that the many freelancers have spoken about how difficult it is to get into the union or how expensive it is. Besides this, the segment does not get health benefits, does not come under labour codes and more, even though the payments are fixed due to the existence of a union. Watch More: What film producer Guneet Monga talks about unionisation in Indian film industry and what challenges it presents <div type="javascript" title="Custom" contenttype="Video"><cdata><![CDATA[ ]]></cdata></div> Khaitan, on the other hand, elaborated how Urban Company, an at-home services startup, has managed to overcome such challenges in the beauty and home segment. He noted that a salon or a service shop would employ 10-15 professionals and were essentially the “middlemen”, therefore a professional’s income would be capped. Urban Company has not only offered a more flexible working environment, but also increased their take home income and offered them health benefits. Khaitan also noted that allowing these service professionals to get in touch with customers directly has provided them with more respect and business prepositions as well. “There is actually a very high price point here [Indian film industry] even to become a part of the Union. And then there is a supply of enough and more people are constantly getting inducted, but there is definitely a bottleneck on how unions function. They do protect them [freelancers] in terms of providing for jobs, but the kind of structures that you [Urban Company] are talking about is still, I feel, not in the best shape here right now. And this has just been our industry that has been thriving on freelance,” Monga added. She elaborated that while the Indian film industry has been striving for freelancers, it's not with a vision of bringing people together or offering insurance or health benefits or looking into labour laws. Watch More: What Urban Company’s Varun Khaitan had to say on the current conditions of freelancers in Indian film industry <div type="javascript" title="Custom" contenttype="Video"><cdata><![CDATA[ ]]></cdata></div> Khaitan, sharing his experience, said “There are middlemen who claim to be good representatives and good samaritans of the workers, but are actually not. They are in some sense the heart of the problem, because a few things that just came up in this chat show there is no sense of balance between supply and demand in what is happening across the trade in the film industry and what that leads to is there is no sense of actual monthly earnings. So everyone just fights for what I can make on this job and it leads to an unheadly spiral.” SEE ALSO <a href="https://www.businessinsider.in/careers/news/the-only-way-to-beat-the-bots-from-taking-your-job-is-to-be-more-human/articleshow/86282273.cms">Future of Work 2021: The only way to beat the bots from taking your job is to be more human</a> <a href="https://www.businessinsider.in/stock-market/news/easemytrip-touches-market-cap-of-a-billion-dollars/articleshow/86285130.cms">EaseMyTrip touches market cap of a billion dollars</a> <a href="https://www.businessinsider.in/stock-market/news/biocon-hero-motocorp-tvs-motor-banks-and-other-top-stocks-to-watch-out-for-on-september-17/articleshow/86281250.cms">Biocon, Hero MotoCorp, TVS Motor, banks and other top stocks to watch out for on September 17</a>

Here is what the Indian film industry can learn from gig economy firms like Zomato and Urban Company

<ul class="summary-list"><li><keyword id="11892747" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="india" source="Orion">India</keyword>'s commercial <keyword id="12102752" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="surrogacy" source="Orion">surrogacy</keyword> market was estimated to be worth $375 million before it was banned.</li><li>As people look overseas, the former Soviet state of <keyword id="11931393" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="georgia" source="Orion">Georgia</keyword> is emerging as a favorite option.</li></ul>Thousands of aspiring parents from around the world have turned to Dr. Nayana Patel for help.She has delivered more than 1,000 babies from surrogates at the Akanksha Clinic in Anand, in western India. Her prominence within Indian surrogacy led to her being interviewed on "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yW6xM2dZO3Q">The Oprah Winfrey Show</a>" in 2006.But she told Insider that she hadn't had any new work since February. The future of an industry she helped build might lie 2,000 miles away.<div type="image" title="Photo of a woman seated in a chair with her arms across her front" height="274" width="365" msid="92087109" hostid="261"></div>A law banning commercial surrogacy, passed by India's Parliament in December, has upended the sector in a nation that for years was a surrogacy capital. Surrogacy in India was a $375 million business spread across <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/26410397.2021.1878674">3,000 clinics</a> before the ban, doctors, researchers, and legal experts who spoke with Insider estimated.That's almost a tenth of what Global Markets Insights estimates is a <a href="https://www.gminsights.com/industry-analysis/surrogacy-market">$4 billion</a> global market that's expected grow by almost a third by 2027.But the ban is pushing India's chunk of that market — which relies on <a href="https://nhrc.nic.in/sites/default/files/Report_NHRC_Surrogacy_24122018.pdf">affluent Indians</a> at a time when <a href="http://www.ijstr.org/final-print/feb2020/Infertility-An-Alarming-Situation-In-India.pdf">one in six</a> urban couples struggles with infertility — overseas. The former Soviet republic of Georgia, a rare nation where commercial surrogacy is legal and relatively inexpensive, is emerging as a favored destination.Patel recognizes that this means she might soon be flying to Tbilisi, Georgia's capital, to take on cases. "It's only natural for Indian couples to now want to go there for surrogacy," she said. "And clinics there will either bring in experts like me from India or hire local doctors."<a href="https://www.artbaby.in/">ARTbaby</a>, whose motto is "Your baby, our ART," is a surrogacy center<a href="https://www.artbaby.in/"></a> headquartered in New Delhi that's pitching its <a href="https://www.surrogacycentregeorgia.com/surrogacy/georgia-a-surrogacy-in-india-alternative/">Tbilisi facility</a> as an "alternative" for Indians. When asked how it was adapting its business in the wake of the ban, another Indian service provider, Vinsfertility, pointed to its ability to offer surrogacy services in other countries, specifically mentioning Georgia, which it said in a statement to Insider offered a "guaranteed surrogacy program."The promises are working.Five months ago, Ravinder Singh couldn't have placed Georgia on a map, he joked to Insider during an interview. Since India's ban, he and his wife, Meena — who has had three miscarriages — have spent nights poring over surrogacy options outside the country.They settled on Georgia, and in February, they flew to Tbilisi to check out different centers. The couple, who still haven't told most people in their conservative family that they're contemplating surrogacy, told relatives that they were going on a holiday.Once there, they found they weren't alone. "In every single center that we visited, we either met or heard of other Indian couples interested in surrogacy," Singh said. India was the <a href="https://gnta.ge/statistics/">13th-largest source</a> of visitors to Georgia in the first four months of 2022, up from 15th in 2019, Georgian government data indicated — though it's unclear how many of those travelers were exploring surrogacy options.India's ban follows a decade-long debate in the country over the ethics of allowing people to pay women to carry their children.Before the ban, each surrogacy in the country cost about $20,000, said Amit Karkhanis, a lawyer in Mumbai who specializes in contracts between couples and surrogates. In 2012, researchers from The Lancet <a href="https://www.thelancet.com/journals/lancet/article/PIIS0140-6736(12)61933-3/fulltext">estimated</a>, that about 25,000 children were born annually to surrogates in India, and that almost half of them were for foreign parents.In 2015, Prime Minister Narendra Modi's government banned foreigners from using Indian women as commercial surrogates. But the substantial domestic market was left untouched — until last year.The total ban "killed" the domestic surrogate market, said Hari Ramasubramanian, the chief consultant at the Indian Surrogacy Law Centre, a legal consultancy that specializes in the sector.For Georgia, the timing of the ban couldn't have been better. Two alternatives, Nepal and Cambodia, banned the practice in 2015 and 2016, respectively. India's total ban came into effect just as Ukraine, one of the world's most popular surrogacy destinations, was invaded by Russia. And while some Indian service providers are eyeing Kenya — where Vinsfertility also has a center — it can't offer a Georgia-like legal shield for those seeking surrogates. "It's murky in Kenya. There's no law recognizing surrogacy, but officials turn a blind eye," said Sharmila Rudrappa, the director of the South Asia Institute at the University of Texas at Austin and author of "Discounted Life: The Price of Global Surrogacy in India."By contrast, couples face no legal risks in Georgia, she added. Surrogacy there costs more than in India — with one provider citing a price range of <a href="https://www.caresurrogacy.com/care-georgia-program/">$30,000</a> to $39,000 — but significantly less than in the United States, where prices average between <a href="https://www.sensiblesurrogacy.com/surrogacy-costs/">$120,000</a> and $150,000, one group estimated.Georgia legalized surrogacy in 1997. Ravi Sharma, the director of ARTbaby, cited the way Georgia's laws favored adoptive parents as a pull factor: "The surrogate mother has no rights over the child. There is no mention of surrogacy or the surrogate mother on the birth certificate. There is no requirement for a lawyer."<div type="image" title="Man sitting at a desk looking to camera with a laptop in front of him" height="500" width="750" msid="92087112" hostid="261"></div>Other legal experts who spoke with Insider agreed with Sharma's interpretation of the Georgian law — which also helped the country attract some of the international surrogacy market after India's 2015 law barred foreign couples from using Indian surrogates.Many Indians were introduced to Georgia's surrogacy clinics when Lisa Ray, a supermodel and Bollywood actress, <a href="https://www.vogue.in/content/lisa-ray-just-became-a-mother-to-twins-born-via-surrogacy">spoke publicly in 2018</a> about using a Georgian surrogate to deliver her twins. Karkhanis said parents might be vulnerable to legal challenges once they return home if their child was born through commercial surrogacy in another nation. But Georgia's clear laws eliminate that concern, Ramasubramanian said.India's ban doesn't apply to "altruistic surrogacy," where someone carries a couple's child out of goodwill, rather than for payment. But that could be a shield for coercion and exploitation in a society as unequal as India, said Shiromi Chaturvedi, a psychologist whose work and research focused on surrogates."This is going to drive the industry underground," she said. "And surrogates won't even have the little protection they previously had from legal contracts."Once again, Georgia might be the beneficiary as an attractive alternative for Indian surrogates hoping for better pay in safer conditions, said Rudrappa, adding that this could expose vulnerable women to the risks of trafficking."Their shift to Georgia is real," she said. "I'm already starting to hear about it."

India banned commercial surrogacy. Now, parents are flocking to Georgia, a rare nation where it's legal &mdash; and relatively cheap.

<ul class="summary-list"><li>I competed on season nine of <a href="https://www.insider.com/bake-off-what-its-really-like-competing-in-week-one-2021-12">"The Great British Bake Off,"</a> and I lasted three weeks in the tent.</li><li>On my final week of the show, I tried to make bread with very little practice or experience.</li></ul>When I competed on <a href="https://www.insider.com/shows-to-watch-if-you-like-great-british-baking-show">"The Great British Bake Off"</a> in 2018, I had almost zero experience baking bread — so I shouldn't have been surprised that it was my undoing.I made it through three wonderful weeks on season nine, and now I'm walking everyone through <a href="https://www.insider.com/contestants-on-what-its-like-to-be-on-bake-off-secrets">what really happens</a> inside Britain's most sought-after tent — including what Paul Hollywood was like in real life. Read on for my experience getting sent home on week three: Bread Week. <h2>I barely practiced baking bread, and Paul Hollywood could tell, but he was kinder than I could've imagined</h2><div type="image" title="antony's signature challenege from bread week on season nine" height="1611" width="2148" msid="89077191" hostid="261"></div>With my lack of experience, I was pretty much mentally at the exit before I even started week three. But there were many fond memories from this week, and one of them was Hollywood. He is the bread king and a true connoisseur of all things bread, so he has a ton of knowledge on the matter.I remember his judgmental blue eyes peering across my messy station and into my defeated soul. I think he felt bad, so he decided to give me some advice.Here are two tips I got from the bread king himself: <ol><li>Active yeast mixed with flour and dropped in warm water should always rise. If it doesn't, the yeast is dead.</li><li>Yeast and salt aren't friends and should never touch each other — aka salt kills yeast.</li></ol>As this may exemplify for you, the famed judge <a href="https://www.insider.com/contestants-on-what-great-british-baking-show-judges-and-hosts-are-like">isn't always as foreboding as he appears on camera</a>. In fact, Hollywood is very fond of the bakers.I remember <a href="https://www.insider.com/bake-off-what-it-was-really-like-on-week-two-2021-12">during week two</a> when my dear friend Briony Williams started crying when Hollywood said her bake looked a mess but tasted the best. When the cameras stopped rolling the judge came around and gave Williams the tightest hug, and I wish it was me in his arms.Bottom line: Hollywood is great and a fair bit of a softie.<h2>We actually figured out what the secret technical challenge was just based on our call-sheet schedule </h2><div type="image" title="antony's naan from the technical challenge on bread week" height="1615" width="2154" msid="89077193" hostid="261"></div>On week three of season nine, the signature challenge was Chelsea buns.I chose some of Hollywood's supposed favorite flavors: peanut butter and bacon. But after the challenge, I'm not so sure my Google search results were accurate. The showstopper that week was the wedding korovai — a three-tiered enriched dough — in five hours, which is pretty much impossible. I thought the production team made this dough up until I traveled to Greece specifically to find the mighty korovai at a little bakery in the middle of Crete.Those challenges went to plan, but there was one major glitch on week three.At the start of each filming day, all the bakers receive a call sheet with the timings for the challenges. On this day, the <a href="https://www.insider.com/trying-technical-bakes-from-the-great-british-baking-show-2020">technical challenge</a> was only scheduled for an hour of filming.There are a handful of breads that you can make in an hour — a soda bread, naan, chapatis — so during the break, I remember we got talking and cracked it. It was naan.We continued to discuss how to make it, and soon enough word got out. Some people on set panicked because the bakers knew the technical.The production team had to decide whether they were going to choose a whole new bake, cut our break short so we wouldn't have more time to talk about it, or just go through with the day as planned. <h2>Even though I'm an Indian baker and knew the challenge a little beforehand, I couldn't make naan</h2>But even knowing what the secret technical challenge was going to be didn't help me. I came in the bottom rank of this challenge.I still remember Prue Leith telling me, "Your mother would be ashamed of you," since I'm <a href="https://www.insider.com/former-contestants-on-great-british-baking-show-diversity-issues">an Indian baker</a>. But there's no naan in the South of India where I'm from. This week also brought out the best in my friend Ruby Bhoghal, who empathized with me throughout the episode — until she confessed on national television, "At least I'm not the worst Indian in there." <h2>Before going on the show, I never imagined I'd be crying over baked goods</h2><div type="image" title="antony exit interview from bake off season 9" height="1616" width="2154" msid="89077195" hostid="261"></div>I never understood all the tears on <a href="https://www.insider.com/cool-things-to-know-about-the-great-british-baking-show-trivia">"Bake Off"</a> until I paraded out of the tent on national television with glistening eyes. I covered it up by calling them "happy tears."I personally didn't have a clue what this experience was going to be like or what would come after. But in no time I found myself growing fond of a bunch of people from the production company and the other bakers.I still remember the full gang singing "Leaving on a Jet Plane" after I got sent home — intended for me, I think.Then I bawled my eyes out when the team ran toward me to bid me adieu for the last time as I got into the cab. They were all so dramatic, like a Bollywood film. But it was only fitting, I must say.Although no 12 bakers (who were previously strangers) are going to love each other unconditionally, I ended up with three of my closest friends: Imelda McCarron, Williams, and Bhoghal.That was my three-week journey in the famous tent. It's an experience I'll cherish all my life and one that has really made a small-town boy from India dream big. Here are 3 things that happen after you leave "<keyword id="8453508" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="bake-off" source="Orion">Bake Off</keyword>":1. The bakers may not win a prize at the end of the show, but they usually have a shot at fameThere's no cash prize on "Bake Off," but after the show, the bakers get a small intro into the PR and talent-agency world via Love Productions.This can then lead to book deals, repeat TV appearances, a chance to tour the country for <keyword id="11894142" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="food" source="Orion">food</keyword> demos, and more.2. The bakers get a stipend to cover any necessary expenses. You get paid a nominal fee to cover any out-of-pocket expenses — something to the extent of about $400 if my memory serves me right.3. When you walk out of the tent, the #gifted frenzy commences.Considering that "Bake Off" is one of the most popular shows in the UK (and beyond), it shouldn't be all that surprising that restaurants and brands generously shower/spoil the contestants. There's also usually an opportunity for future collaborations. Antony was on "<keyword id="12273466" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="the-great-british-bake-off" source="Orion">The Great British Bake Off</keyword>." If you were on or worked on a reality-TV show and would be interested in being paid to write about your experience, email pdifiore [at] insider.com.

I competed on 'The Great British Baking Show' with little practice. Here's what it was like getting sent home.

The distance from an idea to a successful startup cannot be covered alone. Valuable companions such as mentors, networking events, great support staff and inspiring people work as a catalyst. But even before that, what sets the tone of the journey is the environment you choose to work in. 
 
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Initially bootstrapped firm owners would prefer working out from their homes, but with more and more co-working spaces mushrooming, startup owners do not have much to worry about. Cool offices spaces now come really cheap. 
 
<a href="http://www.businessinsider.in/Hereshow-Uber-is-letting-you-earn-from-its-platform-UberDost/articleshow/57083396.cms?_ga=1.184925225.1652533578.1473921169">ALSO READ: Here's how Uber is letting you earn from its platform 'UberDost'</a> 
 One such place is ONE Co.Work – a co-working space focused on fulfilling the vision of <keyword id="6362513" type="ORGANIZATION" weightage="20" keywordseo="Startups">startups</keyword> and helping them move from an idea to a successful venture. How you may think. They have gained exponential recognition and are catering to the needs of over 100 start-ups and entrepreneurs with their target market comprising of solopreneurs, musicians, SMEs, small business owners, freelancers and anyone who desires a flexible and affordable working space. 
 
<a href="http://www.businessinsider.in/forgot-a-gift-this-valentines-day-these-personalized-can-make-up-for-it/articleshow/57147185.cms?format=slideshow">ALSO READ: Forgot to gift this Valentine's day? These personalized gifts can make up for it</a> 
 
ONE Co.Work’s payment models are designed on convenient hourly, daily, weekly and monthly basis to suit the on-the-move millennial professional. As for what this place offers, check out what’s in store for startup owners who have been on the lookout for a cool and affordable workplace:

Check out ONE Co.Work, a co-working space which is changing the way freelancers work

<ul class="summary-list"><li>In the fall of 1996, photographer Alan Chin documented the early days of <keyword id="16945" type="ORGANIZATION" weightage="60" keywordseo="Taliban">Taliban</keyword> rule in Afghanistan. </li><li>Now that the Taliban has returned to power, Chin revisits the trip - 25 years later - and the images he captured. </li></ul>In the autumn of 1996, I received an assignment from The New York Times to go to Afghanistan to cover how a little-known (in the West, anyway) fundamentalist group called the Taliban had taken Kabul, the Afghan capital. This week - 25 years later - I watched from afar as the Taliban again claimed victory. I've been reflecting on the fact that this isn't the first time the Taliban has seized Kabul, nor the first time the United States has left behind its allies in Afghanistan. Then, like now, the Taliban conquered most of the country with almost no resistance, as most of the armies arrayed against it slowly defected, retreated, surrendered, or simply disappeared.Back then, Afghanistan had been consumed by a vicious civil <keyword id="6363794" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="war">war</keyword> since 1989, when the Soviet Union <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/1989/02/16/world/last-soviet-soldiers-leave-afghanistan-after-9-years-15000-dead-and-great-cost.html">withdrew its forces</a> and the United States cut off aid to the anti-Soviet mujahideen. Out of that vacuum, the Taliban formed, and it promised to end the corruption that was endemic to the warlords fracturing the country. I knew little of that at the time. I was a young photographer cutting my teeth in postwar Bosnia. Over 48 hours, I flew from Zagreb, Croatia, to London to Peshawar, Pakistan, where I was told to expect a call from the International Committee of the Red Cross, which was still making flights in and out of Kabul. I didn't want to miss my chance at a seat on one of those planes. So in that pre-cellphone era, I stayed in my hotel room binge-watching Bollywood videos on satellite TV until the phone rang.<div type="image" title="A wrecked airplane is seen on the runway." height="1993" width="3000" msid="85416264" hostid="261"></div>When the time came, we set off in a small twin-engine propeller plane, with perhaps 12 passengers. The South African pilots warned us that they hadn't been able to establish reliable communications with Kabul, so we would fly high until we were directly above the airport, and then rapidly descend in a corkscrew pattern to land. This approach, they said, would reduce the danger from anybody shooting at the airplane. The Kabul airport was a grim testament to decades of war. Wrecked helicopters, airplanes, <keyword id="6359526" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="military">military</keyword> radar units, and anti-aircraft guns were on their sides, all riddled with bullet holes. An Ariana Airlines jetliner was parked on the tarmac, but when I looked closely, I saw that pieces of it had been blown off by a rocket attack. The terminal building was without electricity, and it was almost surprising to have my passport stamped in the near darkness.A tank with a white flag sticking out from its radio antenna was parked in the airport's entrance. That's where the abyss of miscomprehension started for me. I assumed that the flag symbolized the tank crew's surrender to the Taliban. But the white flag was, and still is, a Taliban banner. It symbolizes the group's claim to purity of purpose.<div type="image" title="A crowd of boys are seen amid older women, who are fully covered in religious clothing." height="2001" width="3000" msid="85416265" hostid="261"></div>Kabul in 1996 was a city with entire square blocks of shattered buildings, reminiscent of photographs of bombed cities from World War II, of Grozny in Chechnya - much worse than Sarajevo, Bosnia-Herzegovina, where I was coming from. The destruction had occurred not from battle involving the Taliban or the Soviets, but between rival mujahideen factions that had shelled the city ruthlessly upon falling out with one another. Some stores and markets were open, but there wasn't much to buy. There were few women on the streets, and those few were covered head to toe in burqas.When I went to the Foreign Ministry to register as a journalist, Taliban soldiers wandered through the halls and offices, seemingly in awe of their own spectacular achievement. Many were bedecked with flowers, a discordant sight next to their automatic weapons. <div type="image" title="A Taliban fighter holds a flower in his hand, as another stands behind him." height="2118" width="3000" msid="85416266" hostid="261"></div>As part of its strict interpretation of Islam and Sharia, the Taliban destroyed televisions, musical recordings, and depictions of women it considered immodest - all "graven images." At roadside checkpoints, I saw unspooled cassette tapes waving in the breeze like confetti. At the movie theater, armed Taliban soldiers threw hundreds of reels of film into a pile and started a bonfire. At a police station they had occupied, a small mountain of smashed TV sets filled the backyard.<div type="image" title="A Taliban soldier stands over a smoldering pile of videos." height="1982" width="3000" msid="85416267" hostid="261"></div>I found a Taliban officer who spoke English, as many of them did because they grew up in refugee camps in Pakistan."I understand that your beliefs are against television and such influences," I said. (I'm transcribing this from memory.) "But have you ever watched TV yourself?" "Of course," he replied. "I've watched a lot of TV in Pakistan.""Oh, really? What did you think of it? Did you like it?""Yes. I especially enjoyed seeing the big fish in the big oceans." (Nature documentaries were perhaps an unsurprising choice for someone coming from a landlocked country. Later, bootleg copies of the movie Titanic were so popular that paintings of the ship adorned the walls of teahouses and the sides of trucks.)<div type="image" title="Two women, fully veiled, are seen in the back of a car." height="1988" width="3000" msid="85416268" hostid="261"></div>"But you're destroying TVs here?" I asked."We are destroying TVs because they aren't good for Afghans and Afghanistan," he said. "It's fine for you, but not for us."He spoke with the patient tone of an adult trying to explain a basic fact to a child. He didn't seem to have any anger or sense that I was, as gently as I could, possibly provoking him. <div type="image" title="A row of Taliban fighters face the camera" height="1983" width="3000" msid="85416272" hostid="261"></div>Over the next few weeks, I traveled around the country with John Burns, a New York Times reporter who would go on to win a Pulitzer Prize for his work in those months. We shared a car and the assistance of an Afghan journalist with two other Western reporters. Ruined armored vehicles littered the sides of the pitted roads - some rusted and overgrown with vegetation; others more recently abandoned or destroyed. The towns mostly had electricity only from generators. As civilians, we could cross the front lines, so long as we didn't make a show of it. Ahmed Shah Massoud, the ethnic Tajik commander famous for his efforts against the Soviets, had retreated to his home area of the Panjshir Valley, which he defended effectively against the still-advancing Taliban. The entrance to the valley is only several score miles north of Kabul, and on several nights, the flashes of artillery fire could be faintly seen in the distance.<div type="image" title="People boarding a packed bus." height="1981" width="3000" msid="85416275" hostid="261"></div>At a position of Taliban soldiers firing rockets at their opponents, I found a Taliban officer methodically cleaning his pistol, the parts of which were laid out on a piece of clean fabric on the dusty ground. He had a cheerful greeting for me once I introduced myself as a Chinese American photojournalist. (Again, this exchange is based on my memory of it.)"It's too bad you're going to hell. Because that is the fate of all non-Muslims," he said."I understand that," I answered. "But what if I do a lot of really good deeds? Like help grandmothers and elders?"<div type="image" title="Two tanks are seen in a dry, sandy area." height="1997" width="3000" msid="85416279" hostid="261"></div>"By all means, you should do that. You should do your best to be of service to your community," he replied. "So that will win me some points?" Once again, without quite intending it, I found myself straying into a potentially fraught conversation. "No. You will still go to hell because you aren't Muslim," he said.<div type="image" title="A young man leads a much older man by the arm." height="2002" width="3000" msid="85416283" hostid="261"></div>As we spoke, the crew finished loading the heavy rockets onto the tubes on the back of the truck-borne launcher. Some walkie-talkie conversation ensued out of my earshot, and the officer fired a salvo of rockets by pressing buttons on his controller, which was connected to the weapon by a cable. They roared off to targets miles away.Once again, that gap in worldview seemed impossible to bridge. What to me were logical fallacies were, at least to these particular Taliban officers, uncontroversial and core truths.In the village of Sar Chesma a few miles north of Kabul, a father displayed the bloody burqa and shoes of his daughter, who had been killed in a Taliban rocket attack.<div type="image" title="A man displays a bloodied piece of fabric." height="1996" width="3000" msid="85416287" hostid="261"></div>We were driving near the city of Mazar-i-Sharif when we saw a Cadillac - it was rumored to be the only one in Afghanistan - hurtling south at high speed, flanked by dozens of pickups and larger trucks. It was Abdul Rashid Dostum, a former pro-Soviet general turned warlord, who maintained a fiefdom in this largely ethnically Uzbek area. We spun around and gave chase, but there was no way the old Toyota Corolla I was riding in could keep up. Hours later, we caught up with them when they stopped at an old Soviet engineers' compound in the fishing town of Khinjan, just north of the Salang Pass in the Hindu Kush mountains.<div type="image" title="A girl is seen, followed by others, walking up a narrow passageway." height="1998" width="3000" msid="85416291" hostid="261"></div>There, Dostum met Massoud, who arrived by helicopter, and the ethnic Hazara leader Karim Khalili was also present. Their soldiers, formerly sometimes at war with each other, were now mingling while the commanders sequestered themselves. It was getting dark, and there was no electricity. I had to wait outside. Finally, they were ready, and by the light of a hissing kerosene lantern, I took a few photographs as they signed the agreement that formed the Northern Alliance, or United Front, against the Taliban. <div type="image" title="Several men in a dimly lit space are seen signing a document." height="1989" width="3000" msid="85416292" hostid="261"></div>For five years, with minimal assistance from Iran, <keyword id="6358826" type="LOCATION" weightage="60" keywordseo="Russia">Russia</keyword>, and Tajikistan, they fought on. Massoud traveled to France to try to drum up Western support for his cause. The Taliban meanwhile cemented a terrible reputation with its oppression of women and incidents such as its destruction of the ancient Buddhas of Bamiyan. More quietly, Massoud's representatives were lobbying the US government for aid, with claims - accurate, as it turned out - that their Taliban foes were supporting Osama bin Laden, al-Qaida, and an international network of terrorist extremists.Two days before September 11, 2001, Massoud was assassinated by Taliban agents masquerading as journalists. The bomb that killed him was disguised inside a video camera. Dostum remained a warlord with a brutal record. A few days ago, he departed Afghanistan for Uzbekistan. <div type="image" title="Things are strewn about on a highway." height="1996" width="3000" msid="85416293" hostid="261"></div>Traveling to Kandahar, the Taliban's heartland, took two days from Kabul - not the six hours described in the 1970s guidebook we were using to get around. Every bridge along the 300-mile route had been destroyed, forcing all traffic up and down dry riverbeds - made barely passable by local residents, who piled up mud and debris. At one such crossing, an overturned truck lay on its side, its cargo of dozens of enormous aerial bombs scattered across the erstwhile roadway. They were guarded by a 12-year old boy, as the driver had gone to get help. Once in Kandahar, we wanted to investigate the report of a couple stoned to death for adultery. Witnesses and participants were proud of the death penalty as administered by Islamic clerics - at least, that's what they told foreign journalists. Mohammed Karim, a 24-year-old Taliban soldier, picked up a large stone and threw it, reenacting the executions. <div type="image" title="A man holds a stone high above his head as a second man looks on." height="1985" width="3000" msid="85416294" hostid="261"></div>''No, I didn't feel sorry for them at all,'' the story quoted him as saying. ''I was just happy to see Sharia being implemented.''Further attempts to speak to the victims' families were stopped by Taliban police, who incited a small crowd to throw rocks at us when we were slow in retreating from the area. We had enjoyed surprisingly good access and freedom to move around up until that point. It was as if they had no idea or didn't care much that the rest of the world (particularly the West) would consider their actions and policies anathema. In truth, perhaps, those attitudes were never as important as imperial considerations of strategy, economics, and raw power. <div type="image" title="Women in children pack into the back of a truck." height="1997" width="3000" msid="85416295" hostid="261"></div>I returned to Afghanistan to spend weeks with the anti-Taliban Northern Alliance in 2000, and I returned again after 9/11 once the American war began in earnest. I haven't been back since, and I'm far from expert or knowledgeable on any current realities.But I couldn't help but feel a range of excruciatingly mixed emotions and thoughts as I watched this week's harrowing scenes from Kabul airport, as desperate people clung to the fuselage of an American transport plane before falling to their deaths as it took off. Like most observers, I didn't imagine that the Afghan government would be a house of cards quite so brittle. And like a generation of journalists who covered Afghanistan in the years before and after 2001, I'm filled with trepidation as Afghanistan begins its next chapter. <div type="image" title="A curtain blows in the window of a large, empty room and a vehicle is seen out front." height="2003" width="3000" msid="85416296" hostid="261"></div>

Photos: I was in Afghanistan in 1996 when the Taliban first took power

<ul class="summary-list"><li>A group of women in <keyword id="6354541" type="COUNTRY" weightage="60" keywordseo="afghanistan">Afghanistan</keyword> are breaking through as Gen Z influencers on TikTok, <keyword id="819905" type="COMPANY" weightage="60" keywordseo="Instagram">Instagram</keyword>, and YouTube. </li><li>More Afghans are online, and dozens of Afghan women have 50,000 or more followers on at least one social platform.</li><li>As tastemakers, they're offering a fresh point of view on what it means to be Afghan in 2021. </li><li> </li></ul>A generation of Afghan women in their 20s have mastered the art of living their lives on social media. Digital natives as much as any young person in Istanbul or Los Angeles, they are doing more than shaping what's cool in Afghanistan. Over Instagram, TikTok, YouTube and Facebook, these influencers are proving they are more than the "post 9/11" generation, as they've been labeled for 20 years. Afghanistan is what they make of it. Mixing traditional and streetwear styles, they blast Travis Scott, Rihanna, Nina Simone, and Afghan musicians like Ahmad Zahir. They post selfies in front of Kabul's<a href="https://www.designindaba.com/articles/creative-work/graffiti-tool-liberation-kabul"> graffiti walls</a> and carefully timed videos of the Turkish chef putting on an elaborate show in the city's new <a href="https://www.instagram.com/prime.stk/?hl=en">high-end steakhouse</a>. They make Tik-Toks of Megan Thee Stallion' Savage challenge and redub Bollywood clips to poke fun at their own country. Put simply, they're young, gifted and Afghan. By broadcasting to the public, these influencers are taking real risks -- but also reaping big rewards. In Afghanistan, they've earned reputations as tastemakers who are sought out by savvy business owners for their marketing power. They work out for free at Kabul's flashy new high-tech gym. But in a country still at war, safety is a serious concern. Recently, there has been a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CovvUdrlsag">pattern</a> of targeted killings aimed at the nation's journalists, rights workers, politicians and other influential figures. No <keyword id="1864633" type="PERSON" weightage="60" keywordseo="Influencer">influencer</keyword> has been targeted so far, but it's a threat that's never far from their minds. <h3><a href="https://www.instagram.com/ayeda.shadab/?hl=en">Ayeda Shadab</a> is one of Afghanistan's social media stars. </h3>The 26-year-old posts several times a day, and she has more <a href="https://www.instagram.com/ayeda.shadab/?hl=en">followers</a> on Instagram than the country's president, Ashraf Ghani. She models the dresses for sale in her luxury Kabul <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@ayeda.af/video/6929037160221920513?lang=en&amp;is_copy_url=1&amp;is_from_webapp=v3ebapp=v3">boutique</a> and shares glossy selfies from her trips around the country. Her devoted followers flood the comments with style questions, words of encouragement, and the occasional unfriendly directive to cover her hair. "Our intention is to show people the possibilities, that they can live life as they want," she told Insider. "There is always fear in your heart, that's just part of living in Afghanistan. But we have to stand up and live our lives." On a recent trip to Herat, the historic city in western Afghanistan best known for its sprawling Citadel, Shadab documented her every move, excited to find fresh content for her 220,000-plus Instagram followers. The trouble was that everything she wanted to do seemed needlessly dangerous in a city known for <a href="https://www.pri.org/stories/2015-07-27/afghanistans-model-city-also-its-kidnapping-capital">kidnappings</a> and where, just recently, police officers were <a href="https://www.reuters.com/article/afghanistan-attacks-int/four-policemen-killed-in-fresh-attacks-in-afghanistan-idUSKBN2AH18D">killed</a> by IEDs planted near the hotel where she was staying.But Shadab was undeterred. One evening during the trip, Shadab and her crew drove to the Roof of Herat, a scenic overlook with panoramic views of the city that's a popular sunset hangout spot. As they pulled in, her friends (and this journalist, at work on this story) began to wonder if it was a good idea to stage a shoot in such a public place. Just behind the lookout was a mosque belonging to a controversial mullah who had taken out billboards across Herat reprimanding women for inappropriate attire. Nearby was a guest house owned by a local jihadi warlord who only a decade ago had criticized the city's rock bands for carrying guitars, not guns.For the occasion, Shadab wore an embroidered top with billowing sleeves and a skirt that fanned out into kaleidoscopic waves of color. Before stepping out of the Lexus and onto the dirt and gravel road, she slipped into a pair of Manolo Blahniks she had bought during a recent trip to Dubai. Not too far away, groups of men idled in their cars and rickshaws smoking hashish. Two beggar boys were asking Shadab for coins, not remotely comprehending that they might be getting in the way of her Likes.While Shadab twirled and grinned for the camera, a group of young men hopped out of a Land Cruiser with black government plates. They started doing their own braggadocious photoshoot, with one brandishing an AK-47 for the camera. <div type="image" title="Ayeda Shadab looks out" height="4480" width="5973" msid="81358400" hostid="261"></div>Sensing the tension passing between Shadab's crew, one of the men called out, "Don't worry, we'll be right here. We won't get in your shots!" But they kept staring. Shadab continued posing, oblivious to everything except the camera. And then something happened that confirmed Shadab's confidence and left her friends in fits of laughter.With sudden recognition, the young man with the AK-47 called out, "That's Ayeda, she's on Instagram!" For the rest of the trip "That's Ayeda!" became a running gag among the group. Including, a few days later, at Herat International Airport, when workers stopped her for a selfie. "We follow you!" an airport policeman said as Shadab and her friends headed towards the departures gate. As for the adventure that night at the lookout, it earned Shadab more than 12,000 likes. <h3>The number of Afghans online lags far behind other countries, but they're catching up. </h3>Just 14% of the population uses the internet as a source of <keyword id="6355005" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="100" keywordseo="news">news</keyword> and information, according to the Asia Foundation's 2019 "<a href="https://asiafoundation.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/12/2019_Afghan_Survey_Full-Report.pdf">Survey of the Afghan People</a>." In 2015, only 25% of households could get online using a cellphone with Internet access, but that number was up to nearly half in 2019.Mariam Wardak, an Afghan-American who is working with Facebook to bring the anti-bullying and anti-extremism "We Think Digital" campaign to Afghanistan, said she has signed up 14 Afghan women, including Shadab, to be digital ambassadors. <div type="image" title="Ayeda Shadab dance citadel" height="5981" width="3987" msid="81358402" hostid="261"></div>She has identified 60 Afghan women with 50,000 or more followers, Wardak told Insider, adding: "They are building cultural tolerance in our society one post at a time." Shadab sees herself principally as a businesswoman. In fact, the main reason she joined social media was to ramp up business for her boutique, which has become one of Kabul's hottest shops since she opened it a year ago. As a student in Malaysia and China, she would post pictures of herself online and Kabul women would reply by asking her to bring the looks back to sell in Afghanistan. "It was my followers who said we need a physical shop to come to," she said. On the racks, denim jackets adorned with traditional embroidery from northern Afghanistan hang alongside voluminous dresses with subtly-dropped necklines. There are brightly-colored full-length faux fur coats that have appeared on the accounts of several other influencers. Her purchases from Herat -- like the second-hand velvet dresses she found at the antiques market -- will be repurposed into original designs."My entire business is reliant on my social media," she said. "Sometimes I fear what will happen to my business if Instagram ever shuts down." As the number of influencers grows, Shadab's <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/CLQ3CKRnJSW/">shop</a> has become a place where they run into one another.<h2>One of them is Sadiqa Madadgar, a former contestant on the popular reality singing competition Afghan Star.</h2>She ended up placing seventh, but she stayed on social media, and now has a combined following of 239,000 on <a href="https://www.instagram.com/sadiqa_madadgar/?hl=en">Instagram</a>, TikTok, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/sadiqamadadgarofficial">Facebook</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/c/SadiQaMadadgar">YouTube</a>. (One <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FjWV4_Nnjz4">performance</a>, in particular, has been viewed millions of times. Where Shadab is seen as aspirational, Madadgar, who's 22, is approachable. YouTube <a href="https://youtu.be/4sCOfTDOkSc">videos</a> that show her cutting open a melon or describing a recent leg injury to a friend get tens of thousands of views. In showing her struggles with basic household chores in her modest Kabul apartment, she has become the girl next door.Most YouTubers have professional studios with special lighting, specific backdrops, HD cameras and Pro-level computers to shoot and their videos on. Madadgar does it all with the most basic of tools. Each of these videos are shot, edited and published directly from her iPhone.She's also known for being deeply religious, and has become a model for how to broadcast your life over social media while maintaining a sense of modesty. <div type="image" title="Sadiqa Madadgar in the shop " height="4480" width="6720" msid="81358403" hostid="261"></div>"When I first went on Afghan Star, everyone said 'there's no way you can remain a good Muslim girl and be a singer,'" Madadgar said. "So I set out to prove them wrong."After her first appearance on the show in 2018, Madadgar received a frantic phone call from her mother in Quetta, who was incensed to see her daughter (who had moved to Kabul to study dentistry) singing on live TV. "I'm still the same girl," Madagar remembers telling her mother. "I didn't do anything bad, say anything disrespectful or wear anything inappropriate." Madadgar has found it much more difficult to monetize her following compared to Shadab. Yes, she enjoys the social perks and freebies, but what she really wants is to fund her music career, which means raising enough to record an album and film some music videos.One recent morning, needing a dress for a photo shoot, Madadgar came into Shadab's shop with a couple of friends. The staff recognized her immediately and began to pull gowns from the racks. With an armored car idling outside, she spent 30 minutes trying on different looks. Finally, Madadgar decided on a burgundy dress with an embellished belt and fully-covered sleeves. With that settled, she rushes out and into the waiting car. "Oh, she didn't buy it. She's just borrowing it," Wardak, the "We Think Digital" leader, would later explain. "Sadiqa being photographed in it will help the business." <h2>Shadab's success depends on posting a steady stream of content.</h2>She is constantly looking for potential photo ops and video setups. One evening during her trip to Herat, after a day spent rushing between photo shoots at the city's historic sites, Shadab relaxed in a wood and glass gazebo in the garden of the high-end ARG Hotel. She was scrolling through the images they'd taken that day, wishing that they had been able to accomplish more. In this conservative city, there had often been nowhere for her to change modestly into different outfits, and so they lost time in traffic as they went back and forth to the safety of her hotel room. The confidence that exudes from Shadab in person is also evident from what she posts online. What she wants most of all, she said, is for her followers, especially other young women, to understand is that she is an educated female entrepreneur who has built her own business on her own terms.There are of course sexist and hateful comments that she has to reckon with too, including from people telling her she should cover her hair more. But for the most part she dismissed that as part of living your life online."It's so strange, all of these people are so curious about our lives," she continued. "They want to know what this boy or this girl is doing, but then, instead of supporting you, they use that same content to attack you."Still, for Shadab it was all worth it. Trips like this offered new content, yes. But Shadab also saw them as a chance to show off her country. When she and her friends were growing up, most of the images of Afghanistan came from foreign war photographers. The country's story was often reduced to violence and tragedy. But today, with just a mobile phone and an Internet connection, influencers like Shadab can show another side to their country - the banalities, the beauty, the luxury and the laughs - that war and displacement couldn't steal from them. Shadab sips from a glass of saffron tea, scrolling through her comments. Suddenly, she lets out a heavy sigh. Her friends, each busy with their own stories and tweets, turn to look at her."Listen to this," she says, and begins to read an Instagram DM."Thank you for showing my homeland that I haven't seen in 11 years," she reads aloud. Her friends sigh along with her. Shadab continues: "I miss it. You're very lucky."

Meet Afghanistan's fearless Gen Z influencers, who are blowing up on TikTok and have more Instagram followers than the president

<ul><li>As India marks the first anniversary of decriminalizing homosexuality on <keyword id="6362797" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="20" keywordseo="section-377">Section 377</keyword>, Rainbow Voices -- India's only LGBT choir shares their story with Business Insider India. </li><li>An-year-old Rainbow Voices is trying to break prejudices, inequality, and stereotypes by performing across the world.</li></ul> From Lady Gaga’s Born This Way to Shafaqat Amanat Ali’s Ye Hosla Kese Ruke, every Sunday, a bunch of LGBT people in Mumbai gather to practice music. For over a year, the choir Rainbow Voices has been singing <keyword id="143" type="CITY" weightage="20" keywordseo="Bollywood">Bollywood</keyword> mixes in Mumbai. They feel it is easier to communicate through music. And, they have an important message to spread--of equality. "Through our music, we want to keep the hope of equality and justice alive in India," Rainbow Voices said. Manasi Manoj, a member of Rainbow Voices, told that their pride walks are well received. “The moment we started walking people were like “OMG ! They’re here,” They were welcoming us,they recognised we’re here,'' she said. Rainbow Voices had many small but significant victories. They helped many families accept their LGBTQ children for what they are. 
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 “If people can enjoy our music, why can’t they treat us as equals? Why do they deny us our rights?" asks Jnanasiddhy Bommisetty another member of the choir. A safe place Vinodh Philip and C V Mathew’s founded India's first LGBTQ choir in the summer of 2014. They realised that India needs an LGBTQ-friendly church choir in the city where people can feel safe. Within a year, they doubled their team numbers to 40. Their members are employees working 9 to 5 jobs; school students; and freelancers working from home. But they dedicate every Sunday to celebrate pride for equality to justice. 
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 “It is the only place where I can drop all guard, talk, laugh and trade silly lines; it gives me a sense of a community," said a member of the choir. All their concerts are completely sold out. And, they helped many members to come out of the closet to their parents. They are also the first to go abroad and perform with Pink Singers, a famous LGBT choir in London. And, they believe that they have a lot of work to do, and India has a long way to go. "Recognizing civil unions or same-sex marriages of other countries within India would be a good way to kick-start these changes,"Ashish from Rainbow Voices said.

India's only LGBT choir, Rainbow Voices from Mumbai is touring the world and fighting stereotypes

<ul><li>Health, immunity and fitness have become one of the top concerns for Indian consumers post COVID-19.</li><li>Healthtech platform Cult.fit has had a pretty busy year so far. It acquired three platforms, revamped its business model and brand identity, closed another funding round, and has recently launched a new campaign to target India’s youth.</li><li>Naresh Krishnaswamy, Growth &amp; Marketing Head, Cult.fit speaks to us about the platform's growth trajectory, idea behind its latest campaign and goals for 2021.</li></ul>What is that image that comes to your mind anytime someone says ‘fitness’? Do you see a petite woman with flawless skin, voluminous hair, a perfect smile posing with a small piece of gym equipment or a muscular man pumping ridiculously heavy weights? If the answer is yes, it is not your fault. Our definition of fitness is formed by the unidimensional communication we have grown up seeing. When it comes to fitness, all brands have tried to sell an ideal, unreal body image to their customers. They hire obscenely thin women who are further skewed to look even more ‘appetizingly perfect’ or muscular men who are photoshopped with 6 packs. Just in one Google image search of the word ‘fitness,’ you would notice a pattern of photoshopped images and how flawed the overall communication in the fitness industry is. The imagery we have seen in fitness advertisements, whether on billboards, TV or social media, have created a perception that has made us feel under confident in our own bodies. And people who don’t meet these idealistic body standards, feel intimidated to join a gym. Healthtech brand Cult.fit has been consciously trying to move away from this, reminding its audience that fitness is for everyone and people should exercise to feel good, stronger, and happier. Cure.fit’s latest campaign ‘Fitness is not an option’ imitates iconic Bollywood scenes to show how they would play out if the actors weren’t fit. It reenacts famous running scenes from Bollywood like ‘The Train’ scene from Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge and ‘The Bull’ scene from Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara but there’s a twist in the plot; the actors start panting and wheezing instead, reiterating the message that fitness is not an option anymore but an absolute necessity. Everyone should take fitness more seriously. While it has been appreciated on social media for its creativity, sense of humor and great execution, there’s another reason why it stands out. It doesn’t sell an idealistic body image to its target audience. <div type="Youtube" id="xAB3CZC1BcI" title="Fitness Is Not An Option (cult.fit)" thumbUrl="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/xAB3CZC1BcI/mqdefault.jpg"></div> Naresh Krishnaswamy, Growth and Marketing Head, Cult.fit told us the genesis of the campaign. He said, “First, the idea was to go at a higher level and attack the barriers of the industry. Typically, you see a lot of fitness communication around building up muscles and looking more attractive, desirable and pumping weights, etc. We, with our communication, now and in the future, want to really drive this whole thought of fitness being really essential to life, something that you can no longer ignore and it is for everybody. Fitness can be anything from running, that you see in one of the ads, to working out in the gym or home, etc. So, the objective was to pivot communication to drive fitness as a lifestyle habit as opposed to what’s been traditionally talked about -- weight loss, muscle gain, etc. Secondly, we have significantly expanded our fitness offerings and we wanted to show Cult as a wide fitness option.” The core insight ‘fitness is not an option’ was brainstormed and finalised internally, further woven into scripts by freelancers and finally produced by <keyword id="3167731" type="General" weightage="20" keywordseo="supari-studios" source="Orion">Supari Studios</keyword>. The first TVC in the campaign has gone live on Cult.fit’s owned media channel, across all Sony TV channels and OTT platforms including SonyLiv. It was played during India vs England test matches and will extend into the IPL season which is set to resume on September 19. Unfortunately, Cult.fit’s first advertisement ‘Jaa Simran Jaa’ recently hit a minor roadblock. It has been taken down from YouTube after Yash Raj Films flagged it for violating copyright protocol. However, it is already back on Instagram. Krishnaswamy said that Cult.fit’s legal team is working to bring the film back. “We did our due diligence before launching that ad and we think it is completely in the clear. We are sorting a few things out and are confident that in a couple of days, it will be back up and running again.” ‘Fitness is not an option’ is Cult.fit’s first campaign after its brand revamp. In May 2021, Cure.fit was renamed to Cult.fit. Even before the revamp exercise, Cult.fit had tried to stay on top of social media trends. Now, with its latest campaign, it is trying to be an active part of pop culture. Telling us about Cult.fit’s marketing approach since its inception, Krishnaswamy said, “Right from when we started out in 2016, our objective has been to make fitness fun and relatable for individuals. If you look at our communication before the pandemic, our focus predominantly was to show people enjoying working out in a group with a smile on their faces. So no idealistic body types and showing extremely ripped, fit people. That’s been our ideology throughout. We now want to play a much larger category game and want Cult to be really associated with fitness. Our association before the revamp was with group classes, which is what we were offering before the pandemic, but now we offer every type of fitness. So, the evolution from there to today has been about the brand taking more of a humorous, quirky approach across channels. Before that, we were a little more functional -- a brand trying to tell you the benefits of working out. Now we are taking a lifestyle approach.” <cmsannotation type="cmsannotation" annotationid="Goals for 2021" text="Goals for 2021">Goals for 2021</cmsannotation> Health, immunity and fitness have become one of the top concerns for Indian consumers post COVID-19. After gyms shut down in 2020, fitness apps and on-ground gyms rose to the occasion by shifting their focus online and providing personalised services based on different body types. With this, the Indian healthtech space saw a surge in user traffic and became a part of the new normal. According to Valuates Report, the Global Fitness App Market size is expected to grow from $3,312.58 Million in 2019 to $13,016.77 million by the end of 2025 at a Compound Annual Growth Rate (CAGR) of 25.61%. Cult.fit has also had a pretty buzzing year. It acquired healthtech platform Fitternity, hardware-at-home platform Tread and partnered with Disney+ Hotstar, Sarva and Brilliant Wellness. Commenting on the first half of the year and focus areas for the rest of it, Krishnaswamy said, “We have been very active this year. We have done 3 acquisitions, completed another fundraising round recently, we have pivoted into digital and gyms, the next six months is heads-down growth. We will continue to remain opportunistic with any acquisitions or any other inorganic opportunities to grow. But we have all the tools we need in our arsenal. So, the next six months would be about execution and campaign activity.” After the pandemic, Cult.fit added 2 million users and out of these 1.5 million, 1 million users joined the platform during the lockdown in April and May. However, this number slowly tapered off as it moved to a paid subscription model. Today, it has 1,50,000 paid members on its content product and with gyms coming back, 100,000 people work out in Cult.fit gyms every day. As per its regulatory filings, its operating revenue shot up 174% to Rs 496 crore during FY20 from Rs 181 crore earned in FY19. “About 50% of our gym members are back. Our revenue and MAUs are on a steep upgrowing trend now, with people using our gyms and online product and we only see ourselves continuously growing month-on-month as vaccination rates increase, and we add more supplies in our gyms and consumer sentiment picks up. We foresee that over the next few months, we should get back to pre-pandemic levels of general attendance and member activity,” shared Krishnaswamy. To accelerate the vaccination process in our country, Cult.fit is also offering free vaccination to its members and one of their family members. It would be focusing on improving its online group classes, upping gym safety, polish its hybrid model and consolidate local gyms under its network. Sharing the company’s vision, Krishnaswamy said, “We want Cult.fit to be completely synonymous with fitness. When you think fitness, you should only think of Cult. The second objective is that we want to be an iconic, youthful brand. We want people to really love Cult. We want to speak to them in a language that inspires them to get fit and not be in the annoyingly motivational zone, which a lot of fitness brands are. We want to be in the top league of fitness brands in India that really lead and define the category.”

We don’t want to show idealistic body types and extremely ripped, fit people in our ads: Naresh Krishnaswamy of Cult.fit

<div class="KonaFilter image-container display-table float_right"><div><div class="image on-image">Anisa Purbasari/Business InsiderOutside Humayun's Tomb in New Delhi, India.</div></div></div>Four years ago, if someone told me that I would quit a stable, lucrative job to <keyword id="6354692" type="ORGANIZATION" weightage="60" keywordseo="Travel">travel</keyword> the world, I would have laughed.I was 23 and ready to start my first professional job as a lawyer, after five grueling years of study.Although deep down I knew that being a lawyer wasn't my ideal career, I ignored that little voice in my head.But it wouldn't go away.Two and a half years after I started my law career, I sat down for coffee with my boss and announced that it was time for me to move on and explore other opportunities.Although I am grateful for everything that my time as a lawyer provided me, I had burned out with the work and the long hours pretty quickly.Additionally, I'd always had a secret dream to be a journalist - there's something about discovering people's stories and telling them that gives me an intense buzz. Since I'd fallen in love with New York City after a visit while studying abroad, I decided to apply to graduate school in New York for the following year. In the meantime, I'd travel until (theoretically) starting my grad program.Initially, my desire to travel was borne out of desperation to escape.<div class="KonaFilter image-container display-table float_left"><div><div class="image on-image">Anisa Purbasari/Business InsiderWalking through the infamous Khao San Road in Bangkok, Thailand, where backpackers congregate.</div></div></div>The stress of my law job left me wanting to get away from everything that was familiar, at least for a while.I didn't think that another law job would make me happier, and the non-law jobs I wanted required experience that I didn't have.My then-boyfriend (now husband) had recently returned from a stint working abroad, and was already itching to move somewhere new.So we decided that it was the perfect time to take a "gap year" - one where we would try to work while we traveled. He would continue building his online affiliate marketing business, and I would try and get as much writing experience as possible, either through internships or freelance opportunities.A month after I officially resigned from my job and accumulated enough funds, I found myself on a plane to Singapore to start a three-month media internship at a social enterprise. After that, for the following nine months, I would live in Thailand, India, Cambodia, and Indonesia.There were times when I was uncertain of my decision. At the beginning of the trip, I met up with some old friends who were climbing the professional ladder in Singapore. The type-A personality in me thought, "That could be me. Maybe I should have persisted in law and worked harder instead of quitting." I realized that I was starting my career from scratch, and that the road ahead was going to be filled with challenges. But then I remembered the lawyer life that I left behind, a life that I definitely didn't want to go back to, and I persisted with my decision. <div class="KonaFilter image-container display-table float_left"><div><div class="image on-image">Anisa Purbasari/Business InsiderWatching the sunrise in Angkor Wat, Cambodia.</div></div></div>After I finished my internship in Singapore, I was able to land another internship, this time in journalism, through keeping in contact with my former supervisor.After that internship ended, the publication began assigning me paid freelance articles that I could complete no matter where I was in the world. The practical experience I gained proved to be immensely valuable - not only for getting published clips, but also to get a taste of what my new career would entail. I'd already spent seven years working toward a career that wasn't right for me, and I didn't want to end up in the same position again, particularly with a Master's degree price tag. As I continued to travel and write, and when I received my acceptance letter from graduate school, the excitement of starting my new career overcame any uncertainties that I had. And of course, it's easy to alleviate anxiety when you have delicious Thai street food all around you, or when you find yourself on a stage attempting to do a Bollywood dance in front of more than 100 guests at an Indian wedding!The nine months wasn't all roses and unicorns, however. For example, cities in Southeast Asia (Singapore excluded) don't have the best public transportation systems, so getting around required constant planning. The hassle was small, but tiny stresses tend to pile up quickly when you're navigating a new environment.<div class="KonaFilter image-container display-table float_right"><div><div class="image on-image">Anisa Purbasari/Business InsiderA morning stroll in Shimla, India.</div></div></div>One early morning in India, we found ourselves engulfed by street dogs who barked aggressively and appeared ready to attack, only to lose interest after they sniffed us.And then there was the taxi driver in Shimla, India, who drove erratically through mountain ranges, often blind-passing other vehicles and leaving me praying for dear life.But dealing with the unexpected and uncomfortable is part of traveling and part of life. Having those experiences gave me the mental preparation to tackle a new challenge.I knew that my new path was going to involve a lot of hard work, and for me, having this "gap year" was the best way to prepare me for it. <div class="margin-top"> <h3>NOW WATCH: <a href="http://www.businessinsider.com/chris-voss-fbi-hostage-negotiator-salary-tips-2016-5">EX-FBI HOSTAGE NEGOTIATOR: How to negotiate a higher salary</a></h3> <div> <div> <div class="ooyala-video-player" data-video-autoplay="false" data-video-id="5yYWFxMzE6a8EN1mGE5DokXv91_bGVwy" data-player-variable="ooyalapopvideo" id="ooyalaplayer_popvideo" style="width:1280px;height:720px"></div> </div> </div> </div>

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