PM Narendra Modi wishes Asha Bhosle a speedy recovery after hospitalisation

Prime Minister Narendra Modi has extended his wishes for the recovery of veteran playback singer Asha Bhosle following news of her recent hospitalisation. The 92-year-old singer is currently undergoing treatment for exhaustion and a chest infection, according to a statement shared earlier by her granddaughter Zanai Bhosle. Taking to X, the Prime Minister expressed concern about her health and conveyed his support. He wrote: “Deeply concerned to hear that Asha Bhosle Ji has been admitted to hospital. Praying for her good health and a speedy recovery.” Deeply concerned to hear that Asha Bhosle Ji has been admitted to hospital. Praying for her good health and a speedy recovery. — Narendra Modi (@narendramodi) April 12, 2026 His message comes amid widespread concern from across the film and music fraternity after initial reports about the singer’s hospitalisation surfaced earlier in the day. The clarification from her family later confirmed that she is receiving treatment for exhaustion...

‘I’m not a saint’: Abel Ferrara on his wild career, rehab and nightclubbing with Donald Trump

The last time our writer interviewed him, the drugged up director dozed off then asked for coke. Now sober, he reflects on #MeToo, Italian fascism and his fight for the final cut

The last time I met Abel Ferrara, he dozed off in the middle of our interview then woke up and asked me to score him some coke. It was 1996, and he was in the UK promoting his gangster drama The Funeral – which the actor Vincent Gallo alleged Ferrara had been too blitzed on crack to direct properly – and his vampire horror The Addiction. He was on a roll, his reputation fortified by King of New York, starring Christopher Walken as a flamboyant crime boss, and the gruelling Bad Lieutenant, with Harvey Keitel as a bent junkie cop. Ferrara was the scuzzball Scorsese: no matter how celebrated he became, he never shed the patina of grime from his early days as the star and director of porn film The Nine Lives of a Wet Pussy and the infamous “video nasty” The Driller Killer.

“You were the guy I fell asleep with?” he gasps now from his bright, high-ceilinged living room in Rome. He is calling via Zoom, his laptop resting on a shelf so he can pace around as he speaks, drinking from a bottle of San Pellegrino that he clutches by the neck. “You’re the guy? I’m sorry, man! Really, really.” Then he switches tack. “You let me down! You were 24, living in London, and you didn’t know where to score?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “All right. So where could we get some now?” A sandpapery cackle fills the air as he rocks on his heels. His hunched posture and jutting jaw make him the spit of the cartoon dog Muttley. He laughs like him, too.

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