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The Rise of a Dynasty: Houston's Unexpected WNBA Reign Fran Harris remembers a late-night dinner in Sacramento. Her Houston Comets squad had just dispatched the lowly Monarchs by 10 points. To celebrate, she and a few teammates, including Cynthia Cooper, Tammy Jackson and Kim Perrot, decided to grab a bite. Cooper had scored 44 in the 25 July 1997 contest, and her talents dazzled even her dinner companions. "I said to Cynthia, 'I just cannot believe how great you're playing – and I know how great you are!'" Harris tells the Guardian. "And she goes, 'I know!' She was just, like, Yeah, I'm the motherfucker! I was like, 'You absolutely are!'" From Underdogs to Champions: The Comets' Unexpected Journey Cooper, an eventual two-time WNBA MVP and four-time champion, was not supposed to be the league's top player. She'd played in Europe for a number of seasons after winning college championships at USC in the mid-1980s. But when the WNBA began in the summer of 1997, she was already 34. In fact, her entire Houston Comets team, who would win the league's first championship – as well as the next three – were predicted to finish last by many ahead of the inaugural campaign. (They could get a chance to add to their tally: on Wednesday the WNBA confirmed a franchise will return to Houston in 2027, 19 years after the original Comets folded.) "They were very unimpressed with our roster for some reason," says Harris, now a television analyst for the WNBA's Dallas Wings. "When we read that, we were like, 'This shit is funny! That is hilarious.'" The League's Precarious Foundation: Women's Basketball Before the WNBA When the WNBA began, professional women's basketball was in a precarious state. The WBL, the first pro women's league in the US, started nearly 20 years prior. But it folded within three years. After that, several more leagues popped up, including the ABL, which launched in 1996. That year, the US boasted an all-time Olympic team, and the league wanted to capitalize on the enthusiasm around their gold medal. But things didn't go to plan for the ABL. Harris, who had won a NCAA championship in 1986 with Texas, had heard about the ABL and was interested, but a former teammate working as a college coach warned her against joining, with the NBA getting ready to launch the WNBA. Harris took note. The ABL, without big-money backing, folded after two seasons. Building a Team: Tryouts and Team Chemistry Tryouts for the Comets' inaugural season kicked off on Mother's Day weekend. "It was just survival of the fittest," says Yolanda Moore. "It was a free-for-all. We did your basic three-man-wave – that kind of stuff. But really we were just put into teams and played basketball. And at the end of every session, they would make cuts." The Comets' first coach was Van Chancellor. A veteran of the college ranks, he'd been Moore's coach at Mississippi. Still, he told her that she had a "snowball's chance in hell" to make the Comets, she says. Moore, who graduated with a degree in journalism, initially wanted to be "Robin Roberts Jr". When she heard about the WNBA, though, she had to jump for it. She also didn't listen to her coach's negative attitude. Moore's perseverance landed her a spot on the Comets' practice team, and later one on the main roster. The Legacy of the Comets: Paving the Way for Future Generations Thinking back on the year, Harris vividly remembers the Comets' first regular-season game. It was on the road in Cleveland with an official attendance of 11,455. "It was sold out," she says. "I was like: 'Woah!' The crowd for that moment was a big deal." In a way, Harris says, that entire first year was like a dream. The WNBA marked the first time longtime women's basketball stars could play against one another professionally in the US. "We had all played against each other in college," Harris says. "Now, here we were playing against each other in a pro league. It was incredibly surreal." "Not only were we trying to prove ourselves in the league," says Moore, a bench player in her first season before blossoming into a top backup center, "but we were women trying to prove ourselves to this sport, that we deserved to have this space. We were proving that this was our time." The Return of the Comets: Houston's WNBA Future The announcement that a WNBA franchise will return to Houston in 2027 marks a significant moment for the league and the city. The original Comets folded in 2008 after winning four championships in the league's first four years. The return of professional women's basketball to Houston comes nearly two decades later, reflecting both the growth of the WNBA and the enduring legacy of the original team. As the league approaches its 30th season, the return to Houston symbolizes how far women's professional basketball has come since the Comets' early dominance. The team's legacy continues to inspire new generations of players and fans, proving that the electric atmosphere the Comets created in Houston can be reignited in the coming years.

The Lead: Olivia Colman's Personal Reflections on 'Jimpa' In Jimpa, Olivia Colman plays a woman named Hannah who visits her father in Amsterdam, only to have family dynamics and personal revelations come to the surface. The film has triggered deep personal reflections for Colman about her relationship with her own father, who passed away recently. The Film's Exploration of Family Dynamics and Queer Identity Jimpa, a compound of "Jim" and "grandpa," follows Hannah as she travels to Amsterdam with her husband and 16-year-old trans child Frances. The film explores themes of intergenerational queerness, as Hannah's father Jim (played by John Lithgow) left his family 40 years ago to live a fuller queer life than Australia could offer at the time. Director Sophie Hyde wanted to challenge assumptions about how families respond to conflict, asking: "Can we ask our characters to respond with loving kindness, when usually our instinct is instant conflict?" Colman's Personal Connection to the Material Colman found a sharp parallel between her character's experience and her own relationship with her late father. "My dad and I, in real life, fought a lot. We adored each other, but oh my God, did we fight, and I don't really fight with anybody else," she shared. The role taught her to "listen and shut up" and to be "that nicer person" she wished she could have been with her father. Sexual Awakenings Across Generations Each character in Jimpa experiences a sexual encounter that changes them, challenging assumptions about sexuality and age. "I definitely didn't want Jim to not have a sexuality about him because he was older," explained Hyde. "I didn't want him to become somebody who talked about gayness as a theory. I wanted him to be a virile human being." The film portrays these awakenings with honesty and complexity, particularly for the young trans character Frances. The Impact of Authentic Representation The film's approach to queer identity and family relationships represents a significant shift in mainstream cinema. Aud Mason-Hyde, who plays Frances and is Sophie Hyde's real-life child, noted the pressure on young trans people to be "palatable and agreeable" while their own needs are often minimized. The film provides a nuanced portrayal of these dynamics without resorting to stereotypes or simplistic resolutions. The Future of Intergenerational Storytelling Jimpa represents a growing trend in cinema that explores complex family relationships across generations, particularly within LGBTQ+ communities. As audiences increasingly seek authentic and nuanced portrayals of diverse experiences, films like Jimpa pave the way for more honest explorations of identity, sexuality, and family dynamics. Colman's performance, informed by her personal reflections, adds a layer of authenticity that resonates beyond the screen.

Introducing Poppy's Proactive AI Assistant Poppy, a new app, aims to organize the chaos of digital life by combining calendar, email, messages, and other sources into a single dashboard. The app uses AI to guess what's important to users based on their data and provides proactive suggestions to help them manage their time. How Poppy Works Users can connect various services to Poppy's app, such as email, calendar, and location. Poppy then uses this data to provide suggestions, such as taking a break to go for a walk or suggesting restaurants based on a friend's food preferences. Key Features and Integrations Works with everyday apps like Apple Calendar, Google Calendar, Gmail, Outlook, and more Integrates with apps like Uber and Instacart Users can message Poppy with questions or requests Poppy can track flights and alert users to changes Security and Future Plans Poppy's maker, Sai Kambampati, emphasizes data security, with encryption and a zero-retention policy. The company plans to switch to local, on-device AI models in the future. Funding and Team Poppy's San Francisco-based team of four is backed by $1.25 million in pre-seed funding led by Kindred Ventures, with various angels participating, including DeepMind's Logan Kilpatrick.

The Lead: Carla Simón's Unique Approach to Family DramaFamily reunions in European arthouse cinema are almost always unhappy events, on a scale of strife that ranges from simmering resentment to spectacular score-settling. Carla Simón, however, has a rare gift: she makes you leave the cinema with renewed faith that having relatives and keeping in touch with them may actually be a wonderful thing.No film-maker working in Europe now is as capable of turning birthday gatherings, garden parties or poolside barbecues into thrillingly sprawling canvases of human virtue and vice as this 39-year-old rising star. From a riotous water fight in the Berlinale Golden Bear-winning farming drama Alcarràs to a foul-mouthed dinner table singalong in her new film Romería, Simón directs kinship meetings with the attention to detail that other film-makers may invest in action sequences or dance routines.The Event Details: Romería and the Journey to Self-DiscoveryAmong the tricks Simón employs, she explains, is to ensure her actors only read the script once before the camera starts rolling, so they have to improvise to fill the gaps. She takes her casts to parties, for walks and on shopping trips, and if there are disagreements on the way, so much the better. The ultimate secret sauce, though, is to ignore WC Fields's notorious advice and always work with children and animals."I never get bored of working with kids," she says. "When you are only working with adult actors, shooting becomes more like executing an idea that you have in your mind, and I think that is not interesting. With children, you always have this feeling that that things are going to happen in front of the camera by chance. It keeps things alive."Her new film Romería, meaning "pilgrimage" in Spanish, dives deeper into the story of the biological parents she barely got to know. Eighteen-year-old Marina travels to her relatives in Vigo, in north-western Galicia, purportedly to find the death certificate of her biological father, which she needs to study film-making in Barcelona. The initial reaction is warm, but family is a room with dark corners and locked closets.The Personal Journey: Aids, Loss and Family SecretsSimón's fascination with freewheeling scenes of family life was undoubtedly honed through her own biography. Born in Barcelona in 1986, her father died when she was three and her mother when she was six. Both of them succumbed to Aids. She was 12 when her adoptive mother told her that her parents had been infected with the autoimmune disease through their use of drugs.All of her first three films have been strongly autobiographical: Summer 1993 tells the story of a six-year-old girl who moves to an unspecified location countryside to live with her aunt after the death of her mother, while 2022's Alcarràs is specifically set in the Catalan peach-growing community of her adoptive family.In the film, a cache of letters written by her late mother opens up a portal to the time when her parents met and discovered love – for each other, the Atlantic Ocean and drugs. The letters, Simón explains, are real. "She wrote to her friends and family while she lived in Vigo. Her Catalan is full of mistakes, because teaching Catalan was banned under the Franco regime. But they are the most important thing that I have from my mother, because suddenly I can hear her talking."The Impact Analysis: Spanish Cinema and the Legacy of AidsSpanish cinema has a track record in making films where child actors take centre stage: Ana Torrent's spell-binding turn as a young girl obsessed with the Frankenstein tale in Víctor Erice's 1973 film The Spirit of the Beehive is considered an all-time great performance by a minor, and Simón describes it as "a very, very important film for me".During the transition period after Franco's rule, Madrid gave birth to la movida, a countercultural movement that celebrated lifestyles that had been banned under military rule. "All these kids who were raised under Franco and religious oppression, suddenly freedom arrived and they embraced it", Simón says. "They didn't think much about the future or the consequences of what they were experimenting with. And then the drugs came in."When we talk about this generation in Spain, people sometimes use words like shame and blame, but I feel that's really unfair: people like my parents just had bad luck.The Future Direction: Beyond Family in Simón's Next ProjectHalfway through Romería there is a stylistic shift, from the Eurorealism she favoured in her previous works toward something more magical-realist: there is a mysterious cat you might expect to encounter in a Miyazaki film, and an unforgettable dance number set to Vigo punk rocker's Siniestro Total's song Bailaré Sobre Tu Tumba ("I'll Dance on Your Grave")."These three films I've made are kind of a cycle, because they all talk about my family, adoptive and biological. But since I became a mother a few years ago, I feel that my place in the family changed. When you have kids you feel it's a new period in your life, so I feel like maybe doing something that has nothing to do with my family."Her next film, she confides, is going to be a flamenco musical.

The Revolutionary Spirit of Zineb Sedira's Exhibition Zineb Sedira's exhibition at Tate Britain's Duveen Galleries is a vibrant ode to revolutionary cinema, intellectualism, and the power of art to inspire change. The installation, titled 'When Words Fall Silent, Cinema Speaks,' transports visitors to the iconic La Cinémathèque Algérienne in Algiers, a mecca for leftist filmmakers and intellectuals in the 1960s and 1970s. Recreating a Revolutionary Hub Sedira's meticulous recreation of the Cinémathèque Algérienne includes a model movie theater, vintage jukebox, and a cafe serving wine and couscous. The space is filled with books about leftist cinema, and clips from films like Agnès Varda's 'Salut les Cubains' play in the background. This immersive environment embodies the spirit of radical chic, where intellectual pursuits and pleasure are intertwined. A Tribute to Boudjemaâ Karèche and La Cinémathèque Algérienne The exhibition centers around Boudjemaâ Karèche, the director of La Cinémathèque Algérienne. Through a short documentary film, Sedira shares Karèche's stories of the cinema's heyday, when it was a gathering place for young idealists who debated revolutionary art and social change. The beret-wearing Karèche is portrayed as a charismatic figure who embodied the fusion of politics and creativity. The Challenge of Preserving Revolutionary Energy The exhibition's final film poses a poignant question: can revolutionary moments be preserved and rekindled in a museum setting? Sedira's installation suggests that by celebrating the past, we can inspire new generations to engage with art and politics. As Sedira shows, truly revolutionary art empowers people to express themselves and challenges the status quo. A Lasting Impact Sedira's exhibition is a testament to the enduring power of art to inspire and educate. By recreating a pivotal moment in cinematic history, Sedira invites visitors to reflect on the intersections of art, politics, and identity. The exhibition runs at Tate Britain's Duveen Galleries until January 17.

The Unlikely Hero of Normal Bob Odenkirk continues his new career as the everyguy action hero in this cynically bleak gonzo actionfest, co-written by Odenkirk himself with John Wick creator Derek Kolstad. The director is Ben Wheatley, who shows the same kind of gunplay that was exhibited in his single-location mayhem spectacular Free Fire from 2017. A Town of Deception The setting is a place of Fargo-esque wholesomeness: a little town in Minnesota called Normal where Ulysses, played by Odenkirk, shows up as the interim sheriff, a decent guy just filling in after the previous sheriff was found dead in the snow in strange circumstances. Ulysses is depressed and battling a drinking problem after an unexplained violent end to his last job, which caused him to separate from his wife. The Dark Secret Unfolds Yet something is very wrong: when a bank robbery happens in this one-horse town, events are set in train which reveal to Ulysses that everything about Normal, like the blandly prosperous law practice in Sydney Pollack’s film The Firm, rests on a single, awful secret that he is about to uncover. It’s entertaining and bizarre chaos, anchored by Odenkirk’s hangdog air of gloomy resignation to the violent mess which he has to clean up. The Film's Release Normal is in UK and Irish cinemas from 15 May.

The Cultural Phenomenon of Northern SoulAlan Byron's film is an absorbing docu-celebration of the northern soul scene that flourished from the late 1960s to the end of the 1970s. It was a fascinating, vernacular youth movement and a kind of regional open secret: a club culture, a zine culture, a music-and-fashion culture which uncynically invented and sustained itself without the need for any svengali figure from London to keep the show on the road. Northern soul fans were passionate about thumpingly sensual mid-60s American soul, a musical style which they kept alive on the all-night dancefloor by doing spectacular spins and drops, while the official voice of the music business decreed that disco or MOR rock or glam or heavy metal was where it was at.The Wigan Casino LegacyDJs would travel to the US to sort through the boxes and mounds of 7-inch vinyl which had been discarded by Motown and the radio stations – basically prospecting for gold – and bring it back to northern English clubs. The principal clearing house was the mighty Wigan Casino which mounted legendary all-nighters from 2am to 8am, attracting soul fans from miles around who knew that this was the only place where certain tracks could be heard. (No Spotify or Apple Music in those days.)Cultural Resistance and RecognitionLicensing laws meant that only Coca-Cola could be served, but dancers took amphetamine, a part of the northern soul scene that has perhaps only recently been acknowledged fully, and is in fact not looked into all that closely here. It carried on through the 1970s, all but ignored by the cultural gatekeepers of the south; that is, until documentarist Tony Palmer brought his cameras and lights into the club to make The Wigan Casino as part of Granada TV's This England strand, an outsider incursion grumblingly resented at the time but now treasured as a unique archive record.Understanding the Movement's IdentityWhat is fascinating about northern soul is the way it survived under the media-cultural radar and appears to resist larger interpretive analysis. It was not overtly political, unlike punk or reggae, and there is no consensus here about the status of the northern soul consumers. Were they unemployed, poor, alienated and angry? Not necessarily. Many here recall having good jobs and apprenticeships of the sort they wouldn't have now.Enduring Influence and MysteriesAs for whether it was revolutionary in any sexual sense, commentator Paul Mason suggests that there was something homoerotic in the male atmosphere. Maybe, yes: but no one here has any first-hand experience to share about that. As for the Wigan Casino itself, the building's lease was terminated by the council at the end of the 70s prior to planned demolition; just when the tenants might have disputed this, the building mysteriously burned to the ground. (Maybe we need David Peace to write a novel about that.) Northern soul was clearly the godfather of the club and rave scenes of the 90s and beyond, but for me, a question remains: what did the American acts themselves think of it? Were they ever tempted (or invited) to play live at the Wigan Casino?

The Cultural Phenomenon Returns On a chilly morning at a Silvertown studio behind London City airport, the sunburst intro to Jimmy Cliff's The Harder They Come is on repeat. Dancers run through a routine studded with reggae and dancehall moves. "Get high," commands associate choreographer Neisha-yen Jones with a smile. "Get low!" The ensemble rise and dip. They do the bogle and whine around each other as their watchful director Matthew Xia nods along. They circle Natey Jones who breaks out the opening line: "Well, they tell me of a pie up in the sky." In the distance, a plane leaves the ground. From Film to Theatrical Celebration It's eight months since The Harder They Come's full-throttle takeoff at Stratford East, where the musical was so popular that it is now returning for a second run which will also serve as a eulogy for Cliff who died in November. Playwright Suzan-Lori Parks' adaptation of Perry Henzell's 1972 Jamaican film is bolstered by a handful of her own songs as well as classics including Israelites and Wonderful World, Beautiful People – plus every number on the film's monumental soundtrack. Jones is reprising the role of Ivan (played on screen by Cliff and inspired by real-life outlaw Rhyging), who arrives in Kingston from the country and is dismissed and exploited, before becoming both a hit singer and a fugitive. The Evolution of a Cultural Narrative The original was akin to cinéma vérité, directly evoked spaghetti westerns and veered into blaxploitation territory; Ivan's tale has gained greater warmth, humour and protest spirit on stage. It was the best musical I saw in 2025. "The story is a tragedy but the theatrical event is a celebration," says Xia of his production. Twenty years ago, the film was adapted as a musical with a book by Henzell, also at Stratford East. "It all started at Ivan's Nine Night," Xia recalls. "There was a massive poster of Ivan on the wall, with everyone coming, and it was told in retrospect with vignettes." Choreography and Cultural Connection Shelley Maxwell, recently arrived from Jamaica, was watching the musical in the audience one night and has since become the choreographer of the new production. She has fused the folk dance forms of revivalism and pocomania, learned in her childhood, with reggae, dancehall and moves that today's teenagers can recognise. "I wanted to tap into the youth market," she says. It's brought some enthusiastic feedback from audience members who may not know the film. "Like: 'Oh my God, they did that step I always do at a party!' It allows them to form a connection." Authenticity and Cultural Representation Xia, wearing trainers in the Jamaican flag's colours, and Maxwell, whose tracksuit has the same black, green and gold trim, were intent on instantly transporting their audience to Kingston. The opening, says the director, is an "establishing shot" with characters coming and going on Simon Kenny's magnificent multi-level set, accompanied by Toots and the Maytals' hit Funky Kingston. To borrow from its lyrics, you really can believe everything they do. Even each move in the dominoes game we see is scripted, explains Maxwell, who mapped out the market scene with precision: "Where are you going to? How heavy is the item that you're holding? This is the swing of the hips." Social Commentary Through Performance Xia, whose father came to England from Jamaica in the 1970s, praises the freewheeling realism of the film. "Lots of the background performers are just whoever happened to be in the market that day, or walking through the shantytown. Lots of the actors were people that Perry knew, they had no training." Henzell, says Xia, showed "the part of Jamaica that had always been hidden, people living hand to mouth". The musical depicts a "quartet of oppression" against Ivan, as he takes a stand against individuals representing hypocrisies of the church, law, drugs trade and music industry. Universal Themes and Contemporary Relevance The Harder They Come was both a pioneering example of independent film-making for Jamaicans and a portrait of a newly independent country. Maxwell, who grew up glued to Hollywood musicals, says it was empowering to discover a film full of the Jamaican songs she loved. "I was probably way too young when I saw it. But what I saw was the world around me." She traces how different forms of music played a pivotal part in the country establishing its identity, moving from African forms and American R&B; to mento, ska, rocksteady, reggae and the rise of Bob Marley and Jimmy Cliff. Maxwell captures that chain reaction with a tantalizing question: "What's this groove becoming?" Transforming the Narrative for Modern Audiences The musical also makes its hero's actions more understandable. "In the film, Ivan becomes a kind of wanton murderer," says Xia. In the musical, "he accidentally shoots a police officer when he's under threat, is remorseful, yet also knows that if he gives himself in then that's the end of his journey". Another significant change is the depth given to the principal women – Ivan's mother Daisy and Elsa, with whom he falls in love under the eye of her authoritarian guardian, the preacher. "The moral heart of the piece now resides in those two women," says Xia. Maxwell transforms a brief sequence from the film, in which Ivan imagines a tryst with the devout Elsa, into a floor-trembling set piece when the preacher's congregation lose their robes to indulge in lustful fantasy. The male gaze of the original scene is duly excised: "it had to be like it was both of them in partnership in that fantasy world," says Maxwell, who adds that the nature of dancehall – "grinding, gyrating on another body" required her to use her skillset as an intimacy director.

The Cooking Gas Crisis in AsiaIn the ramshackle lanes of a south Delhi slum, Afshana Khatoon crouched wearily on her haunches and began lighting a small pile of firewood. She had just returned from six hours spent trudging through the urban forests and dry parks of India's capital looking for kindling to turn into a makeshift stove. As the unforgiving summer heat soared above 40C, she had walked for miles, piling the sticks and fallen branches into a bundle on her head while sweat ran down her face.Just a few weeks ago, the 35-year-old had been preparing meals for her four children on a small gas stove with little fuss. But as the crisis in the Middle East has choked India's vital supplies of imported liquefied petroleum gas (LPG) – used by more than 60% of the country's population for cooking – refills have been scarce and prices have risen far beyond what is widely affordable.Return to Traditional FuelsKhatoon, like growing numbers of people in India and more widely across Asia, has been forced to cook with crude, dirty fuels such as firewood and coal in order to survive. "It already feels like hell," she said, as she bustled about, filling a pot with water. "I'm not eating properly, and I have to work much more than before. My whole day now is about collecting firewood and cooking."The return to fuels such as firewood and coal is not only deepening the economic strain of the war on ordinary civilians in countries across Asia, but raising concerns about public health, air pollution and the fragility of the energy transition.Supply Chain Disruption and Price SurgeIndia imports about 60% of its LPG needs, of which about 90% usually comes through the strait of Hormuz, the critical shipping route still blockaded amid the ongoing conflict between Iran and the US. Official data shows India's LPG consumption fell by 2.2m tonnes in April, the sharpest decline in years.As the war has dragged on, cooking gas prices in informal markets have surged. In Khatoon's dimly lit shanty, her 5kg gas canister sat empty and forlorn in the corner. She said LPG had become prohibitively expensive for her family, rising to more than four times what she used to pay. "My husband earns 400 to 500 rupees a day. We can't spend 1,000 rupees just on gas for a week," she said.While the Indian government insists there is no shortage, in a speech this week the prime minister, Narendra Modi, called on people to adopt austerity measures including limiting their use of fuel and petrol. According to the defence minister, India has petroleum gas reserves to last just 45 days.Health and Environmental ConsequencesOnce Khatoon's fire stove is lit, thick smoke rises from the flames. It stings the eyes and throat but she has no option but to breathe it in as she cooks. She put her head in her hands, admitting she felt utterly exhausted. "We just want to cook as quickly as possible," she said.The return to biomass is raising alarms about air quality in cities across the region. Solid fuels such as wood and charcoal come with a range of health and environmental risks. They emit a dangerous set of pollutants that have been linked to respiratory problems, such as chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and lung cancer, strokes and heart disease.The combined effects of ambient air pollution and household air pollution are associated with 6.7 million premature deaths annually, according to the World Health Organization. Women and children, widely responsible for household chores such as cooking or collecting firewood, are the most vulnerable.Reversal of Environmental ProgressDelhi already ranks among the world's most polluted cities, and years of policy have focused on promoting cleaner fuels such as LPG and compressed natural gas to reduce emissions.Environmental activists fear years of progress toward widespread use of cleaner fuels is being reversed as the war in the Middle East drags on. With shortages deepening, authorities in Delhi have temporarily relaxed restrictions on the use of coal and firewood."When prices rise, it's the poorest who are forced to switch back to biomass," said Harjeet Singh, a climate activist and the founding director of the Satat Sampada Climate Foundation. "Biomass burning is a major source of fine particulate pollution."Future OutlookAs the conflict in the Middle East continues to disrupt global energy supplies, the health implications of reverting to traditional cooking methods across Asia are likely to worsen. Without immediate intervention to either increase LPG supplies or provide affordable alternatives, public health crises in major urban centers could escalate, potentially reversing years of progress in air quality improvement.The situation highlights the vulnerability of energy-dependent nations to geopolitical conflicts and underscores the urgent need for diversified energy sources and more resilient supply chains in the region.