Has a crush on her yoga guru

When your city has the tallest building on the planet and the world’s richest horse race, you’re bound to attract some haters. Dubai is often dubbed a plastic fantastic, soulless Disney-esque playground. And when I walk through the world’s largest mall with its labyrinth of identikit stores and Arctic-style air-conditioning (Dubai has the world’s second largest carbon footprint per capita after Doha, according to the World Wildlife Fund) – I couldn’t agree more.

However, on the fringes of our perma-sunny city famed for its boozy brunches and excessive consumerism, there’s a growing spiritual community. We’re not talking trippy Goa-style hippies on scooters, but there’s an underground tribe of energy healer types who are quickly filling a gap in the market. Now you can do AcroYoga in Safa Park, African drumming in the desert, zone out at a gong meditation session or awaken your sensual energy with kundalini yoga.

I’ve become hooked on a form of power yoga. My previous attempts at committing to yoga were unfruitful – the idea of doing a Wild Thing pose was appealing but I was too impatient and my body strength was nil. Perhaps the truth was I wasn’t ready for a journey of self-realisation. Instead I continued to distract myself from myself – travelling to danger zones like Yemen and maxing out my credit card on shiny, new things at the mall.

But these days, I get strangely excited about twisting into a pretzel-like shape. Skinny Banker has noticed that I’m suspiciously cheerful early in the mornings. She also thinks I’ve lost the plot and dismissively says things like, “Enjoy your slow motion chanting!”

I don’t even bother to set the record straight. You see, I’m in the throes of a new love affair, the butterflies in the stomach phase. Although I have a sneaky feeling my newfound enthusiasm for yoga might also have something to do with my instructor. While male yoga teachers may have once conjured up images of scrawny guys in drawstring trousers, these days you have buff instructors with tattoos. Our teacher is in his late 30s and has a cheeky, boyish charm about him. And other women in the 9am class have sensed it too. There’s the super toned brunette (in her lululemon get-up) who flaunts enviable killer poses on her hot pink mat. While she slips effortlessly into an Upward Facing Bow (aka Urdhva Dhanurasana) most of us crumble to the floor in frustration.

 During one session, while we attempt to do the Crane Pose, the sweaty-browed woman next to me gives me a pained look. Meanwhile Miss Lululemon is emanating a raspy panting sound, prompting us to giggle like school girls. During the moans and pants, our teacher zips around, lifting and adjusting different shaped legs. At one point, I exaggerate a yelp and collapse to the ground. The teacher rushes over and bellows, “Sarah, where’s your willpower? You can do much better than that!”

Despite his boot camp style put-downs, there’s something incredibly magnetic about him. He oozes willpower, a sense of strength and togetherness. His energy is light and baggage-free, unleashing a powerful aphrodisiacal effect, leaving yoga students wanting to connect with it. And yearning to be validated during the class, almost like seeking approval from a lover or a father. I tell my yogi friend about my new crush and she just smiles and says, “There’s a tendency to get attached to your yoga teacher, that’s why I have three.”

While I’m aware of the benefits of developing a healthy detachment to people (letting go is the first step to freedom and the so-called path to nirvana), I admit I struggle with the concept. “Why don’t you come with me to India next month?” asks my yogi friend. I start picturing myself on a beach in Goa discussing eco issues with a dreadlocked traveller. “I’m going to a spiritual retreat in Pune,” she adds. I suddenly imagine being woken up at 4am, chanting along to a sitar guitar, clad in a white robe and sipping rice milk for breakfast. “I’m going to the Osho ashram,” she reveals. I like Osho’s spiritual books, although during the 80s (before his wise guru image) he was a cult leader living in America with a harem of women and Rolls-Royce cars. “You’re not talking about one of those free-love communes, are you?” I cringe. It turns out that’s exactly what my friend is talking about. I think I need to go and lie down in the Corpse Pose!

Drake knows that Beyonce's quite popular with the ladies. Popular enough, in fact, for him to pen a song called "Girls Love Beyonce" and sing-rap a line from Destiny's Child's "Say My Name." James Fauntelroy, one of hip-hop's go-to songwriers, appears to take over and sing the rest of the hook.

The release is one of two Drake tracks to hit the web late Monday. "No New Friends," which borrows a line from his own song "Started From the Bottom," features Lil Wayne, DJ Khaled and Rick Ross. (Drizzy also repeats the "no new friends" mantra on "Girls Love Beyonce"; it's like his post-lapsarian version of YOLO.)

"Girls Love Beyonce" offers a familiar Drake, the one wondering why he and his friends "get money and f--k hoes" instead of searching for love. "Where we get these values I don't know what to tell you," he says somberly.

Twitter reacted positively to the track, with many saying that Drake's on a hot streak that's lasted a few years. His recent songs, "5AM in Toronto" and "Started From The Bottom" were both well-received, with the latter being somewhat of a late winter/early spring rap anthem.

Drake has also done a good job in the keeping-them-honest department, stopping by Elliott Wilson's East Village Radio show to throw some barbs Chris Brown's way. "His insecurities are the fact that I make better music than him, that I'm more popping than him and that at one point in life the woman that he loves fell into my lap," Drake said, adding "I did what a real n---a would do and treated her with respect."