When discussing Namaslay, filmmakers Rish and Kanish often cite Dr. César A. Cruz on the true purpose of art: “to comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.”
The upcoming independent feature, arriving exclusively in theaters on August 6, 2026, was conceived as a confrontation, aimed squarely at the uneasy intersection of wellness culture, commercialization, and identity in modern America.
At the center of the story is Gayatri, a young woman navigating life in Los Angeles while reconnecting with the Yoga teachings she inherited from her grandmother. When she is invited to an elite yoga studio through its prestigious instructor-training program, the opportunity initially appears glamorous. But beneath the polished branding and curated serenity, something far more sinister begins to unravel.
For the filmmakers, however, the origins of Namaslay were deeply personal.
The project evolved from years of observing what they describe as the “yoga-industrial complex”—the mutation of Yoga from a spiritual and philosophical discipline into a marketable lifestyle product. Their mother, who practiced and taught Yoga with equal emphasis on its physical, philosophical, and spiritual dimensions, found herself repeatedly pressured to sanitize those teachings for Western audiences.
“Our mom used to cultivate a solitary, personal Yoga practice at home,” the directors explain. “But after being asked to teach Yoga in the West, she was immediately pressured to dilute the authenticity of her lessons to make them more palatable to Western audiences.”
Rather than compromise, they say, she stepped away from the commercial side of the industry altogether. That tension between authenticity and commodification eventually became one of the foundational impulses behind Namaslay.
From Personal Frustration to Psychological Horror
Another formative moment came when the director’s father attempted to attend a yoga class in the Bay Area, only to be turned away for wearing basketball shorts instead of the approved studio attire, which was conveniently available in their gift shop. Years later, Kanish encountered his own frustrations after turning to yoga during recovery from a shoulder injury.
“He switched to yoga during the yearlong recovery,” the filmmakers explain, “but was irritated to find most of the popular yoga videos on YouTube were, at best, ignorant of the practice’s roots and, at worst, outright pornographic in their presentation.”
Over time, those experiences coalesced into something larger.
Rather than approaching cultural appropriation through purely academic or political discourse, the filmmakers decided to translate those anxieties into genre storytelling.
“We felt that the disturbing nature of cultural appropriation could not just be explained in words,” they argue. “It had to be felt through music, cinematography, costume, makeup, visual effects, and performance. Only film can do that.”
That philosophy shaped every aspect of Namaslay, from its supernatural imagery to its satirical edge. Even the title itself functions as commentary. “Namaslay,” a phrase commoditized within Western wellness culture as a flippant twist on “Namaste,” became, in the filmmakers’ hands, both the point of their quill and the edge of their sword.
A Film Determined to Defy Genre
Rish and Kanish describe the tone of Namaslay through the language of “masala,” the Indian cinematic tradition of blending disparate genres into a single emotionally expansive experience.
In Namaslay, horror converges with comedy, suspense, family drama, and supernatural spectacle. The filmmakers cite the influence of Indian masala classics alongside modern American horror films like Get Out and The Sixth Sense, all of which informed their approach to balancing emotional intimacy with crowd-pleasing genre filmmaking.
“The tone of the film is best encapsulated by the word ‘masala,’” the directors explain. “In that medley of flavors, a new identity is born, greater than the sum of its parts.”
Yet for all of the film’s larger social commentary and fantastical imagery, the directors insist that Gayatri’s humanity remains the film’s foundation.
“Most importantly, we want viewers to understand Gayatri’s story,” they say. “If they connect with her, the film’s ideas will travel with them naturally.”
Refusing to Bend
That same conviction carried into the film’s production process.
Produced independently through the filmmakers’ own company, Junghal Studios, without major studio backing, Namaslayembraced a level of visual ambition unheard of for a first feature. Throughout production, the filmmakers say they encountered constant skepticism from people who insisted the project was too large in scope for first-time directors.
Rather than scale the film down creatively, they pushed further into the vision they had originally imagined.
“Many people said that we didn’t have enough money or enough experience as first-time directors to tackle a project of this scope, even one we’d written ourselves. They insisted that we’d have to bend to the wills of veterans if we wanted the film to float. But we weren’t content to merely float. We wanted to fly.”
That philosophy now informs Junghal Studios, which the filmmakers describe as a response to an increasingly risk-averse entertainment industry that pressures artists toward conformity and market-tested safety.
“One of the film’s central lessons—that if you do not bend, the world will move toward you—has become the guiding ethos of Junghal Studios. We will not bend to the greed of content conglomerates and dopamine dealers. For us, the story always comes first. That is what audiences deserve.”
With its theatrical release approaching later this year, Namaslayis positioning itself as something more ambitious than a conventional indie genre release. For Rish and Kanish, the film represents not simply a debut feature but a declaration of artistic intent. “A new Golden Age of film is coming,” they assert. “One unsullied by the oily tentacles of an unabdicating gerontocracy. The people are hungry for stories made by, for, and about themselves.”