Urdu dictionary with meanings in Hindi & English | Rekhta
Urdu dictionary with meanings in Hindi & English | Rekhta
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OBLIGATORY FILLER MATERIAL – Breaking Bad, Part 2
Continuing The flight continued along as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Nary a bump or jostle. Hours later, I was playing with the in-flight entertainment system when Major Nak awoke. I toasted him with a fresh drink and asked if he felt fully functional. “Doctor?”, he asked, “Have you slept at all?” “On the flight? Nah.”, I replied, “I slept well last night. Besides, this flight’s been fascinating.” “Do you always drink like that?” he asks. “Of course not!”, I replied, indignantly, “Sometimes, I really twist off and tie one on.” “Seriously?” he asks, shocked. “Major, I’ll let you I on a little secret.”, I said in confidence, “I’m a member of a certain class of unusual creatures; I’m an ethanol-fueled carbon-based organism. Many other geologists are as well. We tend to be drawn to that particular science.” He stares at me with a look that is a cross between incredulity and “you fuckin’ with me?” “You’re not normal…”, was his only reply as he shook his head. “Not by a long shot!”, I laugh, drain my drink, and signal for another. After one arrives, Major Nak stumbles to the head. A few minutes later, the annunciator notes that we are on the flight path to Bhavnagar Airport and should be landing in 20 minutes. Another drink and beer chaser later, we’re buckled into our seats and on final approach. We land light as a feather without a crosswind, a perfect three-point touchdown. We taxi for a bit and stop out on the tarmac, next to a large non-descript gray-colored four-door sedan. We begin to deplane and I see my luggage being loaded into the sedan already. Before I get off the plane, I am asked for my passport. The steward of the flight stamps it and welcomes me to India. Off to the sedan and I see it’s larger than most usual 4-door types. It’s a minor limo of sorts, with rear and front-facing seats, like an old London taxi, except one wall is taken up with a fold-out bar. Oh, I’m going to like this job. I am instructed to sit in the back. Major Nak is sitting up front, working on papers of some sort. I am told the travel time to Alang, the place where I’ll be staying, is approximately one to one and a half hours. I am asked to please make myself comfortable and if I desire, there is a humidor on the back forward-facing seat. I am to help myself to that and the bar, and enjoy the ride. Which I did. The scenery was your bog-standard usual coastal highway sort of stuff, moderately interesting for the first 5 minutes, then it just sort of blurs together. I sampled the humidor and most of the bottles in the bar while we wound our way south to Alang. It was getting late in the afternoon, so it was decided that I would be taken to the “Raj”, the company’s corporate house for when high-ranking business types, visitors, and guests arrive for more than a single overnight. Alang is a company town, and that company is the Ship Breaker’s. It’s a fairly common sort of one-industry town; kind of shabby, kind of old, kind of desperate. It’s not horrible like some oil towns in West Siberia, Venezuela, or West Africa; but it’s no Paris, Texas either. There are some green areas, quite a slew of shops selling sea-sailing ship-sourced stuff, and a few residences. We travel along and I can smell the diesel, dejection, and desperation in the air. This place is an area of low wages, hard work, little to no environmental or HSE controls, and throngs of men wanting to work. This is going to be some kind of experience. We wheel around a well-planted and manicured corner and arrive at the “Raj”. It is a colonial-era, how can I put it? It’s a fucking mansion. Situated behind security fences on grounds of approximately 4 acres, at least. It’s an Edwardian or Georgian pile some four stories thick. There is a security shack out front and even Major Nak has to show his ID in order to enter. They take my photo, particulars, and have me sign-in. Looks like I’ll be the only VIP staying here for the duration of my contract. However, I certainly won’t be alone. There are butlers, cooks, chauffeurs, maids, and other forms of domestic help. And they are all there just to make my stay as pleasant as possible. We drive into the compound, for the lack of a better term, come to a thick security door where the driver punches in a code and we are allowed to enter the underground parking facility. There are several security vehicles parked down here, a couple of motorcycles that I intend to ask to borrow. Before we went underground, I saw at least two teams of security forces patrolling the grounds with huge Alsatian dogs. “Is all this security really necessary?” I asked Major Nak. “Better safe than sorry”, he bewilderingly replies. “OK”, I reply, “Thanks for the clear-cut answer.” He smiles and confides that they’ve never had any trouble here, but since it’s where VIPs and corporate shills stay, they make a brave noise to dissuade anyone with evil on their mind. Shipbreaking is big business, with receipts measured annually in the billions of rupees. Yes, I agree, better safe than sorry. We exit the sedan as two worker bees attend to my luggage. We are lead to an elevator and get in, take a quick ride due up, and exit on the main floor. “Holy shit!”, I exclaim lowly. “This place is incredible.” Full late 1800’s glory expressed in dark, thick hand-carved wood, leather, and dripping in opulence. It’s quite the sight, and it takes me a minute to realize that all this pomp and circumstance is being laid out for me. Now it’s Major Nak’s time to smile on my bewilderment. He asks me to walk with him as he needs to ‘introduce me to the staff’. But first, a young lady appears, in a traditional maid’s outfit, and asks if I require anything. “Loaded question”, I smile, “But I am a bit dry. If you could rustle me up a drink, I’d be beholden to you.” She smiles and looks to Major Nak for a translation. He speaks in Hindi and she smiles wider and scurries off. “What did you tell her?” I ask. “That you’re American and can’t be expected to speak normal English”, he laughs, “Plus I told her of your favorite drink.” “Why, thanks Major.”, I smile. “Anytime, Doctor.”, he replies. We walk along and the cute maid reappears with my drink. Major Nak is holding off and abstaining for the time being. We walk along and meet the head of the household, the Majordomo, one Mr. Kanada. We exchange greetings. “If you require anything, Doctor”, he tells me, “Please let me know. I have read your contract so when I say ‘anything’, that is precisely what is meant.” “I will do that”, I reply and give him a hearty handshake in return. Suddenly, a young male individual type appears. He looks very intent and earnest. “Doctor Rocknocker?” He asks. “Yes. And you are?”, I reply. “I am Sanjay. I am your personal assistant while you are here in India.” He smiles back. “Nice to meet you, Sanjay”, I reply, “What are your qualifications?” I’m not messing around. I’m going to have a full tour on this job. He appears quite young but does have a good handle on English. At least English that I can understand. “I hold a Bachelor’s Degree in Geology. I am going for my Master’s next semester, once this virus business is over with. I speak Hindi, Urdu, English, and some Russian. I carry a light, the time, and your favorite vodka. I am 100% at your disposal.” He smiles and hands me an airline-sized miniature of Blest Vodka; a local favorite. I look at Major Nak, “Oh, I like him. Good choice.” Sanjay beams. Major Nak smiles as well. Major Nak continues, “Sanjay here can show you the rest of the house. If you’ll excuse me, I must be off to camp”. “Most certainly, Major Nak. It’s been a pleasure.” I reply as we shake hands in a very manly fashion. “I hope to see you before you leave, Doctor. Perhaps at the yards to see your progress. “ he notes. “I look forward to that, Major.” I smile He smiles to Sanjay, and does a briskly military about-face and disappears. “Doctor Rocknocker”, Sanjay continues… “Sanjay.”, I interrupt, “Call me ‘Rock’, it’ll save everyone a lot of time.” “Oh, OK. Sure. Doct…um, Rock”, he says, as I smile back. “You must have made a big impression on Major Nak. He hardly talks to anyone he oversees.” “Oversees?”, I smile, “OK, he seemed harmless enough. Affable chap. Can’t hold his liquor worth a shit though. But you’re not to say I said so. ..” “Understood, Doc…Rock”, Sanjay smiles, “Let me show you the rest of the house. Let’s go to the basement first. “ “OK, fine. You lead and I’ll follow.” I replied. The basement was one of wonders. A large heated and chilled pool, a sauna, fairly well kitted out gym, and a game room. The game room held a snooker table, a billiards table, a ping-pong table, and a Ms. PacMan table video game and a Galaga upright game. Vintage. Sweet. There were cupboards full of ping-pong paddles, ping-pong balls, pool, and snooker cues, as well as the remotes for the sound system and large, flat-screen TV, with uncensored 7-satellite feed, hanging on one wall. There were several comfy chairs strewn around. This would be a nice place to relax after a long day of blowing the living shit out of old rusty boats. “Nice”, I noted, “But no beer cooler or bar in the rec room?” Sanjay smiled and motioned me to the elevator. “Moment.” was all he said. He did speak a bit of Russian. We go up two floors and exit the elevator. One side of this floor was taken up with a huge library, complete with a huge antique harp, a very shiny black Steinway grand piano, hundreds if not thousands of books, and several large leather chairs and a couple of leather couches and ashtrays strewn about. Another place to waste a modicum of time. Then Sanjay points me north to the other side of the floor. There was a huge bar, fully stocked, with about a dozen barstools in front. There were at least a dozen taps of Indian, British, and Indonesian beer. There were hundreds of bottles of non-repeating liquor. There was a large ice machine humming away in the corner, full bar glass set-up, wash station, and dishwasher under one corner of the bar. There were several under-bar coolers full of carbonated drinks, juices, and other potential mixers. “We have two dedicated barmen at your disposal”, Sanjay smiled, “Or you can go ahead and use it self-serve if you desire.” I look at the empty glass in my hand and decide we’ll go ahead and inaugurate it now and not bother to call the barmen. Sanjay, eager to please, runs behind the bar and asks what I’d like. “Well, since we’re in India”, I say, rubbing my chin, “Let’s start out with a nice IPA.” “Certainly”, he replies, “Light or dark?” as they had two on tap. “Oh, dark, I think.”, I said, “And since you’re back there, why not grab yourself one and get me 100 milliliters of the finest chilled house vodka.” “Yes, Doctor!”, he smiled and fetched our drinks. Sanjay and I spent an hour or two at the bar getting to know each other. Several times, house employees rolled through to see if I needed any dinner or a cigar or… “Good lord”, I say to Sanjay after the fourth one in an hour was dismissed, “They keep this up and I might take them up on something off the menu.” “I can arrange that”, Sanjay smirked. “Thank you, no. That was a joke.”, I told him, “I’ve been married 39 years to the finest partner and deadliest crack shot this side of Annie Oakley. Besides, I have no desire for any of that sort of extracurricular shenanigans. It was a joke. Seriously.” “Understood, Rock”, Sanjay said. “I’m not married, but I am engaged. I understand fully.” “Good and congratulations”, I replied, “No need to get off on the wrong foot or anything.” “Or anything?” Sanjay smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Keep that up and I might just keep you on as my assistant.” I said, “You will need a good sense of humor before this all over.” Sanjay quaffed his beer and smiled broadly. After I had him get me another beer and asked for my room as I was needing a cigar. He pulled out a phone, dialed a few numbers, and Hindi’ed directly into the device for a minute. “No worries, Rock”, he said, “One will be here directly.” “Fine”, I replied, “Now Sanjay, this job is not all skittles and beer, if you take my meaning.” “Oh, look. Your cigars have arrived.” He says, totally distracting me. An ancient butler pushing a silver tea cart appears. On the cart is a very large humidor full of many different shades, shapes, and sizes of cigars. I went to grab one when the butler stops me and tells me to make a selection. “Oh, oh, oh! Very nice.” I say and point to a likely looking Oscuro Churchill. He takes the cigar, carefully wipes it with fine cheesecloth, and asks what type of cut I like; V-cut, punch, or slant. “Oh, V-cut, if you please,” I reply. He V-cuts my cigar and with his with gloved hands, holds it out for me to inspect. “Lovely,” I reply. I jam the cigar in my yap and start digging around the pockets of my field vest for my lighter. He taps me on the shoulder and extends a lit piece of cedar bark. The ‘traditional’ British way of lighting a cigar. After all that, he tells me his direct number is 214 and that if I need anything more to have one of the staff ring him. With that, he turns heel and exits without another word. “Well”, I smirk, “That was weird.” Sanjay just smiles and tells me to get used to it. They will do everything here for you if you allow them. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”, I say, get up and pour myself a new beer. A ‘Tiger’ this time. I ask Sanjay if he’s ready for a refill and he tells me he’s good. I grab another 100 milliliters of chilled Old Fornicator Vodka and sit back down at the bar. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Can you be a hard ass, Sanjay? Can you tell your peers ‘no’?” I ask. “Will I have to?” he asks. “Yep.” I say, “Damn, this is a really fine cigar. But working with me, you best develop a thick skin and a hard head.” “Oh, OK”, he says, obviously confused. “Right.” I say, “Serious talk time. I’m the boss on this project. What I says, goes. No questions. Period. You’re my de facto second in command. We are here to teach 24 of your comrades how to blast boats to smithereens and how to train the next set of like-minded individuals. This is a step up for them, every one. It means more money, more security, more prestige. I need only 24 and from what I hear, there’s what, up to 30,000 workers here? Guess what? That means a lot that are going to go home disappointed. They might hold that against me and you, Me? I don’t give the tiniest shit. But I’m going to leave after a couple of weeks. You’re here for the duration and going to take over my spot. Some of these characters might get shirty and decide to tap dance on your head if you tell them no. You have to be ready for that. Can you deal with that situation?” Sanjay just sits there and looks intently at the finely polished hardwood floor. “This is old hat for me,” I tell him. “I’ve had to tell some good friends that they weren’t picked for the job or contract. It’s business. And some have been less than adult about how they handled the rejection. There have been threats, usually hollow and empty. There have been altercations, usually unimportant. There have been fights with bloodied noses, broken arms, and police reports. But in the end, I had to stick to my guns. You ready for that, young Mr. Sanjay?” “Thank you, Doctor Rock…”, he replies, “I never thought about it that way. But, yes, I think I can handle that situation if it arises. It’s business like you say and I am able to defend myself.” “That’s good”, I reply, “At least physically. What about mentally? You might have to tell a good friend to get stuffed; in a nice manner, of course.” “I think so.”, he replied, “I’ll follow your lead over the next couple of weeks. Call it ‘on the job training’.” “Mr. Sanjay”, I say, “I do think you’ll do.” We talk a bit more and I decide that after one more round of drinks, I’ll call 214, grab a couple of cigars and have Sanjay show me my room. On the way down the long hall, Sanjay is smiling in a weird sort of way. “OK, give,” I say. “No, no yet. Wait until you see your room.” He snickers. Now I’m worried. We come to a large, polished, and engraved oak door. He produces a key from out of the depths of a Stephan King novel, twists it in the lock, and the door silently swings open. “Holy shit!”, I exhale. The room is enormous. En suite bathroom where one could hold an Olympics meet in the Jacuzzi. American Standard bog, flanked on either side by bidets. Twin sinks, a shower with tropical, right out of the ceiling rainfall, or the new waterfall shower design. Or both. With steam function. Not boiling water, but live steam like any sauna. “I could get to like this”, I mutter. The room is fully carpeted with tapestries on the walls. A large, Victorian oak desk is over on one side, with a very nice dual-screen computer work station at my disposal. There is a note with my login and password in the leather-bound legal pad on the ergonomic computer chair before it. There is a huge flat-screen TV over on the other wall with the same 7-satellite feed as in the rec room. “Whoa!” I say, “Data overload.” My luggage is next to the built-in wardrobes. One houses a bespoke mini-bar. “The maids would have put your clothes away”, Sanjay explains, “But they were locked. I can call them if you’d like.” “Sure”, I reply, “Why not?” I see two of the aluminum cases that I marked “Careful: Scientific Instruments” are next to the computer workstation. Two maids presently arrive and I unlock my luggage. They set to putting it away and are tsking that it needs to be pressed first. “Perhaps later”, I said, “It’s been a day and I’m a bit knackered.” “I will turn down your bed then”, one of the nubiles remarks. Sanjay is now smiling way, way too broadly. I go through the door to the master bedroom. “Holy shit squared,” I say. There is a huge four-poster Edwardian? Georgian? bed. The carved wooden uprights are the diameter of telephone poles. I’m a pretty large person, but on this bed, I’ll need a personal transponder as its large enough for me to get lost. Easily 3x4 meters and the mattress is nice and firm, just the way I like it. On top of the bed are blankets, a comforter, a quilt, an afghan, and more feather-stuffed keep-warms than I ever saw outside of Siberia. Under those, I’d sweat away to nothingness; but it looks so damned comfy. The bed properly turned back, I thank the maid and make the noises like I want her to get the fuck out so I can get horizontal. Sanjay notes that and has her and the other maid exit. All my clothes are put away, even my field vest I discarded when we walked into the room is tutted over and hung up. “So, Rock?” he laughs, “What do you think?” “I think if I didn’t have a serious job to do, I’d come down with some damned virus that would require me to stay home and socially distance myself.” I laugh. “Sorry, but work begins tomorrow. What time would you like for me to ring you?” he asks. “Right”, I said, “About that. I want to be on the job at 0600. Not leaving here at 0600, not wheels up at 0600. I want to be ready to select my 24 candidates beginning at 0600 tomorrow. I leave that to you. When do we need to leave, so when do I need to be rung up?” “I’ll call you at… 0430…?” he cautiously says. “Fine.” I reply, “Make certain that the notices I sent were posted. I want my 100 applicants ready and on-site spot-on 0600. I’ll need a large black coffee in a travel mug. Green?” “Green?” he asks. “My shorthand for ‘are we in agreement?’” I say. “Oh, yes. Rock. Very green. See you in the morning.” He says, shakes my hand and departs; but not before leaving me the room key. I lock the door and strip down. A steamy shower and a couple of very well-appointed in-room mini-bar bourbons later, I’m going over Email. Seeing nothing that can’t wait until the next day or two, I flop into bed and immediately become a missing person. The phone cheerily chirps at me at precisely 0430. If I had my Casull, that phone would be in another dimension. As it is, I drag my carcass to vertical, grab the phone, say “Thanks” and hang up. A quick shower, a couple of shower sunrisers, and I’m feeling much better. Damn near human. I gather the day’s necessities, don my vest, and Stetson over my usual field outfit and toddle downstairs. I’m not 5 steps out of the room when the maids arrive with the intent of committing premeditated neatness in my room. I wave to them, and gargle an obligatory “Morning”, and head down to the main floor. I am greeted by Sanjay, who is holding a large metal thermal coffee travel mug for me. “You are a gentleman, scholar, and life-saver”, I say to him. He beams in the way-too-early morning light. “Breakfast, Doctor?” he asks. “Just coffee. I don’t want to eat too much these first few days. ‘Delhi belly’ and all that. Too much work to do.” I remonstrate. “Understood.” Sanjay complies, “Cigar?” “Yes, it is,” I say. “I have brought along a box of them for you today,” he adds, smiling. “Outstanding”, I say and sip my coffee. Surprisingly, it is of the Greenland variety. “The driver is waiting. Anytime you are ready, Rock”, Sanjay informs me. “Give me a few minutes,” I say as I review the morning edition of the Times of India. I was actually waiting for the fine coffee to take effect. A few minutes later, we’re headed down the coast to the beach; right where the rubber hits the road. Or rather, the ships scrape the sand. Alang is the biggest ship breaking facility in the world. There are more than 400 ship breaking platforms here. They break about 1,500 ships every year. At any time about 300 people can be working on a single ship. The total workforce here is 40,000 plus. There are complaints about the treatment of workers and their service conditions. Ships are broken down crudely by hand using the minimum machinery; typically oxygen lances and welding torches. It’s a horror show. Huge, rusty, jagged pieces of ships everywhere. Puddles of every color, containing noxious chemicals of every description. Lead, organotins such as tributyltin in anti-fouling paints, polychlorinated organic compounds, by-products of combustion such as polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons, dioxins, and furans are found in ships and pose a great danger to the environment and personnel. There is a singular lack of PPE (Personal Protective Equipment) here. Thatched, woven palm-frond ‘hardhats’. Steel-toed sandals; if you grasp the irony. No coveralls, gloves nor much else. Ragged shorts, torn shirts, and car-tire soled sandals are the uniforms here. Well, if there’s one thing I can do, it’s change this. We wheel into an area containing a huge tent-like structure, a couple of Quonset huts, and a smattering of non-descript outbuildings. The place is swarming with workers. All male, all young, and all looking to be part of the chosen 24 today. We park and I’m shown into the large tent-like structure. At the head of the tent are a table, a PA system microphone, and a desk where we can sit down and tally the day’s take. “OK, Sanjay”, I say, “Time to work. Remember I sent ahead the qualifications I’m looking for in trainees?” I had cabled ahead for them to pre-select 50 candidates, 175-225 pounds, 5’ 9” to 6’ 3”, preferably unmarried bachelors, which tend to be the best kind. They must be English reading and speaking. I need the larger guys to handle the physical demands of the job. They need to be within the height requirements as those are the heights my pre-ordered coveralls will fit. They must be fluent in spoken and written English as I don’t have time to learn Hindi. There were easily 5 times that number milling about just outside. “OK, here’s the deal”, I said, “Here are 100 numbered chits. You will pass them out to the first 100 gents outside that pass initial muster. That is their ticket inside. Pucker time. Think you can handle the throng?” “I’ve got this, Rock”, he says, with a stalwart look. “OK, but if you need help, you know where I am,” I reply. I busy myself constructing a 10x10 grid on a sheet of paper. I number it 1 to 100. This will keep tabs on our candidates. Behind me, on the wall, are 24 brass tokens, ‘chits’, about the size of a US$1 Silver Bullion coin, about 1.5 inches in diameter, numbered 1 to 24. They have a flat space for a name to be engraved upon. These are the coveted chits that enable a person to graduate out of the swill and into the ranks of blasterdom and eventual teaching. Right now, they are the most coveted possession within hundreds of miles. One by one, pre-selected individuals are filtering in and finding seats. Sanjay is doing quite the job, as so far, they all fill the bill nicely. Whether they pass or fail muster will be determined in the next couple of hours. I sip my coffee and smoke my cigars. The room swells by the numbers. Soon, all the seats are taken and Sanjay rejoins me at the head podium. “Good job, Mr. Sanjay”, I say, shaking his hand. “Let’s take a couple of minutes and then we shall begin, OK?” He agrees. I head to the loo and he takes my coffee for a refill. We reappear a few minutes later and I grab the microphone for the PA system. I key the mike, “Hello! Please, everyone, quiet down and pay attention!” Very few replies much less capitulation. Sanjay stands and shouts something in Hindi. The room goes deathly silent. “Remind me to ask you to teach me that,” I say and return to the job at hand. “Gentlemen. Welcome to the selection board for Blaster’s Assistants. If you are not here for that particular position, the exit’s to the rear.” No one moves, except to shift to pay me more attention. “OK. Great. I am Dr. Rocknocker, the headmaster of this special education class. I am the boss. The hookin’ bull. The head cheese. I am the Maharaja of this project. What I says, goes. I am an American, I am a geologist, and I don’t tolerate tomfoolery or bullshit from anyone. I say jump, you say ‘how high’? I say shit and you ask ‘what color’? You will follow my instructions implicitly, without question. Are we in agreement?” I ask. There are a few feeble “Yeah’s”, and “OK’s” that drift up out of the crowd. “Gentlemen. I am an American, as I said, and I’m old, weary, and slightly hard of hearing. I don’t expect you to use your indoor voice around me. You answer so I can hear you, loud and clear. Understand?” “Yes.” Comes a few half-hearted attempts. “GOD DAMN IT! I’m the fuckin’ deaf one. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!?” “Yes, Doctor!” came the reply. “What? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” “YES, DOCTOR!” came the thunderous response. “Outstanding,” I reply. There were some snickers and chuckles in the crowd. It was time to toughen up the crowd and see if I can thin the ranks early. “Gentlemen! Your attention.” I roar. I had their attention. I hold up my gloved left hand. I rip off the glove and show everyone my physical deformity. There were gasps, groans, and a couple of less hearty souls bolting for the door. “I received this in a Russian rig accident years ago. It was not from a blasting accident. I’ve never had one and don’t intend on starting now. If this bothers you, leave. This is me and I’m the instructor.” I announced. “That fact will not change.” Physical deformities here really scare some folks. I figured I’d get this out of the way straight off, and that would be one less thing to worry about. We lost three with that revelation. “Groovy,” I said as I replace my glove. “Now, we will begin the final selection. You all have your numbered tokens, one through a hundred. If you thought because you had a low number, you’d be first, forget it. I have a random number generator application on my phone, set from one to one hundred. And the first number is number…Lucky 13! Lucky 13. Come forward, front and center, and be recognized.” I say. Sanjay is seated next to me with our book of the job. He’ll be handling secretarial duties whilst I do the interviewing. “Your token?” I ask. The young gent hands me lucky number 13. “Fine.” I say, “Name?” Name go in book. “Age? Company number? Years with the company? Married? If so, children?” All data goes into the book in the proper zones. I ask a few questions about the job, to make sure they know what they’re in for. “How’s your English?” I ask. “I speaks it very goodly”, was the reply. “Marvelous.” I pick up this month’s Journal of Explosives Engineering monthly and hand it to him. “Page 22. Read the first paragraph, please.” I instruct him. He fumbles with the magazine, counts singly to page 22, and tries to read some random, but not first, paragraph. I retrieve the magazine, thank him, and tell him we’ll be in touch. Everyone and I mean everyone, chosen or not, will be personally told of their results. I mean, it’s only right and fair. It’s the way I’ve done business for 40 years and it’s worked pretty well so far. Candidates number 9, 57, and 42 results in much the same way. “Number 77!” I call. He lopes up to the podium. “Your token, please,” I say He hands it over. We gather the information and he’s unmarried and without children. How refreshing. I hand him the journal and ask him to read the last paragraph on page 52. “iRing has announced, “a breakthrough technology in ring design for underground mines” that uses a completely new blast design model. The development of this innovative blasting technique uses a unit charge and stress reflection methodology in conjunction with electronic detonators to design ring patterns with the objective of transforming underground blasting operations into primary crushing operations.” “Your name again?” I ask “I am Waazir Naidu.” He replies. “Mr. Naidu, welcome aboard,” I say as I hand him his brass token. “You are trainee number one. Do not lose your token. It is your key up out of the swill.” He smiles broadly and turns to the crowd to display his brass letter of acceptance. There are growls from the crowd, as well as a smattering of applause. “We will reconvene in Outbuilding #2 at 1300 hours. See you there.” I say and shake his hand. He’s all beaming smiles as he almost literally floats out the door. We spent the rest of the morning thinning the herd. There were some judgment calls, but by 1130 hours, we were down to two candidates and one last brass token. “Number 79!” I call. He approaches, we do the usual and get his information. “Please read paragraph three on page…oh, I don’t know, 31.” He fumbles with the magazine a while and stutters and stammers somewhat. “OK, thanks.” I say, “We’ll let you know.” “OK, number 5! The best and last number 5!” “About time!’ He scowls. “Excuse me?” I said. “You really are deaf, Yankee benchod.” He sneers quietly; but loud enough for me to hear. He figures he’s a shoo-in; last number called, last chit on the board. “Sanjay, a moment,” I ask. “This “benchod”? Not a term of endearment, I take it?” “Ah, no”, he stammers. “And it means?” I ask. “You don’t want to know.” Sanjay hopefully replies. “But, yes, I do. I insist.” I reply. “It means colloquially ‘motherfucker’. ‘Sister fucker’ literally.” He splutters. “Hmmm. OK. A new term for my dictionary. Fine. Let us continue.” Name, age, etc. all go in book. I hand him the magazine. He almost rips it from my hands. “OK, please read the ad on page 55. All of it.” I instruct. He flips the magazine to page 55. There’ a half-page ad in Russian for a new form of blasting cap super-boosters. “I can’t read that.” He complains. “Well, then me ol’ mucker; looks like you’re just shit out of luck. Good day.” I say. “Sanjay”, I say, “Go outside and find number 79. He’s our last candidate trainee.” “You said you wanted good English readers.” The rejected complains. “Yes”, I agreed, “But I also need people that can follow instructions and not have a Gibraltar size chip on their shoulder. I’m the boss, and what I say goes. And I say you go, dick cheese. Ta-ta.” He realizes his mistake and beings to entreat me with tales of woe. “If that was a loose blasting wire, we’d all be dead. I don’t need an attitude. I need people with brains enough to listen. Now, piss off. We’re done here.” I say. “Benchod fucker”, he snarls. “I keel you.” Luckily my coffee mug was nearly half empty. Otherwise, it could have really left a mark across his face where I slammed him with it. He’s down on the ground, wondering what hit him. I’m standing over him, towering and glowering. It was that kind of day. I don’t have time for monks resisting the carnival. “You get the fuck out of my sight, you sawed-off little prick. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood and don’t give you a fucking C-4 enema. Or kick your scrawny ass to death. You might still have your shit job here in the yard, but I hear from anyone one more foul oath or unkind word out of you and you’re going to be Alsatian chow back at the Raj. You diggin’ me, Beaumont” He just looked at me with eyes as wide as cheap paper plates at a windy Sunday picnic. “Get out of here, you asshole.” I snarled and puffed mightily on my cigar. He got up and scarpered. He didn’t even take the time to dust off. Sanjay arrived with number 79 just as he hit the exit. I hand number 79, one Mr. Yudhishthira Bahaiti, brass token number 24. “Welcome aboard. Sorry about the foul-up. It’s been handled. See you in building #2 at 1300 hours.” I say. “Sanjay? Lunch?” I suggest. “I could really use a fresh coffee.” After lunch, Sanjay and I are smoking away in Outbuilding #2. It’s about 1245 hours or so and already a couple of new recruits have appeared. They are sitting in one of the 24 seats which look for all the world like elementary school desks way back in the day. There are 24 locker boxes stacked along one wall. These are the new locker boxes for my recruits. These contain a number of specialty items which they will now need in the execution of their new jobs. Some of it could be considered quite pricey and there are needs for security, especially since this bunch will be dealing with high, low, and medium explosives. I’m getting that teaching vibe again. I love geology, I love blowing shit up, but I really love to teach. Especially a new crop of fresh recruits. I’ve watched Full Metal Jacket far too many times. It’s 1300 hours on the nose. All 24 recruits are assembled and in their proper numbered chair. Sanjay has made up a seating plan for me so I can get to match a name to face and locker box number. It’s showtime. To be continued…
[/u/careless - March 17, 2016 at 07:31:47 PM] Addressing some concerns regarding /r/aww's part in fighting spammer account
Recently a well-known moderator, allthefoxes, started commenting with giant walls of text in /aww - sample below. The intent was to get spammer accounts banned. While I always appreciate feedback, I'd vastly prefer it if you used modmail instead of spamming giant text screeds into the comments. Now, since you appear to have an axe to grind with the /aww mod team, let's talk. Oh, and I used this post because I have some work and responsibilities to take care of, and a Slack conversation would be difficult to follow. Here's the text screed:
Warning
It is very likely that this account is an "account farmer" or karma farmer! Account farming is creating many accounts and posting low-effort content in an attempt to age them and build karma so they can be more useful for spamming, SEO, or vote manipulation. Also known as "account fattening" and "karma farming", account farming is presently dominated by Hindi/Urdu speakers, with clues suggesting the major hubs are in Pakistan and India. When questioning some of the users we've identified as farmers, we've been able to glean that some are following tutorials posted on YouTube, which means that there is a cottage industry that has grown up around using reddit and other social media sites to make money. It is not clear that they are all organised into a handful of companies directly hiring people to spam reddit—although that is happening as well—but that there are hundreds and possibly thousands of independent opportunists who hear about ways to make money online, read a few blogs or YouTube videos about it, and start following one of the many tutorials available.
Monetisation
The main ways they make money from account farming appear to be:
Promoting monetised YouTube channels and accounts
Promoting/SEO-ing an ad-supported blog or web site
Selling seasoned accounts to account dealers such as [rm'd, banned link]
Selling seasoned accounts to vote manipulation firms such as [rm cant use this link]
Spamming porn or streaming video sites
They need accounts with age and karma in order to overcome the account-based obstacles that reddit and its mods have erected to deal with the spam problem. /videos uses AutoModerator to remove any posts from accounts below a certain karma level, for example. Creating a subreddit (popular with the streaming sports video spammers) now requires an account above a certain age and karma level. And the bot that auto-shadowbans accounts reported to /spam ignores accounts above a certain karma level. We also suspect, but do not know, if reddit discounts upvotes from new or low-karma users, but it would explain the use of account farming from those intending to sell the account to vote manipulation firms.
Characteristics
This list is constantly growing as the more sophisticated or ambitious account farmers try new techniques. In the beginning (only a year ago as I write this), it was rather easy: FirstLast## account names (eg: "JohnSmith56", "MaryStuart47"), new user, low-effort posts, and robot-like posting. Many continue to try the FirstLast## formula, and they are probably newcomers reading old tutorials. Unfortunately, the leading characteristic is still a poor grasp of English and a general ignorance of western culture, which means you need to be careful and avoid banning an innocent user. You are not Deckard, and sometimes you can retire a human by mistake.
"Cute cat", "Cute dog", "Funny animal", "Funny amazing dog", "Amazing pic", "Nature beauty", "Amazing place in the world"
New York City skylines, Sidney Opera House, the Eiffel Tower, or London's skyline / Big Ben — these are their top Go-To pictures, although we don't know why
Stock nature photography or novelty pics with bland titles (example)
The title implies a gallery of many pics, but there's only one. EG: "10 amazing places to visit in New York". This may be because they're reposting something by re-uploading the first pic to imgur to get a new URL, but are too lazy to copy over the entire gallery (example)
Their user history starts with posting a monetised YouTube video to /videos, receiving their automated notice of removal for low karma, and then quickly start posting to aww, wallpapers, funny and pics.
Using /AskReddit like a quiz show (asking a common trivia question or trick question, then waiting for someone to give the correct answer, or providing the correct answer). We think these are attempts to build comment karma
Posting old yawners to /Jokes. One of the YouTube tutorials we found (now removed), explicitly describes searching Google for jokes and posting them on /Jokes
Word-for-word reposts where the title implies ownership of the pic or subject (eg: "This is my dumbass cat"). These can be detected with KarmaDecay, and I recommend installing their browser extension to make it easier to use
Comments stolen from the imgur-hosted thread, or the YouTube-hosted thread (recommended: install the reddit image info script and it will identify comments in a reddit thread that were copied word-for-word from the corresponding imgur thread.)
Comments stolen from elsewhere in the same thread
Comments stolen from other web sites. If a user's history seems to switch jarringly from awkward or simple English to sophisticated use of language, try cut-n-pasting a sentence of their sophisticated comment into Google. You can often discover that their entire comment was stolen whole-cloth, or frankensteined from other sources
Pics of familiar western cultural icons, but with titles that suggest the OP doesn't know who/what they are. EG: Spongebob Squarepants is "funny animal" or Boo from Monsters, Inc. is "funny cartoon girl"
Posting lots of stock photos, especially beauty-shots of major city landmarks and natural wonders
An old account (4+ months old) with no posting history at all until very recently. This may be a purchased account
Little to no comments in their history, or extremely short and low-effort comments
Crap-pics with mis-spelled titles, such as this one
Reposting something that's still at the top of the front page
Awkwardly naive or child-like enthusiasm in comments, as if they're trying too hard (example)
"Magic upvotes" on posts that have been quarantined by AutoModerator. A YouTube tutorial we found included instructions for pasting the URL of new reddit posts into a private Facebook club, where other spammers will upvote and comment on them for you
Comments from other suspicious users with "wao nice pic", "nature beauty", and other inane compliments
"It's my cake day" posts on accounts that aren't anywhere near a year old, yet
A series of rule-breaking posts (especially animations or memes) from different accounts that have no other history and are all exactly the same age
Posting holiday greetings on the wrong day (eg: "Happy Valentine Day" when it's the 15th in every time zone)
Anti-characteristics
As important as the above are disqualifying behaviours, since there are lots of users who can exhibit the above characteristics but turn out to be false-positives anyway.
Meaningful comments that Google or Ctrl-F can't confirm were stolen from somewhere else
Pics that Google's reverse image search, or TinEye can't confirm are reposts
Self-purchased reddit gold
Multiple gilded posts or comments, especially if they cover posts spaced apart more than a few weeks
Trophies other than "confirmed email" or a yearly trophy. EG: a gilding trophy, secret-santa, "orangered/periwinkle blue", etc.
Talks and engages like a human being when directly queried in comments, private messages, distinguished removal reasons, or a ban notice
No offence /aww, but you guys really need to get a handle on this issue. At /pics we are doing all we can to stop it Reddit gold for up to 5 people, I bet that within 3 months the OPs account will be used for spamming or shadowbanned by then
*funny thing right? I was looking through this subreddit thinking "hmm what stories do I have?" Then I laughed and realised I'd just spent six months as a stripper (that's more of a reflection on how surreal it is to be a stripper a. your drunk all the time b. you hardly get any sleep therefore it feels like a huge dream) So yeah Ill post a few stories warning this post is looooong so get your popcorn! Back story (feel free to skip) I live in a big city in Australia and at the end of my time in university I was desperate for money and just out of an extremely abusive relationship. Now I am pretty impulsive and decided to start dancing as I'd actually been thinking about it since I was 14 to get myself through university it took me a while to find a club I liked the look of but finally settled on one. I made a ton of friends a fuck ton of money and still had time to get good grades. As far as I was concerned life was great! Nothing creepy ever happened at the first club I was at. Any way one day I get toxic shock syndrome and show up to work crying and throwing up and I was still forced to work. I was so pissed off that I left that club and started dancing at a club that one of my friends worked in (we'll call her jess) and this is where things started getting sketch *note all stories come from the second club STORY 1 followed by a gang Me and Jess would always hang out after work. (me 19, her 18) we'd go walk across the huge bridge in the city to a smaller part of the city and either play on the kids playground (epic playground tho) or smoke weed under the bridge. Keep in mind this is about 3am in a huge city One night I noticed we were being followed by a group of men of middle eastern decent me and my friend are both very confrontational and aggressive we both enjoy fighting. Im probably the more paranoid but we are both equally aggressive so I turn around and give them the most chilling death stare I can manage and they look genuinely surprised that we're putting up a fight. Then one of the group comes up to us and up until this point they'd been talking in Urdu (I think) Me: Fuck do you want (all the while holding intense eye contact) Him: me and my friends have made a bet that I, can get a kiss from one of you He was using one of those tones that you commonly hear in the PUA community Me: Stop watching shitty pick up videos they don't work Him: I'm not talking to you! He turns toward my friend Jess who gives him a belittling stare Him: Can I have a kiss from you Jess: no you rude ass son of a bitch you (a gang of men) guys were following us fuck off! We are both getting equally agitated at this moment as the group is getting closer The guy keeps on insisting that they were not following us and and rattling on about random shit trying to distract Jess notices it to and we both start getting louder and louder causing a commotion which causes the men to stop advancing. If you've ever been alone in this particular city at 3am its quiet, theres lots of homeless people and a fair few cops around too so this tactic aimed to provide witnesses in case anything happened Eventually they left and me and Jess laughed at how scarred we made them. STORY 2 (scariest one in my opinion) *note that in stripper culture we all take care of eachother One girl in the club we'll call her Maddy had gotten one of her guy friends to come into the club and chill for a bit (note that this is actually illegal, we'll call the guy dave) Maddy is married with two kids and is wealthy as she owns property when I asked her why she dances she said for fun, and granted it is pretty fun. Immediately I dont like the guy but Maddy said he wanted to buy a dance from me. I didnt end up dancing for him because I ended up booking a two hour VIP lapdance so Maddy took him for a dance instead. Anyway after work me and maddy go to the 7 eleven where we get coffee and sober up a little Maddy says that she is feeling a little dizzy and she hadn't drank much that night. This immediately sets off alarm bells (because Im paranoid) But then alarm bells really stared going off when we witnessed some men out on the town for a night of fun just minding their own business being assaulted by a homeless woman normally Maddy would laugh at this kind of thing as it was pretty common. Plus the homeless lady had assaulted me and Jess previously (story 3). But Maddy just looked at them sunken eyed and asked in a weak voice if everything was ok Maddy isnt wearing clothes that are warm enough so I walk her across the bridge and we settle down in a well lit hidden spot of mine that is warm and very well hidden from view I always go to this spot after work as it’s the warmest place. I test her motor skills and determine that she's been drugged as she is becoming more out of it by the second. I message her husband who is not in Australia and on a military training exercise. I informed him of the situation and promised to take care of her At this point I want to call an ambulance but Maddy is determined to stay put. She gives me her phone and tells me to answer any messages that come through. Sure enough the first message I see is on snapchat from dave. I should have fucking known! "where are you? your not bailing on me are you? ;)" I know for a fact that Maddy would not cheat on her husband as they were somewhat of a super couple So I reply: "haha what do you mean?" "I can see that you're in [insert suburb here] you want me to pick you up?" I look over at Maddy and by now she is sleeping I check her every few minutes to make sure she is okay I look down at the text "how do you know where I am?" "I just saw you and Athena (my stripper name) walking that way are you near [insert building name here] I'll be there soon don't worry" Did that mother fucker follow us? Maddy chose that moment to wake up and projectile vomit all over the floor My head! There were voices from each side telling me what to do! "grab maddy and run, use the knife you have and scare the shit out of this fucker, call 000, hide" No! My first concern should be the safety of Maddy (a mum) and my own safety second (not a mum) I try to convince Maddy that we need to go the police but she chooses that moment to tell me that she can't because she is dealing. "oh well" I thought I prefer handling thing my way anyway but still, way to fucking tell me. So we are basically cornered in a large outside restaurant underneath a theatre and I can hear footsteps coming closer. I am in no position to defend both me and Maddy at the same time I drag Maddy up the stairs and though the outside part of the theatre. Its a fucking maze in this complex. So I am dragging Maddy who is barely conscious at this point through the theatre maze until we get out to the other side. I demand that maddy hand me any drugs she has as I am going to dump them and call and ambulance She's barely cognitive so I search her and turn up nothing. Then I call an ambulance and long story short the guy Dave was up for several charges of sexual assualt on sex workers. Maddy has since denied any part in dealing and doesn't remember pretty much anything. I however cut contact with her as I believe that she was dealing, not that strippers don’t deal but its generally a code of honour to tell the other girls for one we wont rat on you and for two we know who has extra baggage and where to get weed STORY 3 assaulted by homeless woman (or at least attempted xD) *strippers can spot other strippers instantly out of a crowd *if you are on the "sweetie list" every stripper in the vicinity knows who you are and is extra nice to you So I don't know the name of the homeless woman but me and Jess went to the seven eleven for coffee and talked to the owner for a little bit The owner a Sikh that we'll call Ra is on the sweetie list and gives all the strippers free tampons as he "doesn't believe women should have to pay for them" and also routinely warns us about new sketchy characters in the area. I was talking and laughing with Ra as he was working security that night as Jess got our coffee when she comes out Ra warns us about a homeless woman that's been harassing people (I wont include her description). I thank Ra, and me and jess head off to begin our nightly shenanigans (metal detecting for valuables on the man made beach, smoking weed, exploring, scarring tourists etc.). I tell jess that I really need to poop so we head over to the public bathroom and who fucking knew! The homeless woman is in the womans bathroom. She looks at us once screams "YOU AUSTRALIAN DOGS" (bitch hello? your white!) the backs up a few paces and no joke (though i was laughing my ass off) and gets a syringe and injects herself with. I still really need to poop so I start heading to the mens stalls Jess following and laughing behind me. I try to poop but anyone with a history in biology will know your anal sphicter closes up if youve had a fright! So I tell jess in the next stall that I cant poop so we start walking out. The woman runs up and pulls both our hair (I suppose she was done doing heroine?) and was screaming in gibberish she's short, skinny and no match for us so we just push her off and laugh hysterically. We leave and bitch about her for the rest of the night. However this isnt the last time that we encounter her. A few days later its a bout ten or eleven so there are still a few people around. I see this woman looking at herself in a store reflection. She is making the facial expression of someone that is screaming but shes making no sounds just staring feign screaming. She sees me walking by and immediately comes over to me asking for money. I accuse her of assaulting me and she spits on me and tells me I was hallucinating. ok whatever I wouldnt beat up a homeless woman I saw her several times after this and even asked Ra about it again who said that he's had to call the cops on her multiple times for assaulting people. STORY 4 annoying american tourists *the stripper gods are a popular part of stripper culture Let me start by saying that if you are an American male you are in demand! Australian women love American men and that goes for strippers too. Because you've grown up in a tipping culture and a culture in which stripping is more acceptable you will be very popular with the ladies stripper or not ;) (same goes for american women strippers love y'all) To preface this story not to brag but in that club I was the best damn dancer there. My pole, flexibility and floor skills are insane I could usually book at least one dance with my stage skills I don't know what happened this night! (THE STRIPPER GODS IN HEAVEN BLESSED ME FOR SOME REASON) But everyone and I mean everyone that night wanted me. As soon as I got off stage I was approached by at least five guys. For a dance who were fighting over me. "Nina" a lovely russian and an older stripper who was a veteran stripper of 18 years told me to pick the American as it was nearly closing time and I wouldn't be able to dance for all of them. One rule in that club. If Nina tells you to do something you do it not even management stood up to her So I take her advice and escort the American to the lap room. In Australia at least in my state you are allowed to touch everywhere on the stripper except in the g-string area and no mouth to skin contact (anything else is considered prostitution). So this guy is touching me and everything seems normal I grinding around on his lap trying to see the reflection of the TV in the mirror I go through all my usual moves grind on right leg, left leg floor routine, bend over, spread eagle, keep in time with the music when he randomly says "I wish I could cut off your breasts and take them home with me" without a hint of sarcasm or humour. I brush it off as this is only mild compared to the things you usually hear. He then starts rattling off about how he hates his girlfriend that I'd make a much better girlfriend and he'd take me back to America with him and I'd never have to work again. I ignore it bored and soon the lap dance ends. So after we come out of the lap room the club is dead. He starts trying to get me to leave with him I cant remember most of the conversation but I remember was pulling some really emotional bullshit. I remember a few specific things: I cant even have coffee with you!?! Do you pull this bull shit on everyone? I was nice to you I bought a dance Im going to wait for you outside I was tired and pretty drunk so I payed literally no attention as I've dealt with this many times and know how to handle it. I told my manager about him waiting outside and she called the police to escort him on. I do my usual routine, walk around the corner to the Pie face then go to 7/11 for coffee and a chat with Ra. So Im talking to Ra when he asks me if I know that guy outside, sure enough its desparado watching me. I quickly explain to Ra and he call the cops (who give me a ride home!!) Let me know if you guys want a part two I have many more stories like this some funny some creepy. Any dancers out there share your stories
1= the music scene is dominated by pop, and romantic songs played along side an acoustic guitar or piano.. real mellow stuff.. so metal punk etc is dead here.. but our generation is the metal generation.. or at least the metal tolerant generation.. so we hope to be the first band to bring metal at an acceptable level in the commercial scene 2= my friend started me off with iron maiden.. i loved it.. it was the best thing i ever heard.. then i heard megadeth's holy wars on the radio.. i came buckets.. then after a few months the same friends played kalmah's hades.. i died.. that was 5 years ago 3= a) we hope to become the first metal band to be released on a commercial level. b)our record label will release us in pakistan and uk, and our songs will be on sale on itunes.. the kind of expose i want to get is to get a record deal with road runner records or something and tour the world and make this band my fucking job :D.
If only all our gigs could go that way.. but i wont get to be on stage for a while now.. we are recording and we have a deadline till august.. cuz most of the band will go abroad to study.. that time will suck ass for me cuz im older than them and done with my collage.. ill only get to meet them for a few month every year.. and in that time we will have to record stuff and play gigs like crazy if we want people to remember us..
Our influences are lamb of god, the faceless, tool, as blood runs black, pantera, megadeth, gojira, breakdown of sanity and plenty more i can't remember or think or right now.. but these were the main ones.
Haahh.. we want to try that. we really do.. the only problem is one of our drumm kits is busted to shit.. and its costs alot of money to get ti fixed.. and our main priority is to buy a PA system.. so that;s gonna have to wait.. xD.
Hahah.. thankfully no.. religious extremists care more about target killing our politicians.. mayb e if we get more famous we'll become their targets :O.
Ahahaha.. THIS... This is the exact thing that happens to us..
Our weirdest reaction was that once we were playing a gig for a fight club.. it was supposed to be a brutal gig.. but the crowd was filled with idiots.. so when we played our new song some dude decides to clear the area and start break dancing.. and then a whole bunch of people start break dancing.. they were doing the robot and some really funky shit.. it was hilarious at first.. but then i was like.. wtf am i playing taht these people are break dancing to it.. and then i started to dislike the song a little.. those bastards ruined the song for me :(
My friends are pretty supportive.. our generation is pretty cool.. but our parents and elders are pretty pissed about it.. i even had a conversation with my mom about going abroad to study music.. lets say she was not thrilled about it..
I don't want my parents or relatives to come to my gigs, mainly because Ii know they wouldn't approve.. and whenever i come on stage I never know what the reaction of the audience will be like.. i don't want my parents to watch me get boo'ed off stage..
Thanks for the kind words and well wishes man.. and thankfully we haven't been boo'ed yet.. but sometimes we hear an occasional "what the fuck" from the crowd.
They are in English and our national language is Urdu. Its kinda like Arabic but not the same.
Well, being in a band itself is not a respectable thing here.. they have a special word for musicians, "maraase" which is like an insult..
If i tell someone im in a death metal band they simply start laughing.. its like im talking about something that doesn't exist.. there is no respect for a musician in the eyes of his parents or relatives.. however, this generation is a little different..
That has been done before by other bands and it wasn't that successful.. and we plan to go international so playing in English helps. thanks for the advice though i really appreciate it :D.
The scene is mostly pop and love songs.. no violence just yet.. extremists are too busy making sure women cover their heads to point there fingers at us..
Ahahaha.. NONE... chicks do not dig growling vocals.. and our vocalist looks like a fucking devil with his beard and stage presence.. chick scatter xD.
Well mostly our gigs are so-so.. we have really few "metal" gigs.. due to the fact taht we have really few metal bands.. and the audience for those gigs is about 30 people max lol.. you can check out our live videos on youtube.. in normal gigs people are usually so shocked by our performance that they either just sit quietly and stare, or they headbang :P.
Well our activities besides playing music are smoking weed and watching movies, series (i myself am a huge HBO fan), and playing video games (i myself like he addictive kind; world of warcraft, dota etc)
Ahahah. well some say that like an unforgivable sin.. like drinking alcohol.. there is no proper punishment for it.. but they will remind you that you will burn in hell lol.
Its not difficult at all.. for the songs that have been uploaded on youtube we used a line6 guitar port.. but in the studio we are using a lot of shit i have never seen before.. i didn't get the time to check everything.. but the sound was fucking amazing..
My personal favorite song to cover is toxic garbage island by gojira.. my favorite original song to play is our new song that we are in the middle of recording.. played it once and it was pretty epic :D.
Well we used to record at a friends place with line 6 and pod equipment.. but now that we are in the studio we use God know how much shit load of equipment and its all really epic stuff and the sound is orgasmic. the studio people are really professional.. they appreciate our music and if they think something doesn't sound good they keep it to themselves and maybe hint that the part needs improvement.
I myself have been playing for 7 years.. our rhythm guitarist has been playing for 10 years.. i didn't take any lessons.. i learned by watching demonstration videos and covering songs through tabs.. after a while i grew familiar with note sounds and covered songs by ear..
My band is 3 years old.. you just have to stick with it.. :D.
We simply hate our politicians... they are all corrupt and ready to sell the country for a bag of cash... fuck them all.. it's a shame she died.. and it was a really sad way that she went.. but still.. these people have leeched all the potential out of our country.
Well yes some parts of pakistan are extremely hostile.. i happen to live in a more modern area where western influences are the "fashionable" thing. lol.. thansk for the comment bro :D.
Our producer is someone we are keeping a secret.. we will reveal who he is before we release the album, to create hype.. mizraaab was pretty cool.. but faraz anwar became a sell out and tried to do some really commercial stuff. so i lost alot of respect for him.. my personal favourite pakistani band is dementia you can check them out on youtube.. junoon is also pretty cool...
I really really like the band lydia.. and my friends hate me for this, but i kinda like blink 182.. before i listened to metal i was really big on punk.. and blink was my life back then.. i still think its pretty cool and i was one of those guys who was excitedly waiting for their new album xP.
Me and the vocalist met in collage.. the rhythm guitarist and drummer met in high school, and the bassist is the drummer's cousin.. we normally play at our drummer's place.. his parents are cool and supportive.. the gig's are few but we enjoy them a lot :D.
Oh shit man.. that means the world to me.. thanks a billion.. <3.
Well our basic goal right now is to just do our thing and see where it takes us.. gigs here are usually shit.. but hopefully once we make our stand in the country we will get bigger gigs and global exposure.
Not really.. people here are normally into mellow stuff.. and the elders here never listened to metal.. i hardly meet an adult who listened to sabbath.. Death Metal is a niche in Pakistan but it is growing.
Our first studio album will be out n august hopefully.. we hope to tour outside of Pakistan then.. let's see what kind of opportunities we get.. you can download our music from Link to www.reverbnation.com
I tink walls they collapse is dropped D.. we recently switched to dropped C tuning.. so we will probably record the song again.. you can find our album on itunes once we release it.. dont steal our riff man X(
Haha nope i live in cantt.. but i studied in a defence school haha :D.. these shows go down usually in alhamrra or guitar school in defence.. keep an eye on our facebook page well let you kknow.
Mizraab is a pretty cool band.. they started out as metal but then started going more commercial.. that's when i stopped listening to them.. but overall i had mad respect for the band back when it was still metal.
Ahaha.. but it fits.. basically the dish is created my chopping pieces of beef with a butcher knife while it is being cooked on a huge stove.. takatak is the sound of metal against metal..
23M who hasn't seen his mother since I was 9...This is a letter to her...sigh...
I am not sure why you decided to leave. All I know is that you left and I never felt the need from you to see me. After you left, I lived my childhood pretty well. I loved biking, skateboarding, music, and playing outside with friends. It was hard to grasp when I would have to cross out the second parent/guardian section in school documentation. It never felt right doing it. Dad never gave up on me, he always pushed me and made sure I was on the right path. I made mistakes, who doesn't? High school was a wierd experience as I started getting into trouble. Fights, weed, cops, unbalanced family life. Although at 18 I found God, thankfully I did as it helpped me make more positive choices and have a foundation of logic. I wanted to be successful and i believed music was my way. I wanted to be a rapper beleive it or not. So you could hear my name and be happy with who I became. FOr my first music video, I wanted to wear a t-shirt that read "HI MOM" across it. :) That dream dwindled as life hit me and I had to adjust. I never gave up and am making things work for the end result I trust in. Driving fast cars, buying big homes, having a great family of my own, eating great food. I do not have it all yet, but I can tell you that the kid you left behind that door is going to make it. I plan to make in impact in this world. Let people know that there is someone out there that cares for the well being of Earth as a whole. Live a life kinda similar to Bill Gates. Make tons of money and gives tons of it away to charities and foundtions that are trying to make the world a better place to live in. One of my theories in life is that we do not have world peace yet simply because people think it is not possible. I bet if people BELIEVED in world peace, it would happen...As of right now, to me...World peace is possible and I will do what I can to atleast try...and it starts with the person across from me...Just be nice, be calm, be gentle...I want you to know I still think about you. I hope you are happy. One thing I never realized was why you never came to atleast just say Hi. I know you have a reason, but nothings impossible. You are the one who gave birth to me...I mean come on...that bond should have pushed you to atleast just say Hi. I'm a 2.7 GPA high school graduate who believes that he will become a successful business man...trust me...I want it so badly that it is actually happening...I see it, I feel it. If you wanted to meet me...trust me, you could have made it happen. I do give you the benefit of doubt and think you are still trying to find me or something. Well Ama (word for mother in Urdu), i turned out pretty cool. I am a good looking kid, I work hard and I provide for my Dad and Step Mother. I have good friends, I stay out of trouble, I love life, and I beleive in God. I am kind to anyperson that is in my sight, I help and have helpped countless people for various reasons. I am around the corner to success. I can confidently say, I made it...I hope you are proud... Much Love from your Son... P.S. thank you for leaving...as it was something that made me who I am today...if you ever want to say Hi, Please do...I am still a happy child. I just have the responsibilities of a man now...
The page not only provides Urdu meaning of Wager but also gives extensive definition in English language. The definition of Wager is followed by practically usable example sentences which allow you to construct your own sentences based on it. shart meaning in English is Bet and shart or Bet synonym is Calculate, Count, Depend, Look and Play. Similar words of Bet includes as Bet, Betake, Betal and Betalnut, where shart translation in Urdu is شرط. The meaning of a "definite cost" is the initial expense that a person suffers to start the bet. For example, the cost of the lottery card, horse rase bet ticket, or card game coins. This is different for the consequences of losing or wining the bet – Mustafa Oct 22 '13 at 13:05 An online trilingual Urdu dictionary with word meaning, definition, pronunciation, usage, synonym, antonym, idiom, proverb of Urdu words. bet meaning in Hindi with examples: बाजी विचार शर्त होड़ बाज़ी बाज़ी पर लगाई र click for more detailed meaning in Hindi with examples, definition, pronunciation and example sentences. bet meaning in Urdu (Pronunciation -تلفظ سنیۓ ) US: 1) bet. Noun. The money risked on a gamble. شرط پر لگا مال Depend Meaning In Urdu. Depend Meaning in English to Urdu is ناداری سے نجات دلانا, as written in Urdu and Nadari Say Nijaat Dilana, as written in Roman Urdu. There are many synonyms of Depend which include Turn To, Lean On, Reckon On, Bank On, Bet Bottom Dollar On, Bet On, Build Upon, Confide In, Gamble On, Lay Money On, Trust Bleed Meaning in Urdu. Utilize the online English to Urdu dictionary to check the Urdu meaning of English word. People often want to translate English words or phrases into Urdu. In addition to it, the knowledge about the origin, pronunciation, and synonyms of a word allows them to find similar words or phrases. Depend On Meaning In Urdu. Depend On Meaning in English to Urdu is ناداری سے نجات دلانا پر, as written in Urdu and , as written in Roman Urdu. There are many synonyms of Depend On which include Turn To, Lean On, Reckon On, Bank On, Bet Bottom Dollar On, Bet On, Build Upon, Confide In, Gamble On, Lay Money On, Trust In, etc. The page not only provides Urdu meaning of Bet but also gives extensive definition in English language. The definition of Bet is followed by practically usable example sentences which allow you to construct your own sentences based on it. You can also find multiple synonyms or similar words of Bet.
How to Start Freelancing in Pakistan [Urdu] - YouTube
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