#vinay patel

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Feelings about Bringing Back Moffat For RTD2 + Other Writers I Think Should Get the Chance

Whelp, just found out that Steven Moffat is going to be writing an episode of Fifteen and I'm just like...eh? about the whole prospect. Like, not as terrified as I once might have been but like...hoping he grew as a writer. Because even though I vastly prefer his one-offs to his overarching season ideas...let's not pretend that you couldn't see the warning signs looking back. The focus on either women as mothers (Doctor Dances) women companions as operating in service/deference to the Doctor (Empty Child/Blink) or women as the Time Traveller's Wife (Girl in the Fireplace, Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead). Empty Child/Doctor Dances, Blink, and Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead are all fantastic episodes and I think Blink is the strongest one-off (though let's all remember that the ending was suggested by Gatiss, not Moffat) though I will adore Empty Child/Doctor Dances until I die (though let's not forget that Jack Harkness was an RTD invention).

I really hope he learned his lessons through writing latestage Clara and Bill as companions, but I'm honestly just as scared of his racial undertones as am of RTD's. Let's not forget that both of the black companions under Moffat (Bill&Danny) were both dehumanized/turned into Cybermen in order to service Clara and the Doctor/Missy's arcs (though Bill's ending is far better handled in terms of giving Bill her own ending than Danny's, imo), just as RTD really callously handled Martha's treatment, especially in historical episodes. That is not to say that I don't have some hope due to how Bill's race was handled in Thin Ice, but let's just say I'm cautious about getting super excited like some people are.

All of which is to say...I want Toby Whithouse to write a one-off in the RTD2 Era. Or many. I want his examination of the fucked-up and complicated psychological aspects of the Doctor/Companion relationship and even the Doctor themself (I mean he is the one who wrote School Reunion, God Complex, A Town Called Mercy, Under the Lake/Before the Flood, and Vampires of Venice).

ALSO more women and writers of color. I want to see what kind of new voices in sci-fi can be brought to the table and explore more aspects of their experiences, especially as it pertains to historical/future episodes. I'm done with pretending that Demons of the Punjab wasn't one of the best episodes of Doctor Who, and that was specifically because an Indian writer (Vinay Patel) was brought in to write it. (Also, can we see Vinay back as well? He also wrote Fugitive of the Judoon which was another banger. He's also really good at exploring character feelings/implications of time travel/memory.) I also think that Joy Wilkinson, who wrote the Witchfinders, could be a fun choice as well. I really liked the Witchfinders and I'm curious to see how she might tackle a subject matter like that again.

[thedoctorwhocompanion]

What If... The Timeless Child Revelations Happened a Different Way?

What If... The Timeless Child Revelations in #DoctorWho Happened a Different Way?

I complain that Chris Chibnall screwed up the Timeless Child idea, so I’m putting my money where my mouth is, and giving my thoughts on how another approach might have worked a bit better. For the record, it’s not that the very concept of the Timeless Child is totally unthinkable or impossible. After all, Philip Hinchcliffe, Robert Holmes, and those gang of pranksters loaded up The Brain of…

[politicalprocrastinator]

I'm so glad Chris Chibnall introduced Jo Martin to a wider audience. I just saw her in Fleabag and in one scene it's already clear that she has comparable comedic chops to Olivia Colman.

RTD please bring back our plus sized middle aged black doctor thank you kindly

[doctorwhoisadhd]

[ID: reply reading "I'm sorry but no, the Chibnal era was just bad. Nothing good about it." /end ID]

nothing good about his era is a stretch considering chibnall era had the first ever

south asian TV companion (yaz) (also first asian woman companion. and first muslim companion.)

asian actor to play an incarnation of the master (sacha dhawan)

writer of color to work on doctor who (malorie blackman)

black woman to write an episode of a dwu show (malorie blackman)

asian person to write for TV (vinay patel)

composer of color to work on the show (segun akinola)

black director (mark tonderai)

asian woman to direct an episode (nida manzoor)

black woman to direct an episode (annette laufer)

chinese person to direct an episode (haolu wang - also, she directed legend of the sea devils, which had to have been on purpose)

also of the 12 female writers who have written for dw so far (not counting lesley scott who was credited but didnt actually write it) literally half of them were during chibnall era and 6/10 of the writers during his era were women which is twice as many female writers as either the entire classic era or moffat era.

like. im not saying chibnalls era was perfect or anything but. this is a LOT of things that just did not happen under previous showrunners.

"doctor who is good now" umm doctor who has always been good and more importantly it has always been bad. from bad doctor who we come and to bad doctor who we shall return (never left in the first place)

[narmadanchal]

होशंगाबाद की पूर्व विधायक सविता दीवान शर्मा का कांग्रेस से इस्तीफा

– सोशल मीडिया के माध्यम से दी जानकारी – सोहागपुर में टिकट वितरण से है नाराजी मदन शर्मा, नर्मदापुरम। होशंगाबाद (Hoshangabad) की पूर्व विधायक सविता दीवान शर्मा (Savita Dewan Sharma) ने कांग्रेस के अपने सभी पदों और प्राथमिक सदस्यता से भी इस्तीफा दे दिया है। उन्होंने यह जानकारी अपनी सोशल मीडिया पोस्ट (Social Media Post) के माध्यम से दी। प्रदेश कांग्रेस कमेटी के अध्यक्ष कमलनाथ (Kamal Nath) को लिखे…

[cauldronofmorning]

It's just so frustrating with Doctor Who -- like what happened to Maxine Alderton and Vinay Patel? Why not ask them??? They're good writers. I'm glad Chibnall basically went, 'No, thank you' when RTD offered for him to write an episode of Doctor Who.

It just feels so cowardly! Like if bbc thought 7 wasn’t doing well so they got 4 back and went “now do you love us? 👉👈”

[quantumshade]

list of writers they should bring back to dr who to do whatever they want:

jamie mathieson

sarah dollard

maxine alderton

vinay patel (as an apology)

sarah dollard again

[scriptscribbles]

To give my general 13 Who feelings since I asked:

Ryan was my favorite Chibnall era companion though I suspect Tosin probably felt pretty burned by lack of material and hope he's on to better things that make him happier. He's quite a good actor IMO. Makes a lot of interesting choices when left to the background.

Dan and Graham were both quite charming but just not character types I need from stories right now. Dan also really suffered from not getting, like, any breathing room as a character. It ends up feeling like after Brian Williams, Chibnall needed a comfort older white dude in the TARDIS.

Yaz I like on paper but never felt like she got the focus or exploration the many interesting things about her deserved. Can You Hear Me was a very clever retcon to explain her lack of material in series 11 in addition to being poignant though it does totally change her from the character introduced in Woman Who Fell to Earth.

I like the idea of the Timeless Child and the opportunities it offers and relate a surprising amount to the whole forgotten child childhood trauma questions about identity, but think it stalled on examining that after the quite underrated Once, Upon Time.

Sacha Dhawan is a superb actor who elevated a lot but I did not care at all for the direction the Master was taken in. The lack of acknowledgment of Missy was painful, the Nazi stuff doubly so, and the redestriction of Gallifrey just annoying.

Jodie Whittaker is wonderful and very Doctory. I wish she could have played more range though and really wanted to see her play a fuller relationship plot because I love the Doctor in that kind of thing and think she'd have nailed it.

Loved the sonic. Didn't love the TARDIS. Liked series 12, apart from Spyfall part 2. Thought Resolution and Eve of the Daleks were fantastic. Complicated feelings about Flux and how it all in my view fell apart (well documented that Chibnall wrote it while it went and it shows). Thought series 11 was the right idea but didn't think it was good enough overall.

Really enjoyed writers like Vinay Patel, Ed Hime, Joy Wilkinson, Maxine Alderton, and Nina Metivier contributing, and even controversially Pete McTighe, though I wish they got a bit more polish the way RTD or Moffat added sparkle to their guest writers. It's probably not fair to expect Chris Chibnall to meet the dialogue crispness of two of the best living British TV writers who proceeded him. It's not that he's bad, but Moffat and Davies are really special talents on that front and a tough act to follow.

Thought the best director of the era was Nida Manzoor and hope they get her back. Also loved Wayne Yip again but sounds like he didn't love doing it.

Some episodes and elements I really liked but overall the era of modern Who I'm coolest on. Still would take it over several classic runs any day.

[mrcowboydeanwinchester]

🌧️ the sun, through it all, abides ☀️

charthur fic - 3152 words - rating: G - arthur healing - read on ao3

“This sickness inside of me, it’s like climbing the Grizzlies. I can’t come down, there’s no way back. It hurts. An’ when I get to the top– that’s it, Charles. I’m done. It’s a trail made of bridges and I’m burning ‘em, all of ‘em."

“So maybe you can’t see a way back, Arthur,” Charles said. “But there’s always a way forward. It’s a big old mountain you’re climbing. Take the scenic route.”

Charles convinces Arthur to make it out of Beaver Hollow alive. The arid West Elizabeth air is better for Arthur's lungs, but then a week of rain arrives, leaving Arthur's chest rattling and his mind uneasy. Turns out the slow, unsteady weight of getting better is easier to carry when shared.

fic is below the cut!

"Love, in all its forms, is the most powerful weapon we have, because love is a form of hope. And, like hope, love abides. In the face of everything.” - Vinay Patel, ‘Demons of the Punjab’

Arthur’s world had narrowed significantly since his collapse in Saint Denis. It wasn’t like the possible pathways of his future had been so wide and varied before, but with the rattling in his chest there seemed to be only one path ahead: the fork in the road had come and gone, and he had left the freedom of life’s highway for a steep and rocky mountain trail which ended more abruptly than he’d anticipated. 

He’d told all this to Charles, once, at Beaver Hollow.

“This sickness inside of me, it’s like climbing the Grizzlies. I can’t come down, there’s no way back. It hurts. An’ when I get to the top– that’s it, Charles. I’m done. It’s a trail made of bridges and I’m burning ‘em, all of ‘em.”

“So maybe you can’t see a way back, Arthur,” Charles had said. “But there’s always a way forward. It’s a big old mountain you’re climbing. Take the scenic route.”

“The scenic route?”

“Ride with me and ride somewhere slow and warm and dry. Make it easier. Make it out of this chapter of your life alive.”

And when Charles had left, Arthur had followed him, with John following Arthur. 

Now, Arthur’s narrow world is as wide as the views surrounding Beecher’s Hope. Charles and John’s handiwork is impressive even if half-finished, with Charles fixing the ranch up while John runs errands. Arthur does what he can to help out. It’s not much, but it’s more than he was able to do when he was running with the gang, and some days, those burned bridges leading back to a healthier life even seem a little salvageable. The West Elizabeth air is hot, the land is arid, and his lungs are better for it. They have a life here, a real one. It’s good. It’s healing.

It is really, really hard.

When the rain comes to Beecher’s Hope, it comes for a week, and it comes to make Arthur miserable. The humidity of the air combined with the foul weather’s accompanying chill wreaks a wearying havoc on his lungs. John has ridden up to Valentine for a job and gotten caught in a storm in New Hanover, sending word back that he won’t be arriving home until the weather has passed, and so Arthur and Charles are alone in the ranch. In a way it’s nice to have all the time to themselves. But there is so much time, and so little to do with it, and Arthur misses the extra company. With the weather working against his health the way it is, it’s all he can do to make meals on good days, and rest up on bad ones.

It’s weeks like these that Arthur is reminded that climbing this mountain is unrelentingly boring. There are things he simply cannot do, things he used to do often and enjoyed; some things he can do on some days but strictly not others and only at the time will they be made known; a list of things he can do but only if he deems them worth the consequences. 

That is a mighty big part of his job, now. Valuing the worth of something against the consequences. Hardest thing about it is, everything is worth it in the moments before the consequences. But in the gripping fist of a coughing fit, praying he doesn’t bring up blood again, rendered a helpless silvery consciousness in a breaking body, nothing is ever worth it. And knowing that, living through it, how can he make the choice to bring that pain into being again? 

Life has become a constant balancing act, with pros and cons and quantifiable outcomes. There’s a level of mathematics to it which Arthur finds exhausting. He’s always been more for metaphors than mathematics, really. But there aren’t many metaphors for being ill. He can tell Charles he’s climbing a mountain all he likes but that doesn’t stop the fact he’s sore all over in ways nothing can properly fix.

So the amount of things he can do is meager and oftentimes, he finds, pitiful. And very boring.  

“You’re drawing again,” Charles notes as he wanders into their bedroom to check on Arthur. It’s the third day of pouring rain. Charles’ building chores, too, have been held up by the weather, but there’s enough work for him to do on the farm without John here that his dashes to and from the barn are frequent. 

“Hmmf,” Arthur grunts in illustrious reply. 

He’s a far cry from happy, the rain-roused heavy wheezing of his chest making him feel more accordion than human. There’s a dull ache accompanying it. It’s one which threatens more than tortures, but the threat of it is enough to make him uneasy, a fidgety anxiety that combines with the cabin fever to make him feel shit. 

Today, the most he has managed is to drag the rocking chair from its usual corner of the room to face the window. With his journal and charcoal in his hand, he’s sketching the panes of the window and its limited view. Repeatedly, over and over across the page, are little and large visions of the cagey window and the tree just outside of it that blocks most of the light. 

Charles deciphers his cartoons with ease. “You’re restless. Anything I can do?”

“Bring back the damn sun,” Arthur snaps. He bites down on his lip the second the words leave his mouth, disliking the harshness which emanates from them. He hates how he can feel himself being worse to the people he loves over this. He hates that he can’t control his body, and now he can’t even control his tongue. Still, he doesn’t say sorry. 

Charles is gentle as he always is, running a calm hand through the light strands of Arthur’s hair from where he’s leaning against the back of his chair. He is not a man without anger, but he seems to know when Arthur’s isn’t really directed at him. “This tree, it covers almost the whole window,” he muses. “Blocks most of your view.”

“I guess,” Arthur supplies, helpfully. 

“Next time the rain lessens, I’ll chop it down.”

“Charles, you don’t have to do that–”

“I can’t bring back the sun, but I can let a little more light in,” Charles says, like that settles the matter. 

Haltingly, the rain patters to a not-quite stop the next afternoon, the remaining drizzle just bearable enough for Charles to head out in. 

“I’ll chop that tree today, before more rains come,” Charles calls as he makes his way through the front door in lieu of hello. He takes off his hat, holding open the front door and shaking it so that droplets of water roll off the black leather. 

The draft that whistles through the open door is misty and cold. Arthur is glad for the fire burning in the hearth today which wrings the moisture out of the air before the worst of it reaches his lungs. 

He sighs, though, the prospect of another bout of rain settling low and depressed in his gut. “You don’t think this is the end of ‘em?”

“Sorry, Arthur. Clouds still rolling in over Blackwater. It’ll be a few more days, at least. Are the axes in the outhouse?” 

“You know more about that than me, I ain’t got much to do with manual labor ‘round here,” Arthur chuckles, a little sourly. “And I swear, they say tuberculosis is meant to cut your life short but time has never passed more slowly in my life.”

Charles nods, nudges his toes against the fire to stoke it a little. “Keeping a sick body alive is harder than surviving a shootout.” 

“Well, I’d take being shot at any day. Least then I can shoot back. Never once did a job with shootin’ involved that went by so slow.”

Charles huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he makes once more for the door. “How about watching me chop this tree?” he suggests, rolling the sleeves of his navy tunic up his broad forearms as he smiles. His voice is low and rich, like the smoke which rises from a gun barrel after a hunt’s quick kill. “I’ll fell it clean.” 

With that, he turns and heads back outside, leaving the hairs of Arthur’s neck standing. Arthur gets up stiffly and slowly, heading back to the bedroom with the noises of the outhouse doors opening and closing accompanying him. He drags the rocking chair back into view of the window in time to see Charles walking up to the tree with his ax in hand. 

“You sure there ain’t nothing I can do?” Arthur shouts to Charles. He pushes open the window as he does so - some days he can decide something is worth it and the consequences forget to arrive afterwards. Maybe today is one of those days.

Charles hears him, positioning himself at the far side of the tree so Arthur has a clear view of him. Or he has a clear view of Arthur. “Well, you can sit there and look pretty,” he grins.

“I– oh,” Arthur falters, heat rising to his cheeks and likely turning him a bashful pink. “Pretty,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head at Charles’ smile.

“You’re getting some color back,” Charles says, quite seriously, but Arthur can hear the tease rolling through his voice. Arthur waves his ribbing away. 

It’s nice to know, at least, that he hasn’t lost the ability to produce a blush. He’s been pale so long now he’s near forgotten what he used to look like. And for Charles to call him pretty through all that - the perpetual pallor, the gauntness, the loss of the fat by his waist he used to know was his – is something. Arthur looks in the mirror now and sees sickness. Charles looks at him and somehow still sees something good. 

The rain spits down steadily outside the window, Charles’ tunic soon dampening and clinging to his arms. He’s foregone his hat for this, and so his hair, too, is soon stuck against his skin, the strands falling over his face from where he’s tied half his hair back fixed to his forehead. He runs a dark hand through his hair to clear his vision and the moment passes in a pattering heartbeat Arthur wishes he could recapture. 

Charles swings once, twice, brings the tree down on the third slice through the air. It comes down easily, and Arthur watches the world outside his bedroom window be made anew. The sky blooms into being, the gray light of the expansive plains flooding the room. Everything reaches outwards, the fences which had once caged his field of vision now the markers of near distance as the horizon rolls away.  A single patch of blue, once hidden by the branches of the tree, is clear in the sky. 

“That better?” Charles asks.

It’s one tree. It’s a small change. Arthur feels a ray of delight he hasn’t felt in weeks. That’s the one good, desperate thing about a narrow life: the littlest moments of contentment become all-consuming. 

He nods, cheeks dimpling. “Sure is. It sure is.”

**

“Arthur,” a familiar voice whispers softly, lifting him from a dream where he is holding blood-stained money in his hands and can’t put it down, “Arthur, wake up. The rain has dried and the sun is rising. Come outside with me.”

Arthur opens bleary eyes to see Charles lit in dawn’s nectarine light. The curtains are pulled back from the window, leaving its newly clear view to reveal drying ground and open, almost cloudless, sky.  

Finally.

Charles offers his hand and Arthur takes it, gladly, rising from the bed and following him to the front door, slinging on his jacket and boots over his union suit as he goes. He passes from the wooden boughs of the house out into the open air with the deep breath of a wakening yawn in his lungs. There is no dampness to fight against. Just a world which seems to extend from him, the temperature around him at one with that of his skin, the dry air passing through his lungs and out again almost smoothly. Smooth as they can ever manage. There’s no cure. No real healing, not properly. But there’s this. Things in his body aren’t ever okay for long, but they’re okay for the moment, and Arthur has this. 

He sits himself down on the step of the porch. His boots, grown clean without use over the past few weeks, gain a fine coating of dust around where the sole meets the leather again. Charles sits to his right and the morning thrums, quiet around them, with little hints of life. A spider spins its home along the wooden railing of the porch. 

“Thanks for wakin’ me,” Arthur murmurs.

Charles smiles. “It felt important.”

“I’ve been– bad to be around, these past few days,” he manages to say, tugging up a blade of grass from the ground beside him. He flips it between his fingers as he gets the rest out. “Ain’t made things easy for you. I want to do better. Don’t want to be no fair weather friend. Literally.”

“What you’re going through, it’s not easy.”

“Neither is what you’re doin’.”

“Maybe,” Charles nods. “But allow yourself some grace, Arthur.” 

Arthur bumps his elbow roughly into Charles’s side. “Jus’ take the damn apology.”

“Okay,” Charles concedes, and Arthur can feel his shoulders shaking with gentle laughter as they rest against him. 

The mountains in the distance are plummy, ripening in color with the rising sun; in another world Arthur is sinking his teeth into the skin of them and reaching the softness beneath. The light shimmers down in tangible rays. Once, Arthur could’ve traveled far enough to reach out and touch them.

“Mornin’s like this… I used to ride through the night, sometimes, just waiting for the light to stream down through the clouds. Made it worth it.”

Charles hum in agreement. “There are many things you can say about this world, but you can never forsake its beauty.”

“Yeah,” Arthur mutters. Bitterness creeps back into his voice, seeing all this beauty, and knowing it has to be held at arm’s length.

With an intuition saved just for Arthur, Charles hears his discordant tone. “What are you thinking about?”

“I guess– I miss riding how I used to,” Arthur sighs. “Look at ‘em plains, just sprawlin’ outwards. Years ago I could’ve jumped up on a horse and flown over ‘em all, wouldn’t’ve even looked back. Now I’m just– just here. Can’t do anything the way I used to. And it makes me think I won’t ever get it back.” He keeps his eyes fixed on the sloping horizon, staunchly away from Charles’ sympathetic gaze. Frankly, he knows that he’s being dramatic about it all, wallowing in self-pity when there’s no need to. The fact he’s living is a goddamn miracle. Problem is, he can’t remember the last time he felt properly alive.

“We can rebuild it, Arthur,” Charles murmurs. His shoulder is warm and sturdy against Arthur’s arm, the muscles thick in a way Arthur’s no longer are. “All is not lost. We can rebuild it all.”

Arthur can’t help it; he turns his head to look at Charles and the desperation in his voice cracks out. “You think?” 

“Yeah,” Charles says simply. No promises; they’ve learned long ago that there is no point making promises. But still, if Charles thinks it, then maybe Arthur can too. 

“Okay,” he agrees, a faint smile flickering across his lips. And then– “sorry for sounding so desperate, makes me feel like a goddamn fool.”

Charles shakes his head. “You don’t sound desperate, Arthur. Even if you did, I wouldn’t judge you for it. You more than anyone has been through hell. You know another word for desperation?”

Arthur scoffs. “I dunno – weakness? Fear?”

“Hope,” Charles says, entirely paradoxically, yet with the steadfast sincerity with which he always speaks.

“I think you need to find a dictionary, friend,” Arthur chuckles. “Those are some very different words.”

“No, I meant what I said. Hope and desperation – both come from wanting a better life. Wanting a better way of being, wanting something to turn out right. I say desperation and you say weakness, maybe because to be desperate about something is to care so strongly about it. Desperation is vulnerable. It’s intimate. It’s hope without belief.”

The sun is risen, now, a fledgling held in tender hands and being released skywards. It floats over the land and cloaks the plains in the celestial mist of dawn. Light lingers close to the ground, and dust kicked up from a rider on the road into Blackwater glows with it. The rains ceased, the darkness receded. The sun, through it all, abides. 

Arthur hums. His throat rattles with the sound of it, though a cough doesn’t catch, and when he speaks his voice is raspy for a different reason. “Do you believe in me, Charles?”

Charles’ eyes meet his and in the dawning light the deep brown of his eyes is spun golden. “Arthur, of course I do.”

“I believe in you. All the time.”

“Then there’s hope in you yet,” Charles smiles. “It’s a thing that builds, I think. Over time. The world will come back to you.”

Arthur lifts Charles’ hand from where it’s resting on his knee and gently turns it so the paler skin of his palms face upwards. Places his own hand over Charles’. 

“Starting with us,” he makes plain. He can make it no plainer than this, his world and all its desperation and hope falls away without Charles by his side. His partner huffs out a fond sigh beside him and Arthur nudges him with his knee, thoughts straying from the philosophical to the more physical. “You were sayin’ something ‘bout being vulnerable. Being intimate,” he begins, raising an eyebrow. 

“Hmm, was I?” Charles laughs coyly. “Seems to have slipped my mind.” 

But he leans right into the kisses Arthur nuzzles into his hairline, grabbing at the hand not already in his to thread his fingers between Arthur’s. His body is warm as the rainless air. And Arthur knows it’s a hard climb up the mountain. Feels it every day, slow and unforgiving, both restless and demanding. But for as long as the sun stays rising, as long as the scenic route lends him moments like this, there is a feathered thing singing an old song within him. Charles takes his narrow world and finds ways to make it wider. The song carries on, and Arthur is starting to believe it’s worth listening.

[primordialsoundmeditation]

Vinay Patel

[marvellouspinecone]

So i've just stumbled upon Bible verses online, as you do and

So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

1 CORINTHIANS 13:13 (English Standard Version)

Sounds awfully familiar, where have i heard something very similar before?

Something I believe in my faith. Love, in all its forms, is the most powerful weapon we have, because love is a form of hope and, like hope, love abides in the face of everything.

What is going on here? Did they make the Doctor reference the bible to formalise the wedding of a hindu man and a muslim woman? I can't find anything on Vinay Patel's religion, but i don't think he's christian? Who added that? Am i the crazy one for seeing a connection where there isn't any? But like with "corinthians 13:13" it almost seems intentionally chosen for Thirteen? But maybe it's not?

I need answers

[iammitesh86]

List of 28 people who looted money from Indian banks:-

1) Vijay Mallya

2) Mehul Choksi

3) Nirav Modi

4) Nishan Modi

5) Pushpesh Baidya

6) Ashish Jobanputra

7) Sunny Kalra

8) Aarti Kalra

9) Sanjay Kalra

10) Varsha Kalra

11) Sudhir Kalra

12) Jatin Mehta

13) Umesh Parikh

14) Kamlesh Parikh

15) Nilesh Parikh

16) Vinay Mittal

17) Eklavya Garga

18) Chetan Jayantilal

19) Nitin Jayantilal

20) Deepti Chetan

21) Saviya Seth

22) Rajiv Goyal

23) Alka Goyal

24) Lalit Modi

25) Ritesh Jain

26) Hitesh Nagendrabhai Patel

27) Mayuriben Patel

28) Ashish Suresh Bhai

The total amount looted was Rs. 10,000,000,000,000/- is.

(is ten trillion rupees)

something special-

None of them are Pakistani

None of them are Muslims,

None of them are empty,

None of them are Sikhs, none of them are Jats, farmers, laborers, workers,

None of these so-called urban Naxalites,

None of these belong to OBC/SC/ST,

None of these belong to Haryana Punjab Uttar Pradesh Rajasthan

Except Vijay Mallya, everyone else is from Gujarat!

People need to ask themselves this question.

They owned private companies and the government wants to give them to government banks, in the hands of private companies, the money of government banks belongs to the common people. Save the government banks, save the country. ✊Please share this message as much as possible, so that the eyes of the bigots are opened, how in the name of Hindutva, they have looted the hard earned money of the countrymen and settled abroad.

#money #banks #people #badloan #bharatjodoyatra

[doctorwhoisadhd]

ALSO. IT LOOKS LIKE THEYRE BOTH WHITE........

will say i AM very disappointed at how few new writers there r gonna be. 2 on a single episode. Come on now

[andronetalks]

UK Woman Mistaken As Shoplifter By Facewatch, Now She's Banned From All Stores With Facial Recognition Tech

International Business Times By Vinay Patel May 28, 2024 A big biometric security company in the UK, Facewatch, is in hot water after their facial recognition system caused a major snafu – the system wrongly identified a 19-year-old girl as a shoplifter. This embarrassing incident led to public shaming and resulted in the girl being banned from all stores using Facewatch’s technology. She’s…

[kristikinzel12]

AxMachine Offers DeFi Enthusiasts Leading Blockchain-Powered Tools

The groundbreaking DeFi project is poised to reshape the future of finance by empowering users with the tools they need to unlock limitless opportunities.

AxMachine Blockchain Services Limited Ltd., a pioneering cryptocurrency project founded by Henry Marshall, dedicated to revolutionizing decentralized finance (DeFi) through blockchain innovation, announced the launch of AxMachine, a collaborative platform where users can leverage some of the most innovative DeFi solutions.

At the heart of AxMachine’s mission is the commitment to education and empowerment. Through a collaborative platform, users are encouraged to leverage their expertise and creativity to craft DeFi solutions, fostering a community-driven ecosystem of financial innovation. AxMachine’s vision is to democratize finance, making it accessible to everyone regardless of their background or expertise.

The project offers a range of cutting-edge features, including a centralized exchange platform (AxTrade), a secure web3 wallet (AxWallet), and a smart contract development tool (AxMachine Labs), empowering individuals to engage with the limitless opportunities in the world of decentralized finance.

“I founded AxMachine to leverage the power of blockchain technology to educate and create opportunities for others,” said Henry Marshall, Founder of AxMachine. “With AxMachine, we aim to provide a platform where creativity and expertise can flourish, enabling individuals to engage with the ever-expanding world of decentralized finance.”

AxMachine boasts a suite of cutting-edge features designed to enhance user experience and facilitate seamless transactions within the blockchain ecosystem. These features include, among others:

AxTrade: A centralized exchange platform enabling users to buy, sell, and trade cryptocurrencies such as Bitcoin, Ethereum, and AxMachine’s native currency on the AxMachine Blockchain.

AxWallet: A secure web3 wallet that allows users to store, manage, and exchange various cryptocurrencies, including AXM Token, Bitcoin, Ethereum, and others. AxWallet supports multiple networks and utilizes public and private keys to securely manage user funds on the blockchain.

AxMachine Labs: A smart contract development tool that empowers developers to create, test, and deploy smart contracts on the AxMachine blockchain network. Smart contracts are self-executing programs that automate a wide range of processes and transactions on the blockchain.

“AxMachine is a visionary product that offers consumers some of the market’s leading blockchain-powered tools,” said Vinaykumar P Patel, CEO of AxMachine “We are proud to provide a platform that promotes innovation, collaboration, and financial empowerment.”

To learn more about AxMachine and its innovative DeFi solutions, visit https://www.axmint.io/.

About AxMachine

AxMachine is a pioneering cryptocurrency project founded by Henry Marshall dedicated to revolutionizing decentralized finance (DeFi) through blockchain innovation. With a focus on education and empowerment, AxMachine provides a collaborative platform where users can leverage innovative DeFi solutions.

The project offers a range of cutting-edge features, including a centralized exchange platform (AxTrade), a secure web3 wallet (AxWallet), and a smart contract development tool (AxMachine Labs), among others, dedicated to empowering individuals to engage with the limitless opportunities in the world of decentralized finance. To learn more, visit https://www.axmint.io/.

Media Contact

Organization: AxMachine Blockchain Services Limited Ltd.

Contact Person: Vinay Patel

Website: https://www.axmint.io/

Email: axmachinedefi@gmail.com

[musicals-and-mushrooms]

neil gaiman vinay patel richard curtis

I have watched vincent and the doctor 3 times this term its my comfort episode

I would put demons of the punjab at the same level as vincent and the doctor i just dont have access to 13s era so i cant rewatch it

And ofc doctors wife iconic

"rtds the best doctor who writer" "moffats the best doctor who writer" WRONG! it's some rando they bring on to guest write one episode and then you never hear from them again