u/Environmental-Cod25

I am not a lawyer (I have an LLM from the UK and work in legal compliance) - but I work with a lot of lawyers in Pakistan, the GCC and Europe.

I feel pretty depressed about lawyers in Pakistan - and I really wanted to share my thoughts and have lawyers explain the reality to me.

So, first off, there are FAR too many lawyers in Pakistan - go to the smallest town in Pakistan and there is usually an accountancy school and a place offer legal studies.

If you don't do STEM, you are often pushed into law as a 'respectable' humanities subject.

There are hundreds of thousands of people with LLBs from ghatiya universities all chasing work. And there is little work, and even less chance of becoming a pupil of an experienced lawyer who can teach you the application of the law.

There are excellent LLB graduates but in Pakistan, there are few law firms that recruit and actual nurture youngsters to make them good lawyers.

Anyone with an LLB from any useless university sets up in practice and there is horrific race to the bottom. No real professional development.

Graduates who want to become practicing lawyers are paid barely enough to cover the fuel for a bike for the month.

Most lawyers end up scratching in the dirt in a system where to win, you have to bribe and be dishonest - the court system corrupts almost everyone other than those with some success or backing.

So, most people go into a rotten system and rots very quickly - of course, not ALL lawyers.

But lawyers take on whatever they can, whether they can deliver or not - there is no transparency about fees, or hours worked or anything else.

90% of the profession is a total joke.

I am working with senior barristers who were not taught enough and who claim that they understand the area of law I work in - they do not know the basics.

Crappy pizza delivery job. Clueless boss - really silly system.

So, order comes in, it is written on a chit of paper with the cost - then prepared.

Once order ready, pizza given to delivery rider with chit. Rider delivers, picks up, say $20 for the pizza and then puts the chit into a box - each shift, there is a row of empty 1 gallon ice cream tubs with a slot cut in the lid and the rider's initials.

At the end of the shift, the boss opens each box, takes out the chits, tots up the amount collected by the rider and collects that money. Then calculates the per hour rate and a bonus for each delivery made.

I guess you can see what happens - the chit is the only record of the transaction (they are 99% in cash), so all a rider that has made 20 deliveries in a shift with average $20 orders (who has collected $300-$400 that shift) has to do is pocket 5 orders, not submit the chits and take all of the money for the order. The bosses are too dumb to realise.

I submit all my chits - the boss keeps on noticing that I have the largest commission because the others are throwing several of their chits away and not getting commission but pocketing the cash.

Boss thinks that I am being a dick and taking on too many deliveries and being unfair to the others.

He reduced my deliveries. I make less money - the other drivers are raking in the cash.

I tell the boss about how the others are stealing and how he has to change the system - also tell him not to let the others know.

So he tells them that I have accused them all of theft. But, see, he is such a moron, he fails to change the system.

The next shift, after I make 18 deliveries, the boss opens the boxes to pay us - I have only 2 chits, and the others have close to 20. I am gobsmacked - I assume they have taken a handful of my chits and binned them.

They all turn to me and say that I am the thief. Boss sacks me.

I guess, at least I get a bonus of the uncounted chits where I made deliveries - I go home with about $400 in my pocket...

Crappy pizza delivery job. Clueless boss - really silly system.

So, order comes in, it is written on a chit of paper with the cost - then prepared.

Once order ready, pizza given to delivery rider with chit. Rider delivers, picks up, say $20 for the pizza and then puts the chit into a box - each shift, there is a row of empty 1 gallon ice cream tubs with a slot cut in the lid and the rider's initials.

At the end of the shift, the boss opens each box, takes out the chits, tots up the amount collected by the rider and collects that money. Then calculates the per hour rate and a bonus for each delivery made.

I guess you can see what happens - the chit is the only record of the transaction (they are 99% in cash), so all a rider that has made 20 deliveries in a shift with average $20 orders (who has collected $300-$400 that shift) has to do is pocket 5 orders, not submit the chits and take all of the money for the order. The bosses are too dumb to realise.

I submit all my chits - the boss keeps on noticing that I have the largest commission because the others are throwing several of their chits away and not getting commission but pocketing the cash.

Boss thinks that I am being a dick and taking on too many deliveries and being unfair to the others.

He reduced my deliveries. I make less money - the other drivers are raking in the cash.

I tell the boss about how the others are stealing and how he has to change the system - also tell him not to let the others know.

So he tells them that I have accused them all of theft. But, see, he is such a moron, he fails to change the system.

The next shift, after I make 18 deliveries, the boss opens the boxes to pay us - I have only 2 chits, and the others have close to 20. I am gobsmacked - I assume they have taken a handful of my chits and binned them.

They all turn to me and say that I am the thief. Boss sacks me.

I guess, at least I get a bonus of the uncounted chits where I made deliveries - I go home with about $400 in my pocket...

Throughout so many subs I am seeing people asking about internships - as someone who takes on interns occasionally, I wanted to give some advice to those people who may not be attending the absolute best universities in Pakistan, and who don't have a Chacha working in an MNC - I mean normal people.

People sometimes try LinkedIn but it rarely works because people do it wrong. So here are my tips for being recognised on LI (this is how I took on 4 out of my 5 interns).

1. You cannot make your account the week before you apply
2. You need to make it at least 18 months before you want an internship
3. Spend time creating a proper profile - decent picture, education (including last or final GPAs and making sure you pic the actual organization, not write a random abbreviation for the institution), projects (you should give diagrams, details, the skills you learned, etc), interests (not 'Netflix' but relevant interests - if you are into Law, tell us what books you read outside of the curriculum, or what cases interest you)
4. Look for relevant people to follow - people in the industry you are trying to get into
5. Identify the people that matter - connect to CEOs and junior customer service people - but these are not likely to be making internship decisions (CEOs may get involved if it is a start up). Look for people in senior or middle roles.
6. Send out perhaps 5-12 connection requests a day - not too many - don't just connect to anyone - curate the list of people you want to be connected to
7. At the very start, connect to perhaps 5 people and ramp this up slowly (or you can get banned) - I would literally do 2-5 a day for a month, then increase slowly.
8. When people see the connection request, the headline is what matters in your profile - "CS Undergrad with passion for Rust" tells people who you are and what you want to learn more about. This is how people decide on whether to connect with you.
9. Slowly start to comment on relevant posts from these people - not rubbish like a thumbs up, or 'great insight' - actually say something. If they write about a problem, it is great to say 'I've never heard of this before - what would you recommend I read to understand this more?' - show actual engagement.
10. Try to make a comment at least 3 times a week at the start (do NOT set an alarm and then comment 'great post' on the first 3 posts you see - the algo sees that you are just trying to raise your profile without adding any value.
11. Organically move into getting into conversations - even if it is not with the original poster, then they may still read how you are interacting with others and adding value and insight to the conversation
12. If you cannot add value, asking questions (not lazy ones that you can just look up, but asking people their experience of a problem is best)
13. If you ask a question, it cannot be vague or of the sort where you are expecting the other person to write an essay or do research for you - they will ignore you
14. Remember, it is professional platform - if you disagree, do so politely - no flaming! You are trying to build a reputation
15. Once you see the chance, based on the sorts of things that people are talking about, to say something interesting, start to post. It does not have to be long. Use AI to help clarify your ideas or spellcheck - do NOT use AI to write your posts - they are easy to spot and then no one is interested in you ever again.
16. Slowly writing and being a voice that adds value, being connected to the right people gets you noticed by the sorts of people that are offering internships.

Good luck!

PS. I work in such an obscure area, there are perhaps only 50 people in Pakistan that could become an intern for me - so don't ask me for one. If you do, find me on LI (I am one of the most prominent voices there in my own field and do the above).

Throughout so many subs I am seeing people asking about internships - as someone who takes on interns occasionally, I wanted to give some advice to those people who may not be attending the absolute best universities in Pakistan, and who don't have a Chacha working in an MNC - I mean normal people.

People sometimes try LinkedIn but it rarely works because people do it wrong. So here are my tips for being recognised on LI (this is how I took on 4 out of my 5 interns).

1. You cannot make your account the week before you apply
2. You need to make it at least 18 months before you want an internship
3. Spend time creating a proper profile - decent picture, education (including last or final GPAs and making sure you pic the actual organization, not write a random abbreviation for the institution), projects (you should give diagrams, details, the skills you learned, etc), interests (not 'Netflix' but relevant interests - if you are into Law, tell us what books you read outside of the curriculum, or what cases interest you)
4. Look for relevant people to follow - people in the industry you are trying to get into
5. Identify the people that matter - connect to CEOs and junior customer service people - but these are not likely to be making internship decisions (CEOs may get involved if it is a start up). Look for people in senior or middle roles.
6. Send out perhaps 5-12 connection requests a day - not too many - don't just connect to anyone - curate the list of people you want to be connected to
7. At the very start, connect to perhaps 5 people and ramp this up slowly (or you can get banned) - I would literally do 2-5 a day for a month, then increase slowly.
8. When people see the connection request, the headline is what matters in your profile - "CS Undergrad with passion for Rust" tells people who you are and what you want to learn more about. This is how people decide on whether to connect with you.
9. Slowly start to comment on relevant posts from these people - not rubbish like a thumbs up, or 'great insight' - actually say something. If they write about a problem, it is great to say 'I've never heard of this before - what would you recommend I read to understand this more?' - show actual engagement.
10. Try to make a comment at least 3 times a week at the start (do NOT set an alarm and then comment 'great post' on the first 3 posts you see - the algo sees that you are just trying to raise your profile without adding any value.
11. Organically move into getting into conversations - even if it is not with the original poster, then they may still read how you are interacting with others and adding value and insight to the conversation
12. If you cannot add value, asking questions (not lazy ones that you can just look up, but asking people their experience of a problem is best)
13. If you ask a question, it cannot be vague or of the sort where you are expecting the other person to write an essay or do research for you - they will ignore you
14. Remember, it is professional platform - if you disagree, do so politely - no flaming! You are trying to build a reputation
15. Once you see the chance, based on the sorts of things that people are talking about, to say something interesting, start to post. It does not have to be long. Use AI to help clarify your ideas or spellcheck - do NOT use AI to write your posts - they are easy to spot and then no one is interested in you ever again.
16. Slowly writing and being a voice that adds value, being connected to the right people gets you noticed by the sorts of people that are offering internships.

Good luck!

PS. I work in such an obscure area, there are perhaps only 50 people in Pakistan that could become an intern for me - so don't ask me for one. If you do, find me on LI (I am one of the most prominent voices there in my own field and do the above).

We want to give our friend a gift. She is a huge fan of Mughal architecture.

We were thinking of giving her a set of three framed photographs of the mosque or other amazing Mughal landmarks in Lahore.

Looking for someone who can give us (for payment) the stunning photographs.

We would want you to share them with watermarks and once agreed, we would want you to print on photographic paper at very high quality and send to us (we will pay courier charges as well).

We will have them framed ourselves.

You can email your samples, low res with watermarks (to make sure we can't steal them) to altahafut@gmail.com.

Happy to negotiate price!

Wow us please!

NOTE: WE ONLY WANT ORIGINAL PHOTOS THAT CANNOT BE FOUND ON GOOGLE IMAGES!

This makes no sense - if there is an exception, the rule is wrong, not proved!

I have a 20 tola gold brick. Master copy.

If you're reading this, wondering how a gold brick can have a master copy, then I'm also wondering this about so many things sold in this sub.

Things are openly sold as master copies or with another set of pretty words meaning 'fake'.

It's such a shame.

Is it just me, or are you also surprised that height and weight come first in a profile?

The title usually tells you something about age and gender, which is fine.

But after that, is height and age the next most important thing?

What order do you think the data should be in?

'Sahaab, the man in the pharmacy is calling you.'

I heard the squeak behind me and turned.

'Sahaab, in the pharmacy, over there,' said the teenager, pointing enthusiastically at a small shop. I did not know what to make of this but walked slowly over towards the sign that announced that the proprietor was a Master of Greek Medicine and Homoeopathy. As I approached the concrete steps up to the door, it tingled open and a small, dark-skinned man stood at the top, giving me an avuncular smile. 

'Did you call for me?' I rasped. Although the air had thickened during the descent and I was only at about nine thousand feet, those three concrete steps up into the pharmacy had to be taken slowly. My skin was tingling, and I guessed it was because of the higher levels of oxygen. I had just had my first night of restful sleep after the dreams of suffocation. 

I felt a warm hand on my shoulder as I was practically lullabied into the shop.

The first thing I saw were the fantastical shelves and the exotic word, ‘apothecary’ leaped to mind. The old shelves, which might have been painted white by an ancestor, were cracked and some of the plywood curling. Balancing on top, looking infinitely fragile, and making me suddenly slow down so as not to knock anything over, were bottles and jars in dark purples, stained browns and rose reds. Nothing was labelled; all the bottles seemed to be full of powders or liquids that strained to let forth an explosion of smells and serendipitous healing. 

‘You have been sleeping at the Mubarak guesthouse?’ he asked me suddenly. 

I stared at the apothecary, at him nodding his thin eyebrows and shiny pate. I was confused. Had I forgotten to pay at the guesthouse? ‘I am not sure what it was called.’

‘Ahh… there is only one place to stay here. Did you come off the bus from Khunjerab last night?’

I nodded.

‘Good, Akbar will have taken you to Mubarak guesthouse. Did you sleep well?’

I was beginning to become mesmerised by his head, and wondered if it caught the light reflected off the bottles or whether it explained the way that some of them glinted back into the general gloom.

‘Why did you call me here? I need to take the bus to Pindi.’ I started to retreat, but did not hurry, desperately worried that I would knock something over. 

I remembered the stories that my mother told me about her family being from a long line of hakims, the masters of medical lore in her village near Faizabad in India. She first mentioned it after we had watched a news report on the television about the increase of heroin on the streets and in the penthouses in London. She was amused that such a fuss was being made by the British about a drug that had been stored in a large jar in her childhood kitchen for medicinal use. 

‘I need to catch that bus’, I repeated, almost making it out of the shop.

‘Are you itching?’

I stopped and turned back.

‘Are you not itching a little?’ he repeated.

In response, I clawed at my left hand, leaving white trail marks on my skin which had gone, over the year under the Pakistani sun, from a gentle beech to a dark, mahogany stain.

I looked at the chemist and he smiled. Pharmacist, chemist. Apothecary, charlatan. I felt a sudden tremor of movement in the small of my back and even as my hand moved there, I stopped forced it onto the pocket of my kurta. With my other hand, I clutched at my small canvas bag. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘You have body lice,’ he said sombrely.

I realised that my hands had moved to my thighs and that I was now scratching. 

‘Rubbish,’ I insisted and marched out of the shop. Back in the cool air that even at this altitude was pregnant with the promise of the smells of the plain, I relaxed and looked around for a place to have breakfast. In the distance, down the dirt track, ignoring the majestic snow-dusted peaks on my left, I heard the first bustles of the market place. But I was scratching and my brain told me that there were thousands of creepies crawling all over me, below my lip, behind my ear, in the crook of my knee. When I realised that my hand was slowly moving towards my crotch, I turned from the road and lumbered back, as fast as I could back into the pharmacy. 

I threw down a second razor and it skittered over the rough concrete floor, stopping in the soapy water that lay all around in small puddles. I called through the three inch gap above the small wooden door that would have come up to my shoulder had I been standing. A painfully thin arm was thrust through the gap and I took a third razor blade and continued hacking at the hair on my legs. I was soaking wet and sweating under it. 

There was no air and I felt the same suffocation that I had experienced when I was several thousand feet higher. No matter how hard I tapped the new razor on the brick walls, I could not dislodge the hair. Despite being shaped similarly to a Gillette disposable, it soon revealed itself to be a cheap local copy and became blunt. My legs were streaked with blood which had become diluted by soapy water and I was close to tears. 

‘Half an hour is nearly up, sahaab’, came a call from outside. 

‘I need more time,’ I screamed back, ‘a lot more time. I’ll pay.’

I had been persuaded that I did have lice. And that there was no way of getting rid of them without shaving my whole body and having my clothes boiled in a sulphurous, pink fluid that, I was assured, would kill off the lice and eggs. So here I sat, in a hamaam, a small washing room that was behind a barber’s shop which conveniently neighboured the pharmacy. I was in one of the tiny cubicles that seemed to be the size of a small cupboard, shaving, feeling miserable. 

My brain must have filed away the fact that the skin is the largest organ of the body and here and now it took on meaning. Another small patch of leg became clear of hair but I was having trouble breathing in the extreme humidity.

‘Give me a bucket of cold water’, I shouted through the door. A moment later, there was a tap and I unbolted it before squeezing myself into a corner so that my nakedness would not be seen. 

‘It is outside,’ came the call. The murmurs grew and soon I realised that the pharmacist and barber were firm friends. They chatted in Pushto and I could hear their respectful banter. 
After an hour, finding hair in places that I had not seen in years, when I had poked and prodded myself to make sure that no crevice was left unscraped, I  called for my clothes. When nobody replied, I looked out of the gap, into the glare of light, feeling cooler air dancing on my nose, I saw my clothes still in a metal bucket that sat on a rusting primus stove. It bubbled and a thin haze hung over the whole apparatus. The room smelled like a sweaty plastics factory and I felt more trapped than ever. 

Then three men walked into the room and started to laugh and as one of them pulled my clothes and my canvas bag out of the bucket. I sat back on the wooden stool and ladled some more cold water over myself. 

An hour later, my clothes, freshly ironed, were pushed through the gap, followed by my bag. I had been sweating for hours and now realised that my mouth was dry but I could not bear to ask for a drink, sitting among disgusting puddles and clumps of cut hair, discarded razor blades, small pools of blood, streaks of blood that had started to clot on my leg and turn dark in the gloom. And all the while the three voices, full of merriment came from outside.

The pharmacist and the barber; but I wondered who the third man was. 

I found somewhere vaguely clean to stand and managed to dress. When I finally opened the door onto the world, I saw him. At first, he looked relaxed, and then he looked at me looking at him and the conversation that he had been having with the barber and the pharmacist suddenly died. 

All three men came over, slapped me on the shoulder and asked if I felt better. My whole body was covered in sores, my clothes were pulling at the stubble on my body and I was in a hundred points of pain that amounted to agony. 

All three of them were ebullient until the third man noticed my forehead. ‘Your eyebrows,’ he squealed, pointing up at me. 

The barber and pharmacist looked aghast. But all I could do was to stare at this man. 

‘You really need to shave them off,’ exclaimed the barber. ‘Come, let me do it for you,’ he cooed. 

I shook my head. I was looking at the third man. I might have had lice. I might have had something else. Whatever it was, he would surely know.

It was Akbar. The same Akbar who had welcomed me so solicitously the night before into the guest house.

About 25 years ago, I got onto a minibus to travel in the far north of Pakistan. A white guy was trying to talk to the other passengers, asking them how far Naraan was. But, of course, he was speaking in English and no one understood him.

So I called him over and started to chat to him and told him what I knew of the route. He sat with me, relieved to find someone that spoke his language and asked me another 100 questions, which I was quite happy to answer.

All the other passengers noted that we were speaking in English.

None of this is remarkable.

About 3 hours into the journey, my American travelling friend spotted some young kids by the side of the road and waved to them - then he leaned past me (I had the window seat), and let out a loud whistle - no doubt to amuse the kids.

Well, about 5 minute later, I nearly got lynched because whistling at women is extremely taboo here (although I am not sure there were any women - just kids - but northern tribesmen are very protective and conservative in general).

Half the guys in the bus got up and surrounded us, looking very angry. All their anger was directed at me. Even the bus stopped with all the ruckus.

They kept asking why I hadn't told the guest to our country that whistling was disrespectful and shamed everyone. I kept saying that I didn't know him - but of course, they said I was speaking his language and I was his guide and so I was responsible.

So none of this anger goes to the American guy - why? Because he is a guest to the country, and you cannot criticise a guest - you only show them hospitality - so then I started getting fingers jabbing me in the chest - people are really pissed at me - I am shouting now - I tell them that I was just trying to help this traveller out by advising him - I even remind them that I got on the bus after way after him.

The American guy is stunned - he is wondering what I have done. I start to explain - and he doesn't understand - but hears the word 'guide' and now he seems to think that I want money for the advice I gave him.

It was only after I started shouting at everyone that they calmed down - eventually, one guy did confirm that the American had been on the bus for hours before I got on, so they calmed down and left me alone. The bus restarted.

The American got all sullen and I stopped caring about explaining anything to him. At the next stop, I got off, about 100km before my destination, and waited for another bus.

About 25 years ago, I got onto a minibus to travel in the far north of Pakistan. A white guy was trying to talk to the other passengers, asking them how far Naraan was. But, of course, he was speaking in English and no one understood him.

So I called him over and started to chat to him and told him what I knew of the route. He sat with me, relieved to find someone that spoke his language and asked me another 100 questions, which I was quite happy to answer.

All the other passengers noted that we were speaking in English.

None of this is remarkable.

About 3 hours into the journey, my American travelling friend spotted some young kids by the side of the road and waved to them - then he leaned past me (I had the window seat), and let out a loud whistle - no doubt to amuse the kids.

Well, about 5 minute later, I nearly got lynched because whistling at women is extremely taboo here (although I am not sure there were any women - just kids - but northern tribesmen are very protective and conservative in general).

Half the guys in the bus got up and surrounded us, looking very angry. All their anger was directed at me. Even the bus stopped with all the ruckus.

They kept asking why I hadn't told the guest to our country that whistling was disrespectful and shamed everyone. I kept saying that I didn't know him - but of course, they said I was speaking his language and I was his guide and so I was responsible.

So none of this anger goes to the American guy - why? Because he is a guest to the country, and you cannot criticise a guest - you only show them hospitality - so then I started getting fingers jabbing me in the chest - people are really pissed at me - I am shouting now - I tell them that I was just trying to help this traveller out by advising him - I even remind them that I got on the bus after way after him.

The American guy is stunned - he is wondering what I have done. I start to explain - and he doesn't understand - but hears the word 'guide' and now he seems to think that I want money for the advice I gave him.

It was only after I started shouting at everyone that they calmed down - eventually, one guy did confirm that the American had been on the bus for hours before I got on, so they calmed down and left me alone. The bus restarted.

The American got all sullen and I stopped caring about explaining anything to him. At the next stop, I got off, about 100km before my destination, and waited for another bus.

I keep on seeing adverts for watches being described as 'Master Copy' here - I had to look this up to realise that they are just fakes.

I then asked Claude about this (bearing in mind it is AI, so not reliable, but what it told me is interesting):

"Master copy" is a euphemism the Pakistani (and broader South Asian) grey/black market developed to make counterfeits sound more legitimate and craftsman-like. It's essentially a fake, but the terminology creates a kind of plausible deniability.

The hierarchy they've invented

Sellers have created an entirely fictitious grading system to justify different price points:

• First copy / A grade — basic fake, cheap materials, dies quickly
• Super copy / AA — slightly better finishing
• Master copy / AAA — supposedly the best fake, "indistinguishable from original"
• Some sellers now even claim "Swiss made master copy" which is almost poetic in its audacity

None of these grades have any standardised meaning whatsoever. It's purely marketing language invented to extract more money.

Why "master copy" specifically

The word "copy" acknowledges it isn't original, which oddly makes it feel more honest to buyers. "Master" implies skilled craftsmanship. Together it sounds like a legitimate artisan product rather than a criminal counterfeit. It also gives the buyer psychological cover — they're not being "deceived," they knowingly bought a "copy."

The reality

• The movements inside are usually cheap Chinese quartz regardless of what's on the dial
• A fake Rolex master copy sold for 15,000-20,000 PKR is still just a fake
• Quality is universally poor compared to even mid-range genuine watches
• They often use stolen brand identity, fake serial numbers, and copied documentation

Why it thrives in Pakistan specifically

• Genuine luxury watches are extremely expensive relative to incomes
• Import duties make authentic watches even pricier
• Social pressure to display status is significant, particularly at weddings and formal events
• Enforcement of IP law is weak
• The market is so established that it feels almost normalised

The fascinating sociological bit is that often everyone knows it's fake — the buyer, the seller, sometimes even the person receiving it as a gift — but the social performance of wearing a Rolex-shaped object is still considered worth something.

I WENT AWAY FOR A 90 MIN MEETING AND CAME BACK TO 130 DMs. PLEASE DO NOT DM ME NOW - I WILL REACTIVATE THIS ADVERT IF I DO NOT FIND ANYONE FROM THOSE THAT HAVE BEEN IN TOUCH.

IF YOU WERE IN TOUCH, BECAUSE OF THE NUMBERS, IT MIGHT TAKE ME A DAY OR SO TO GET BACK TO YOU - DO NOT WORRY, I AM NOT IGNORING YOU.

THANKS ALL!

I run a couple of small part time consultancies in Karachi.

For Consultancy A, I need to make 2-3 slide decks a month to speak at webinars. 90% of the content is the same but they will need changes. The current deck is really ugly.

Consultancy B is a little more complex - I pitch to potential clients a couple of times a month and need bespoke slide decks (again, these are often 80% the same). I also teach 5 day courses and generate 350-500 slide decks - these need to be made interesting and engaging (but not the quality of pitch decks).

I am looking for someone, preferably a student, who has reasonable English and can learn how to use PPT efficiently (happy to pay for them to spend a fortnight learning from YouTube or design courses on Udemy).

I will also give you access to a pro Canva account to build the basic design and background of the slides.

After this, I will pay the equivalent of PKR1k/hr (although a lot of work we will cost by the job, but the pay is indicative).

On months where there is no work, I will guarantee PKR10k/month. Some months there is likely to be 25k-40k.

Deadline are usually not bad - for 10-15 slide decks where the content is 80% the same as before, you will usually get 48 hours - but some assignments you will get a month to complete.

I would not need the person to be a master graphic designer - there are some projects that I will not give to this person, but will give to someone who is charging $15-25 an hour because of the nature of the work.

If interested, DM and answer the questions below.

If I like what I see, I will share a corporate email address with you and you can send me your CV and we can set up a chat.

1. first name (don't tell me your whole name, I may not take you on!)
2. rough area you live in (city is enough)
3. if you are a student, what year
4. if not a student, then your professional background
5. confirm that the payrate works for you
6. let me know if you have much experience with design or PPT - not having it will not harm you
7. how reasonable you are at reading English