General English -2 (NIACL Administrative Officer)

Directions: The sentence below has two blanks, each blank indicating that something has been omitted. Choose the set of words that best fits the meaning of the sentence as a whole.

Despite a growing _______ that a lot needs to be done to help those without clean water, a ______ says that more than 34 million people die every year of water borne diseases.

Directions: The sentence below has two blanks, each blank indicating that something has been omitted. Choose the set of words that best fits the meaning of the sentence as a whole.

Many people believed that spices help ______ food; however nutritionists found that most spices were ______ of having any effect on growth of microbes present in the food.

Directions: Read the following passage having some numbered blanks.

Probably the motorist saw the _______(i) lorry too _______(ii) to be able to ______(iii) a disaster. However, he realized that if he kept to the roadside, a probably ______(iv) head on ______(v) would be unavoidable. The only alternative was to take the lesser risk of leaving the road. With great care therefore, he turned sharply off the road and into the ditch by the roadside. The consequence was that, instead of being involved in a serious and probably fatal ______(vi), the driver escaped with a few minor ______(vii) and bruises, while the only ______(viii) to his bike was a bent mud guard. By ______(ix) into the roadside ditch to avoid what could have been a head on collision with the approaching lorry, he averted a ______(x) accident at the expense of a few injuries to himself and a slight damage to his bike.

Fill blank (iii).

Directions: Read the following passage having some numbered blanks.

Probably the motorist saw the _______(i) lorry too _______(ii) to be able to ______(iii) a disaster. However, he realized that if he kept to the roadside, a probably ______(iv) head on ______(v) would be unavoidable. The only alternative was to take the lesser risk of leaving the road. With great care therefore, he turned sharply off the road and into the ditch by the roadside. The consequence was that, instead of being involved in a serious and probably fatal ______(vi), the driver escaped with a few minor ______(vii) and bruises, while the only ______(viii) to his bike was a bent mud guard. By ______(ix) into the roadside ditch to avoid what could have been a head on collision with the approaching lorry, he averted a ______(x) accident at the expense of a few injuries to himself and a slight damage to his bike.

Fill blank (i).

Directions: Read the following passage having some numbered blanks.

Probably the motorist saw the _______(i) lorry too _______(ii) to be able to ______(iii) a disaster. However, he realized that if he kept to the roadside, a probably ______(iv) head on ______(v) would be unavoidable. The only alternative was to take the lesser risk of leaving the road. With great care therefore, he turned sharply off the road and into the ditch by the roadside. The consequence was that, instead of being involved in a serious and probably fatal ______(vi), the driver escaped with a few minor ______(vii) and bruises, while the only ______(viii) to his bike was a bent mud guard. By ______(ix) into the roadside ditch to avoid what could have been a head on collision with the approaching lorry, he averted a ______(x) accident at the expense of a few injuries to himself and a slight damage to his bike.

Fill blank (ii).

Directions: Read the following passage having some numbered blanks.

Probably the motorist saw the _______(i) lorry too _______(ii) to be able to ______(iii) a disaster. However, he realized that if he kept to the roadside, a probably ______(iv) head on ______(v) would be unavoidable. The only alternative was to take the lesser risk of leaving the road. With great care therefore, he turned sharply off the road and into the ditch by the roadside. The consequence was that, instead of being involved in a serious and probably fatal ______(vi), the driver escaped with a few minor ______(vii) and bruises, while the only ______(viii) to his bike was a bent mud guard. By ______(ix) into the roadside ditch to avoid what could have been a head on collision with the approaching lorry, he averted a ______(x) accident at the expense of a few injuries to himself and a slight damage to his bike.

Fill blank (iv).

Directions: Read the following passage having some numbered blanks.

Probably the motorist saw the _______(i) lorry too _______(ii) to be able to ______(iii) a disaster. However, he realized that if he kept to the roadside, a probably ______(iv) head on ______(v) would be unavoidable. The only alternative was to take the lesser risk of leaving the road. With great care therefore, he turned sharply off the road and into the ditch by the roadside. The consequence was that, instead of being involved in a serious and probably fatal ______(vi), the driver escaped with a few minor ______(vii) and bruises, while the only ______(viii) to his bike was a bent mud guard. By ______(ix) into the roadside ditch to avoid what could have been a head on collision with the approaching lorry, he averted a ______(x) accident at the expense of a few injuries to himself and a slight damage to his bike.

Fill blank (v).

Directions: Read the following passage having some numbered blanks.

Probably the motorist saw the _______(i) lorry too _______(ii) to be able to ______(iii) a disaster. However, he realized that if he kept to the roadside, a probably ______(iv) head on ______(v) would be unavoidable. The only alternative was to take the lesser risk of leaving the road. With great care therefore, he turned sharply off the road and into the ditch by the roadside. The consequence was that, instead of being involved in a serious and probably fatal ______(vi), the driver escaped with a few minor ______(vii) and bruises, while the only ______(viii) to his bike was a bent mud guard. By ______(ix) into the roadside ditch to avoid what could have been a head on collision with the approaching lorry, he averted a ______(x) accident at the expense of a few injuries to himself and a slight damage to his bike.

Fill blank (vi).

Directions: Read the following passage having some numbered blanks.

Probably the motorist saw the _______(i) lorry too _______(ii) to be able to ______(iii) a disaster. However, he realized that if he kept to the roadside, a probably ______(iv) head on ______(v) would be unavoidable. The only alternative was to take the lesser risk of leaving the road. With great care therefore, he turned sharply off the road and into the ditch by the roadside. The consequence was that, instead of being involved in a serious and probably fatal ______(vi), the driver escaped with a few minor ______(vii) and bruises, while the only ______(viii) to his bike was a bent mud guard. By ______(ix) into the roadside ditch to avoid what could have been a head on collision with the approaching lorry, he averted a ______(x) accident at the expense of a few injuries to himself and a slight damage to his bike.

Fill blank (vii).

Directions: Read the following passage having some numbered blanks.

Probably the motorist saw the _______(i) lorry too _______(ii) to be able to ______(iii) a disaster. However, he realized that if he kept to the roadside, a probably ______(iv) head on ______(v) would be unavoidable. The only alternative was to take the lesser risk of leaving the road. With great care therefore, he turned sharply off the road and into the ditch by the roadside. The consequence was that, instead of being involved in a serious and probably fatal ______(vi), the driver escaped with a few minor ______(vii) and bruises, while the only ______(viii) to his bike was a bent mud guard. By ______(ix) into the roadside ditch to avoid what could have been a head on collision with the approaching lorry, he averted a ______(x) accident at the expense of a few injuries to himself and a slight damage to his bike.

Fill blank (x).

Directions: Read the following passage having some numbered blanks.

Probably the motorist saw the _______(i) lorry too _______(ii) to be able to ______(iii) a disaster. However, he realized that if he kept to the roadside, a probably ______(iv) head on ______(v) would be unavoidable. The only alternative was to take the lesser risk of leaving the road. With great care therefore, he turned sharply off the road and into the ditch by the roadside. The consequence was that, instead of being involved in a serious and probably fatal ______(vi), the driver escaped with a few minor ______(vii) and bruises, while the only ______(viii) to his bike was a bent mud guard. By ______(ix) into the roadside ditch to avoid what could have been a head on collision with the approaching lorry, he averted a ______(x) accident at the expense of a few injuries to himself and a slight damage to his bike.

Fill blank (viii).

Directions: Read the following passage having some numbered blanks.

Probably the motorist saw the _______(i) lorry too _______(ii) to be able to ______(iii) a disaster. However, he realized that if he kept to the roadside, a probably ______(iv) head on ______(v) would be unavoidable. The only alternative was to take the lesser risk of leaving the road. With great care therefore, he turned sharply off the road and into the ditch by the roadside. The consequence was that, instead of being involved in a serious and probably fatal ______(vi), the driver escaped with a few minor ______(vii) and bruises, while the only ______(viii) to his bike was a bent mud guard. By ______(ix) into the roadside ditch to avoid what could have been a head on collision with the approaching lorry, he averted a ______(x) accident at the expense of a few injuries to himself and a slight damage to his bike.

Fill blank (ix).

According to the context, an avocation would mean

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

According to the text, a repeat offender, in tattoo language, is symbolised by

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

The tattoos, according to the prisoner's ultimate opinion, show that the prisoner

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

That Arkady Bronnikov has done exhaustive research on the topic is evident from which of the following phrases used by the author?

I. fistful of black and white photos
II. had access to thousands of prisoners
III. overstuffed valise
IV. 20,000 photos and published books

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

Those convicts who are voluntarily tattooed include

I. prisoners in labour camps
II. women convicts
III. insulted men
IV. burglars

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

Bronnikov managed to collect so much information regarding tattoos because of all of the following factors, except

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

From the tattoos etched on the body of the convict, one can identify

I. the prisons that he has been in
II. the crimes committed by him
III. his position in the hierarchy of convict life
IV. the sentence served by him

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

Which of the following statements best expresses the main idea of the passage?

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

Which of the following questions cannot be answered by reading the passage?

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

Mysnik's statement "One way or the other, you get nailed" would mean

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.