Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside. To begin with, residual problems from the end of the earlier era of colonisation, usually the result of untidy departures by the colonial power, still remain dangerously stalemated. The dramatic events in East Timor in 1999 are no longer fresh in the memory, and the more recent woes of neither Afghanistan nor Myanmar, can be attributed to colonialism. But no closure seems in sight in western Sahara, Jammu and Kashmir or in those old standbys of Cyprus and Palestine, all messy legacies of colonialism. Fuses lit in the colonial era could ignite again, as they did in the Horn of Africa, between Ethiopia and Eritrea, where war broke out over a colonial border that the Italians of an earlier era of occupation had failed to define with enough precision, and, more recently still, between the government of Ethiopia and its Tigrayan minority. But it is not just the direct results of colonialism that remain relevant: there are the indirect ones as well. The intellectual history of colonialism is littered with many a wilful cause of more recent conflict. One is, quite simply, careless anthropology: the Belgian classification of Hutus and Tutsis in Rwanda and Burundi, which reified a distinction that had not existed before, continues to haunt the region of the African Great Lakes. A related problem is that of motivated sociology: how much bloodshed do we owe, for instance, to the British invention of “martial races” in India, which skewed recruitment into the armed forces and saddled some communities (Punjabi Muslims, for instance) with the onerous burden of militarism? And one can never overlook the old colonial administrative habit of “divide and rule”, exemplified, again, by British policy in the subcontinent after 1857, systematically promoting political divisions between Hindus and Muslims, which led inexorably to the tragedy of Partition. Such colonial-era distinctions were not just pernicious; they were often accompanied by an unequal distribution of the resources of the state within the colonial society. Belgian colonialists favoured Tutsis, leading to Hutu rejection of them as alien interlopers; Sinhalese resentment of privileges enjoyed by the Tamils in the colonial era in Sri Lanka prompted the discriminatory policies after Independence, that in turn fuelled the Tamil revolt. A “mixed” colonial history within one modern state is also a potential source of danger. When a state has more than one colonial past, its future is vulnerable. Secessionism, after all, can be prompted by a variety of factors, historical, geographical and cultural as well as “ethnic”. Ethnicity or language hardly seem to be a factor in the secessions (one recognised, the other not) of Eritrea from Ethiopia and the “Republic of Somaliland” from Somalia. Rather, it was different colonial experiences (Italian rule in Eritrea and British rule in Somaliland) that set them off, at least in their own self-perceptions, from the rest of their ethnic compatriots. A similar case can be made in respect of the former Yugoslavia, where parts of the country that had been under Austro-Hungarian rule for 800 years had been joined to parts that spent almost as long under Ottoman suzerainty. The war that erupted in 1991 was in no small measure a war that pitted those parts of Yugoslavia that had been ruled by German-speaking empires against those that had not (or had resisted such colonisation). Q. What can be concluded about colonialism's legacy from this passage?

The issue has been fully rectified on a global scale.

It still poses a threat to international peace and stability in many different regions.

Only nations that were directly colonized by European powers are impacted.

Economic disparity has been the only thing it has affected.

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside. To begin with, residual problems from the end of the earlier era of colonisation, usually the result of untidy departures by the colonial power, still remain dangerously stalemated. The dramatic events in East Timor in 1999 are no longer fresh in the memory, and the more recent woes of neither Afghanistan nor Myanmar, can be attributed to colonialism. But no closure seems in sight in western Sahara, Jammu and Kashmir or in those old standbys of Cyprus and Palestine, all messy legacies of colonialism. Fuses lit in the colonial era could ignite again, as they did in the Horn of Africa, between Ethiopia and Eritrea, where war broke out over a colonial border that the Italians of an earlier era of occupation had failed to define with enough precision, and, more recently still, between the government of Ethiopia and its Tigrayan minority. But it is not just the direct results of colonialism that remain relevant: there are the indirect ones as well. The intellectual history of colonialism is littered with many a wilful cause of more recent conflict. One is, quite simply, careless anthropology: the Belgian classification of Hutus and Tutsis in Rwanda and Burundi, which reified a distinction that had not existed before, continues to haunt the region of the African Great Lakes. A related problem is that of motivated sociology: how much bloodshed do we owe, for instance, to the British invention of “martial races” in India, which skewed recruitment into the armed forces and saddled some communities (Punjabi Muslims, for instance) with the onerous burden of militarism? And one can never overlook the old colonial administrative habit of “divide and rule”, exemplified, again, by British policy in the subcontinent after 1857, systematically promoting political divisions between Hindus and Muslims, which led inexorably to the tragedy of Partition. Such colonial-era distinctions were not just pernicious; they were often accompanied by an unequal distribution of the resources of the state within the colonial society. Belgian colonialists favoured Tutsis, leading to Hutu rejection of them as alien interlopers; Sinhalese resentment of privileges enjoyed by the Tamils in the colonial era in Sri Lanka prompted the discriminatory policies after Independence, that in turn fuelled the Tamil revolt. A “mixed” colonial history within one modern state is also a potential source of danger. When a state has more than one colonial past, its future is vulnerable. Secessionism, after all, can be prompted by a variety of factors, historical, geographical and cultural as well as “ethnic”. Ethnicity or language hardly seem to be a factor in the secessions (one recognised, the other not) of Eritrea from Ethiopia and the “Republic of Somaliland” from Somalia. Rather, it was different colonial experiences (Italian rule in Eritrea and British rule in Somaliland) that set them off, at least in their own self-perceptions, from the rest of their ethnic compatriots. A similar case can be made in respect of the former Yugoslavia, where parts of the country that had been under Austro-Hungarian rule for 800 years had been joined to parts that spent almost as long under Ottoman suzerainty. The war that erupted in 1991 was in no small measure a war that pitted those parts of Yugoslavia that had been ruled by German-speaking empires against those that had not (or had resisted such colonisation). Q. What does the passage's usage of the word "reified" mean?

Putting an abstract idea into practice.

Completely destroying something.

Giving anything a constructive form.

Overstating the value of something.

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside. To begin with, residual problems from the end of the earlier era of colonisation, usually the result of untidy departures by the colonial power, still remain dangerously stalemated. The dramatic events in East Timor in 1999 are no longer fresh in the memory, and the more recent woes of neither Afghanistan nor Myanmar, can be attributed to colonialism. But no closure seems in sight in western Sahara, Jammu and Kashmir or in those old standbys of Cyprus and Palestine, all messy legacies of colonialism. Fuses lit in the colonial era could ignite again, as they did in the Horn of Africa, between Ethiopia and Eritrea, where war broke out over a colonial border that the Italians of an earlier era of occupation had failed to define with enough precision, and, more recently still, between the government of Ethiopia and its Tigrayan minority. But it is not just the direct results of colonialism that remain relevant: there are the indirect ones as well. The intellectual history of colonialism is littered with many a wilful cause of more recent conflict. One is, quite simply, careless anthropology: the Belgian classification of Hutus and Tutsis in Rwanda and Burundi, which reified a distinction that had not existed before, continues to haunt the region of the African Great Lakes. A related problem is that of motivated sociology: how much bloodshed do we owe, for instance, to the British invention of “martial races” in India, which skewed recruitment into the armed forces and saddled some communities (Punjabi Muslims, for instance) with the onerous burden of militarism? And one can never overlook the old colonial administrative habit of “divide and rule”, exemplified, again, by British policy in the subcontinent after 1857, systematically promoting political divisions between Hindus and Muslims, which led inexorably to the tragedy of Partition. Such colonial-era distinctions were not just pernicious; they were often accompanied by an unequal distribution of the resources of the state within the colonial society. Belgian colonialists favoured Tutsis, leading to Hutu rejection of them as alien interlopers; Sinhalese resentment of privileges enjoyed by the Tamils in the colonial era in Sri Lanka prompted the discriminatory policies after Independence, that in turn fuelled the Tamil revolt. A “mixed” colonial history within one modern state is also a potential source of danger. When a state has more than one colonial past, its future is vulnerable. Secessionism, after all, can be prompted by a variety of factors, historical, geographical and cultural as well as “ethnic”. Ethnicity or language hardly seem to be a factor in the secessions (one recognised, the other not) of Eritrea from Ethiopia and the “Republic of Somaliland” from Somalia. Rather, it was different colonial experiences (Italian rule in Eritrea and British rule in Somaliland) that set them off, at least in their own self-perceptions, from the rest of their ethnic compatriots. A similar case can be made in respect of the former Yugoslavia, where parts of the country that had been under Austro-Hungarian rule for 800 years had been joined to parts that spent almost as long under Ottoman suzerainty. The war that erupted in 1991 was in no small measure a war that pitted those parts of Yugoslavia that had been ruled by German-speaking empires against those that had not (or had resisted such colonisation). Q. What is the main point made in the passage regarding the impact of colonialism?

Colonial legacies continue to cause conflicts and tensions in various regions.

Colonialism was entirely responsible for the conflicts in East Timor, Afghanistan, and Myanmar.

Colonialism had no lasting impact on the regions it touched.

Colonial borders were precisely defined and caused no issues after independence.

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside. To begin with, residual problems from the end of the earlier era of colonisation, usually the result of untidy departures by the colonial power, still remain dangerously stalemated. The dramatic events in East Timor in 1999 are no longer fresh in the memory, and the more recent woes of neither Afghanistan nor Myanmar, can be attributed to colonialism. But no closure seems in sight in western Sahara, Jammu and Kashmir or in those old standbys of Cyprus and Palestine, all messy legacies of colonialism. Fuses lit in the colonial era could ignite again, as they did in the Horn of Africa, between Ethiopia and Eritrea, where war broke out over a colonial border that the Italians of an earlier era of occupation had failed to define with enough precision, and, more recently still, between the government of Ethiopia and its Tigrayan minority. But it is not just the direct results of colonialism that remain relevant: there are the indirect ones as well. The intellectual history of colonialism is littered with many a wilful cause of more recent conflict. One is, quite simply, careless anthropology: the Belgian classification of Hutus and Tutsis in Rwanda and Burundi, which reified a distinction that had not existed before, continues to haunt the region of the African Great Lakes. A related problem is that of motivated sociology: how much bloodshed do we owe, for instance, to the British invention of “martial races” in India, which skewed recruitment into the armed forces and saddled some communities (Punjabi Muslims, for instance) with the onerous burden of militarism? And one can never overlook the old colonial administrative habit of “divide and rule”, exemplified, again, by British policy in the subcontinent after 1857, systematically promoting political divisions between Hindus and Muslims, which led inexorably to the tragedy of Partition. Such colonial-era distinctions were not just pernicious; they were often accompanied by an unequal distribution of the resources of the state within the colonial society. Belgian colonialists favoured Tutsis, leading to Hutu rejection of them as alien interlopers; Sinhalese resentment of privileges enjoyed by the Tamils in the colonial era in Sri Lanka prompted the discriminatory policies after Independence, that in turn fuelled the Tamil revolt. A “mixed” colonial history within one modern state is also a potential source of danger. When a state has more than one colonial past, its future is vulnerable. Secessionism, after all, can be prompted by a variety of factors, historical, geographical and cultural as well as “ethnic”. Ethnicity or language hardly seem to be a factor in the secessions (one recognised, the other not) of Eritrea from Ethiopia and the “Republic of Somaliland” from Somalia. Rather, it was different colonial experiences (Italian rule in Eritrea and British rule in Somaliland) that set them off, at least in their own self-perceptions, from the rest of their ethnic compatriots. A similar case can be made in respect of the former Yugoslavia, where parts of the country that had been under Austro-Hungarian rule for 800 years had been joined to parts that spent almost as long under Ottoman suzerainty. The war that erupted in 1991 was in no small measure a war that pitted those parts of Yugoslavia that had been ruled by German-speaking empires against those that had not (or had resisted such colonisation). Q. What is the significance of having more than one colonial past in a modern state, as mentioned in the passage?

It leads to greater ethnic diversity and harmony.

It reduces the likelihood of secessionism and conflict.

It can potentially be a source of danger and secessionism.

It promotes a stronger sense of national identity.

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside. In 400 years, English went from being a small language spoken in the British Isles to becoming the most dominant language in the world. In the year 1600, at the end of Queen Elizabeth I’s reign, English was spoken by 4 million people. By the 2020s, at the end of Queen Elizabeth II’s reign, that number had risen to nearly 2 billion. Today, English is the main language in the United Kingdom, Ireland, the United States, Canada, Australia and New Zealand; and it’s an ‘intra-national’ language in former British colonies such as India, Singapore, South Africa and Nigeria. It is Earth’s lingua franca. For some, English is Britain’s greatest ‘gift’ to the world. In an online interview with ConservativeHome in May 2022, Suella Braverman, now the UK’s Home Secretary, said she was proud of the British Empire for giving its colonies infrastructure, legal systems, the civil service, militaries and, in her words, ‘of course, the English language’. On the other side of the political spectrum, in 2008 Gordon Brown, then the prime minister, delivered a speech in which he stated that he wanted ‘Britain to make a new gift to the world’ by supporting anyone outside the UK who wished to learn English. In the same year, The Times announced proposals for a new museum dedicated to the language, to ‘celebrate England’s most elaborate gift to the world’. And, more recently, Mark Robson of the British Council described English as ‘the UK’s greatest gift to the world’. The notion of English as a gift from Britain to the planet is so commonplace it’s almost unremarkable. English may have become universal, but not everyone believes it is a gift. In fact, many hold diametrically opposite views. In an article in The Guardian in 2018, the journalist Jacob Mikanowski described English as a ‘behemoth, bully, loudmouth, thief’, highlighting that the dominance of English threatens local cultures and languages. Due to the ways in which English continues to gain ground worldwide, many languages are becoming endangered or extinct. This not only impacts relatively small languages like Welsh or Irish, but also larger languages, such as Yoruba in Nigeria, which are pressured by English in business, trade, education, the media and technology. For this reason, a number of scholars in the field of sociolinguistics consider English a killer language and have described it as a kind of monster, like the deadly multi-headed Hydra from Greek mythology. Those who see English from this perspective consider its global roles a form of linguistic imperialism, a system of profound inequality between English and other languages, which are crushed under the might of a former colonial power, Britain, and the current world superpower, the US. In The Oxford Handbook of World Englishes (2017), the sociolinguists Robert Phillipson and Tove Skutnabb-Kangas note how ‘the international prestige and instrumental value of English can lead to linguistic territory being occupied at the expense of local languages and the broad democratic role that national languages play.’ Q. What primarily refutes the idea that English is a gift from Britain to the world?

The threat of English to regional languages and traditions.

Compared to other languages, English is not as widely spoken.

The world has not been improved by English.

English is challenging to learn and comprehend.

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside. In 400 years, English went from being a small language spoken in the British Isles to becoming the most dominant language in the world. In the year 1600, at the end of Queen Elizabeth I’s reign, English was spoken by 4 million people. By the 2020s, at the end of Queen Elizabeth II’s reign, that number had risen to nearly 2 billion. Today, English is the main language in the United Kingdom, Ireland, the United States, Canada, Australia and New Zealand; and it’s an ‘intra-national’ language in former British colonies such as India, Singapore, South Africa and Nigeria. It is Earth’s lingua franca. For some, English is Britain’s greatest ‘gift’ to the world. In an online interview with ConservativeHome in May 2022, Suella Braverman, now the UK’s Home Secretary, said she was proud of the British Empire for giving its colonies infrastructure, legal systems, the civil service, militaries and, in her words, ‘of course, the English language’. On the other side of the political spectrum, in 2008 Gordon Brown, then the prime minister, delivered a speech in which he stated that he wanted ‘Britain to make a new gift to the world’ by supporting anyone outside the UK who wished to learn English. In the same year, The Times announced proposals for a new museum dedicated to the language, to ‘celebrate England’s most elaborate gift to the world’. And, more recently, Mark Robson of the British Council described English as ‘the UK’s greatest gift to the world’. The notion of English as a gift from Britain to the planet is so commonplace it’s almost unremarkable. English may have become universal, but not everyone believes it is a gift. In fact, many hold diametrically opposite views. In an article in The Guardian in 2018, the journalist Jacob Mikanowski described English as a ‘behemoth, bully, loudmouth, thief’, highlighting that the dominance of English threatens local cultures and languages. Due to the ways in which English continues to gain ground worldwide, many languages are becoming endangered or extinct. This not only impacts relatively small languages like Welsh or Irish, but also larger languages, such as Yoruba in Nigeria, which are pressured by English in business, trade, education, the media and technology. For this reason, a number of scholars in the field of sociolinguistics consider English a killer language and have described it as a kind of monster, like the deadly multi-headed Hydra from Greek mythology. Those who see English from this perspective consider its global roles a form of linguistic imperialism, a system of profound inequality between English and other languages, which are crushed under the might of a former colonial power, Britain, and the current world superpower, the US. In The Oxford Handbook of World Englishes (2017), the sociolinguists Robert Phillipson and Tove Skutnabb-Kangas note how ‘the international prestige and instrumental value of English can lead to linguistic territory being occupied at the expense of local languages and the broad democratic role that national languages play.’ Q. What major factor has led to English's emergence as the world's most prevalent language, according to the passage?

The marketing of English as a gift to its colonies by the British Empire.

The assistance that the British government offers to people who live outside of the UK and want to learn English.

How English is used as a common language in former British colonies and other nations.

The expansion of the US and UK as global superpowers.

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside. In 400 years, English went from being a small language spoken in the British Isles to becoming the most dominant language in the world. In the year 1600, at the end of Queen Elizabeth I’s reign, English was spoken by 4 million people. By the 2020s, at the end of Queen Elizabeth II’s reign, that number had risen to nearly 2 billion. Today, English is the main language in the United Kingdom, Ireland, the United States, Canada, Australia and New Zealand; and it’s an ‘intra-national’ language in former British colonies such as India, Singapore, South Africa and Nigeria. It is Earth’s lingua franca. For some, English is Britain’s greatest ‘gift’ to the world. In an online interview with ConservativeHome in May 2022, Suella Braverman, now the UK’s Home Secretary, said she was proud of the British Empire for giving its colonies infrastructure, legal systems, the civil service, militaries and, in her words, ‘of course, the English language’. On the other side of the political spectrum, in 2008 Gordon Brown, then the prime minister, delivered a speech in which he stated that he wanted ‘Britain to make a new gift to the world’ by supporting anyone outside the UK who wished to learn English. In the same year, The Times announced proposals for a new museum dedicated to the language, to ‘celebrate England’s most elaborate gift to the world’. And, more recently, Mark Robson of the British Council described English as ‘the UK’s greatest gift to the world’. The notion of English as a gift from Britain to the planet is so commonplace it’s almost unremarkable. English may have become universal, but not everyone believes it is a gift. In fact, many hold diametrically opposite views. In an article in The Guardian in 2018, the journalist Jacob Mikanowski described English as a ‘behemoth, bully, loudmouth, thief’, highlighting that the dominance of English threatens local cultures and languages. Due to the ways in which English continues to gain ground worldwide, many languages are becoming endangered or extinct. This not only impacts relatively small languages like Welsh or Irish, but also larger languages, such as Yoruba in Nigeria, which are pressured by English in business, trade, education, the media and technology. For this reason, a number of scholars in the field of sociolinguistics consider English a killer language and have described it as a kind of monster, like the deadly multi-headed Hydra from Greek mythology. Those who see English from this perspective consider its global roles a form of linguistic imperialism, a system of profound inequality between English and other languages, which are crushed under the might of a former colonial power, Britain, and the current world superpower, the US. In The Oxford Handbook of World Englishes (2017), the sociolinguists Robert Phillipson and Tove Skutnabb-Kangas note how ‘the international prestige and instrumental value of English can lead to linguistic territory being occupied at the expense of local languages and the broad democratic role that national languages play.’ Q. What is the author's perspective on the global adoption of English?

According to the author, Britain gave the rest of the world English as a gift.

The author thinks that English is a deadly language that imperils regional cultures and tongues.

The author believes that as other languages gain popularity, English is losing ground.

According to the author, there is no beneficial or bad influence of English on regional cultures.

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside. In 400 years, English went from being a small language spoken in the British Isles to becoming the most dominant language in the world. In the year 1600, at the end of Queen Elizabeth I’s reign, English was spoken by 4 million people. By the 2020s, at the end of Queen Elizabeth II’s reign, that number had risen to nearly 2 billion. Today, English is the main language in the United Kingdom, Ireland, the United States, Canada, Australia and New Zealand; and it’s an ‘intra-national’ language in former British colonies such as India, Singapore, South Africa and Nigeria. It is Earth’s lingua franca. For some, English is Britain’s greatest ‘gift’ to the world. In an online interview with ConservativeHome in May 2022, Suella Braverman, now the UK’s Home Secretary, said she was proud of the British Empire for giving its colonies infrastructure, legal systems, the civil service, militaries and, in her words, ‘of course, the English language’. On the other side of the political spectrum, in 2008 Gordon Brown, then the prime minister, delivered a speech in which he stated that he wanted ‘Britain to make a new gift to the world’ by supporting anyone outside the UK who wished to learn English. In the same year, The Times announced proposals for a new museum dedicated to the language, to ‘celebrate England’s most elaborate gift to the world’. And, more recently, Mark Robson of the British Council described English as ‘the UK’s greatest gift to the world’. The notion of English as a gift from Britain to the planet is so commonplace it’s almost unremarkable. English may have become universal, but not everyone believes it is a gift. In fact, many hold diametrically opposite views. In an article in The Guardian in 2018, the journalist Jacob Mikanowski described English as a ‘behemoth, bully, loudmouth, thief’, highlighting that the dominance of English threatens local cultures and languages. Due to the ways in which English continues to gain ground worldwide, many languages are becoming endangered or extinct. This not only impacts relatively small languages like Welsh or Irish, but also larger languages, such as Yoruba in Nigeria, which are pressured by English in business, trade, education, the media and technology. For this reason, a number of scholars in the field of sociolinguistics consider English a killer language and have described it as a kind of monster, like the deadly multi-headed Hydra from Greek mythology. Those who see English from this perspective consider its global roles a form of linguistic imperialism, a system of profound inequality between English and other languages, which are crushed under the might of a former colonial power, Britain, and the current world superpower, the US. In The Oxford Handbook of World Englishes (2017), the sociolinguists Robert Phillipson and Tove Skutnabb-Kangas note how ‘the international prestige and instrumental value of English can lead to linguistic territory being occupied at the expense of local languages and the broad democratic role that national languages play.’ Q. How is English described in the passage in terms of its impact on local cultures and languages?

A tool for promoting local languages

A source of linguistic equality

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside. The high-altitude manoeuvring between two Russian fighter jets and an American drone over the Black Sea, which resulted in the splashing down of the U.S. MQ-9 Reaper drone on Tuesday morning, has underscored the dangerous risks of the Ukraine war. In conflicting narratives about the incident, the Pentagon says the Russian Su-27s intercepted the surveillance drone in international airspace, dumping fuel on the drone, colliding with it and forcing it down. But the Russian Defence Ministry said its jets were scrambled after a U.S. drone violated its “temporary airspace” off the Crimean peninsula (declared for its war in Ukraine) and that the American aerial vehicle “lost altitude” in “sharp manoeuvring”. The MQ-9 recorded the incident. The video has been declassified and would help establish the truth. But whatever the reason, the fact that the U.S. lost a drone in the Black Sea, where it does not even have a naval presence, is a grave reminder of how close the nuclear powers have come to a conflict. While both sides have responded with maturity, the underlying situation that triggered this crisis remains unchanged. The U.S. has provided over $30 billion in military assistance, including advanced defensive and offensive weapons, to Ukraine since the Russian invasion began, and imposed tough sanctions on Moscow. Washington says it is not directly involved in the war but is helping Ukraine defend its territories, while Russia alleges that the “collective West” is seeking to destroy it. As the war drags on, with Russia’s failure to take a quick victory, the relationship between Washington and Moscow has broken down. Last month, Russia suspended its participation in the New START nuclear arms control treaty, the last of the Cold War-era weapons control mechanisms between the two countries. Steadily deepening mutual distrust amid an ongoing conflict is a perfect recipe for disaster in great power rivalries. Even if the Biden administration has clearly ruled out a direct conflict with Russia, irresponsible and high-risk manoeuvring or even accidents could lead to, as the Pentagon said, “miscalculation and unintended escalation”. The U.S. and Russia already have a deconfliction hotline to avoid mid-air collisions in different theatres where they operate. They should use that mechanism around Ukraine as well to avoid a repeat of incidents such as the Black Sea one. But a bigger challenge is to arrest the deterioration of their bilateral ties, which is now reminiscent of the bilateral hostility of the first two decades of the Cold War. If the U.S. and Russia address this problem and find some stability between themselves, it would help them bring the war in Ukraine to an end. Q. According to the passage, what is the significance of the incident involving the U.S. MQ-9 Reaper drone and Russian fighter jets over the Black Sea?

It marks the first-ever collision between a drone and fighter jets.

It underscores the dangerous risks associated with the Ukraine war.

It led to the loss of a Russian fighter jet.

It occurred due to a breakdown in the deconfliction hotline.

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside. The high-altitude manoeuvring between two Russian fighter jets and an American drone over the Black Sea, which resulted in the splashing down of the U.S. MQ-9 Reaper drone on Tuesday morning, has underscored the dangerous risks of the Ukraine war. In conflicting narratives about the incident, the Pentagon says the Russian Su-27s intercepted the surveillance drone in international airspace, dumping fuel on the drone, colliding with it and forcing it down. But the Russian Defence Ministry said its jets were scrambled after a U.S. drone violated its “temporary airspace” off the Crimean peninsula (declared for its war in Ukraine) and that the American aerial vehicle “lost altitude” in “sharp manoeuvring”. The MQ-9 recorded the incident. The video has been declassified and would help establish the truth. But whatever the reason, the fact that the U.S. lost a drone in the Black Sea, where it does not even have a naval presence, is a grave reminder of how close the nuclear powers have come to a conflict. While both sides have responded with maturity, the underlying situation that triggered this crisis remains unchanged. The U.S. has provided over $30 billion in military assistance, including advanced defensive and offensive weapons, to Ukraine since the Russian invasion began, and imposed tough sanctions on Moscow. Washington says it is not directly involved in the war but is helping Ukraine defend its territories, while Russia alleges that the “collective West” is seeking to destroy it. As the war drags on, with Russia’s failure to take a quick victory, the relationship between Washington and Moscow has broken down. Last month, Russia suspended its participation in the New START nuclear arms control treaty, the last of the Cold War-era weapons control mechanisms between the two countries. Steadily deepening mutual distrust amid an ongoing conflict is a perfect recipe for disaster in great power rivalries. Even if the Biden administration has clearly ruled out a direct conflict with Russia, irresponsible and high-risk manoeuvring or even accidents could lead to, as the Pentagon said, “miscalculation and unintended escalation”. The U.S. and Russia already have a deconfliction hotline to avoid mid-air collisions in different theatres where they operate. They should use that mechanism around Ukraine as well to avoid a repeat of incidents such as the Black Sea one. But a bigger challenge is to arrest the deterioration of their bilateral ties, which is now reminiscent of the bilateral hostility of the first two decades of the Cold War. If the U.S. and Russia address this problem and find some stability between themselves, it would help them bring the war in Ukraine to an end. Q. What does the passage suggest could be a consequence of the deepening mutual distrust between the U.S. and Russia?

The possibility of a direct conflict between the two nations.

An improvement in bilateral ties between the U.S. and Russia.

Increased cooperation in nuclear arms control.

Directions: Read the following passage and answer the question. Dad looked at the lines on my palm and said, "You'll live to be 90, my child." The day I was diagnosed with cancer, five decades later, I thought of him and wept. I was at the Indian Institute of Technology, Mumbai in October 2007. At 58, I looked 40, bursting with energy and passion for my work. At the end of the workshop, while changing my clothes, I stood transfixed before the mirror, staring at the bright red flower glaring back at me from my right breast. I was sure it wasn't there the day before. My heart pounding, I returned home to Pune and rushed to the doctor who recommended an ultrasound and a fine needle aspiration cytology. Both tested positive for malignancy. When I picked up the reports in a daze, I wondered, how could this be happening to me? Leaning against the tall hospital pillar, I shivered like a leaf while breaking the news to my family—stage-three breast cancer. My treatment began straight away. First, I underwent a radical mastectomy. Then came the chemo. Six cycles of chemo later, it was time for 33 rounds of radiation. After the fourth, I was lying unconscious on the bathroom floor. I was told later that I had suffered a mild stroke but was lucky the clot had passed on. I soon realized that if I was going to have any chance at life again, I had to take control of my disease, instead of allowing it to overpower me as it had done until now. On 19 April 2008, a day after my treatment ended, I tied a scarf around my hairless head and flew to Chandigarh to train Rotary Club leaders in soft skills. A burning desire to get a hold of life, and find purpose pushed me forward and distracted me from that terrifying thought—What if the cancer returned? While I focused on regaining normalcy, I was unaware of a developing crisis. In 2009, a 2D echocardiogram reported an inexplicable drop in my heart's pumping rate from 65 to 55 per cent. I was anxious but doctors allayed my fears. Three years later drained, breathless and perspiring, I was carried to a car that conveyed me to the hospital once again. It was not a heart attack, but my survival was at stake. A year later, I learnt that a drug administered to me during chemo had damaged it. I was in shock. I restarted meditation and visualization to feel more positive. Work was my mainstay, my hope and source of comfort. That and a nightly prayer pushed the thought of death away. [Extracted with edits and revisions from 'Winning At Life: A Professor Fights Back Bouts Of Cancer and Certain Death, Reader's Digest] Q. Which of the following statements about the author can we make based on the passage?

She no longer believes she will recover from her sickness.

She regrets not having accomplished as much in life as she had hoped.

She is not as ill as she likes to portray herself to be.

She has a strong will to survive and recover from her condition.

Directions: Read the following passage and answer the question. Dad looked at the lines on my palm and said, "You'll live to be 90, my child." The day I was diagnosed with cancer, five decades later, I thought of him and wept. I was at the Indian Institute of Technology, Mumbai in October 2007. At 58, I looked 40, bursting with energy and passion for my work. At the end of the workshop, while changing my clothes, I stood transfixed before the mirror, staring at the bright red flower glaring back at me from my right breast. I was sure it wasn't there the day before. My heart pounding, I returned home to Pune and rushed to the doctor who recommended an ultrasound and a fine needle aspiration cytology. Both tested positive for malignancy. When I picked up the reports in a daze, I wondered, how could this be happening to me? Leaning against the tall hospital pillar, I shivered like a leaf while breaking the news to my family—stage-three breast cancer. My treatment began straight away. First, I underwent a radical mastectomy. Then came the chemo. Six cycles of chemo later, it was time for 33 rounds of radiation. After the fourth, I was lying unconscious on the bathroom floor. I was told later that I had suffered a mild stroke but was lucky the clot had passed on. I soon realized that if I was going to have any chance at life again, I had to take control of my disease, instead of allowing it to overpower me as it had done until now. On 19 April 2008, a day after my treatment ended, I tied a scarf around my hairless head and flew to Chandigarh to train Rotary Club leaders in soft skills. A burning desire to get a hold of life, and find purpose pushed me forward and distracted me from that terrifying thought—What if the cancer returned? While I focused on regaining normalcy, I was unaware of a developing crisis. In 2009, a 2D echocardiogram reported an inexplicable drop in my heart's pumping rate from 65 to 55 per cent. I was anxious but doctors allayed my fears. Three years later drained, breathless and perspiring, I was carried to a car that conveyed me to the hospital once again. It was not a heart attack, but my survival was at stake. A year later, I learnt that a drug administered to me during chemo had damaged it. I was in shock. I restarted meditation and visualization to feel more positive. Work was my mainstay, my hope and source of comfort. That and a nightly prayer pushed the thought of death away. [Extracted with edits and revisions from 'Winning At Life: A Professor Fights Back Bouts Of Cancer and Certain Death, Reader's Digest] Q. How did the author respond, according to the passage, to her ultrasound and cytology test results?

As soon as she realized she had a terminal condition, she began making all the arrangements.

She was upbeat because she wanted to start fresh.

She was appalled and afraid to tell her family the news.

She prayed and hoped for a miracle to happen that would heal her.

Directions: Read the following passage and answer the question. Dad looked at the lines on my palm and said, "You'll live to be 90, my child." The day I was diagnosed with cancer, five decades later, I thought of him and wept. I was at the Indian Institute of Technology, Mumbai in October 2007. At 58, I looked 40, bursting with energy and passion for my work. At the end of the workshop, while changing my clothes, I stood transfixed before the mirror, staring at the bright red flower glaring back at me from my right breast. I was sure it wasn't there the day before. My heart pounding, I returned home to Pune and rushed to the doctor who recommended an ultrasound and a fine needle aspiration cytology. Both tested positive for malignancy. When I picked up the reports in a daze, I wondered, how could this be happening to me? Leaning against the tall hospital pillar, I shivered like a leaf while breaking the news to my family—stage-three breast cancer. My treatment began straight away. First, I underwent a radical mastectomy. Then came the chemo. Six cycles of chemo later, it was time for 33 rounds of radiation. After the fourth, I was lying unconscious on the bathroom floor. I was told later that I had suffered a mild stroke but was lucky the clot had passed on. I soon realized that if I was going to have any chance at life again, I had to take control of my disease, instead of allowing it to overpower me as it had done until now. On 19 April 2008, a day after my treatment ended, I tied a scarf around my hairless head and flew to Chandigarh to train Rotary Club leaders in soft skills. A burning desire to get a hold of life, and find purpose pushed me forward and distracted me from that terrifying thought—What if the cancer returned? While I focused on regaining normalcy, I was unaware of a developing crisis. In 2009, a 2D echocardiogram reported an inexplicable drop in my heart's pumping rate from 65 to 55 per cent. I was anxious but doctors allayed my fears. Three years later drained, breathless and perspiring, I was carried to a car that conveyed me to the hospital once again. It was not a heart attack, but my survival was at stake. A year later, I learnt that a drug administered to me during chemo had damaged it. I was in shock. I restarted meditation and visualization to feel more positive. Work was my mainstay, my hope and source of comfort. That and a nightly prayer pushed the thought of death away. [Extracted with edits and revisions from 'Winning At Life: A Professor Fights Back Bouts Of Cancer and Certain Death, Reader's Digest] Q. Why did the author cry after learning she had cancer because she was remembering her father?

She feared that her life might be shorter than she had anticipated.

She believed that because of her condition, her life was in danger.

She was concerned that the news might make her father ill.

She had a tremendous determination to survive and become better.

Directions: Read the following passage and answer the question. Dad looked at the lines on my palm and said, "You'll live to be 90, my child." The day I was diagnosed with cancer, five decades later, I thought of him and wept. I was at the Indian Institute of Technology, Mumbai in October 2007. At 58, I looked 40, bursting with energy and passion for my work. At the end of the workshop, while changing my clothes, I stood transfixed before the mirror, staring at the bright red flower glaring back at me from my right breast. I was sure it wasn't there the day before. My heart pounding, I returned home to Pune and rushed to the doctor who recommended an ultrasound and a fine needle aspiration cytology. Both tested positive for malignancy. When I picked up the reports in a daze, I wondered, how could this be happening to me? Leaning against the tall hospital pillar, I shivered like a leaf while breaking the news to my family—stage-three breast cancer. My treatment began straight away. First, I underwent a radical mastectomy. Then came the chemo. Six cycles of chemo later, it was time for 33 rounds of radiation. After the fourth, I was lying unconscious on the bathroom floor. I was told later that I had suffered a mild stroke but was lucky the clot had passed on. I soon realized that if I was going to have any chance at life again, I had to take control of my disease, instead of allowing it to overpower me as it had done until now. On 19 April 2008, a day after my treatment ended, I tied a scarf around my hairless head and flew to Chandigarh to train Rotary Club leaders in soft skills. A burning desire to get a hold of life, and find purpose pushed me forward and distracted me from that terrifying thought—What if the cancer returned? While I focused on regaining normalcy, I was unaware of a developing crisis. In 2009, a 2D echocardiogram reported an inexplicable drop in my heart's pumping rate from 65 to 55 per cent. I was anxious but doctors allayed my fears. Three years later drained, breathless and perspiring, I was carried to a car that conveyed me to the hospital once again. It was not a heart attack, but my survival was at stake. A year later, I learnt that a drug administered to me during chemo had damaged it. I was in shock. I restarted meditation and visualization to feel more positive. Work was my mainstay, my hope and source of comfort. That and a nightly prayer pushed the thought of death away. [Extracted with edits and revisions from 'Winning At Life: A Professor Fights Back Bouts Of Cancer and Certain Death, Reader's Digest] Q. What was the initial reaction of the author upon discovering the bright red flower on their right breast?

They immediately rushed to the doctor.

They ignored it, thinking it would disappear.

They felt a sense of foreboding but did nothing.

They consulted their family for advice.

Directions: Read the following passage and answer the question. Dad looked at the lines on my palm and said, "You'll live to be 90, my child." The day I was diagnosed with cancer, five decades later, I thought of him and wept. I was at the Indian Institute of Technology, Mumbai in October 2007. At 58, I looked 40, bursting with energy and passion for my work. At the end of the workshop, while changing my clothes, I stood transfixed before the mirror, staring at the bright red flower glaring back at me from my right breast. I was sure it wasn't there the day before. My heart pounding, I returned home to Pune and rushed to the doctor who recommended an ultrasound and a fine needle aspiration cytology. Both tested positive for malignancy. When I picked up the reports in a daze, I wondered, how could this be happening to me? Leaning against the tall hospital pillar, I shivered like a leaf while breaking the news to my family—stage-three breast cancer. My treatment began straight away. First, I underwent a radical mastectomy. Then came the chemo. Six cycles of chemo later, it was time for 33 rounds of radiation. After the fourth, I was lying unconscious on the bathroom floor. I was told later that I had suffered a mild stroke but was lucky the clot had passed on. I soon realized that if I was going to have any chance at life again, I had to take control of my disease, instead of allowing it to overpower me as it had done until now. On 19 April 2008, a day after my treatment ended, I tied a scarf around my hairless head and flew to Chandigarh to train Rotary Club leaders in soft skills. A burning desire to get a hold of life, and find purpose pushed me forward and distracted me from that terrifying thought—What if the cancer returned? While I focused on regaining normalcy, I was unaware of a developing crisis. In 2009, a 2D echocardiogram reported an inexplicable drop in my heart's pumping rate from 65 to 55 per cent. I was anxious but doctors allayed my fears. Three years later drained, breathless and perspiring, I was carried to a car that conveyed me to the hospital once again. It was not a heart attack, but my survival was at stake. A year later, I learnt that a drug administered to me during chemo had damaged it. I was in shock. I restarted meditation and visualization to feel more positive. Work was my mainstay, my hope and source of comfort. That and a nightly prayer pushed the thought of death away. [Extracted with edits and revisions from 'Winning At Life: A Professor Fights Back Bouts Of Cancer and Certain Death, Reader's Digest] Q. How did the author cope with the challenges posed by cancer and its treatment?

By avoiding work and focusing solely on their health.

By giving in to fear and thoughts of death.

By taking control of their disease and continuing to work.

By seeking constant medical attention and hospitalization.

Directions: Read the following passage and answer the question. In the world's first ever intercontinental translocation of large carnivores, eight African cheetahs have been brought to India, seven decades since the spotted cat was last sighted in the country. The reintroduction of the cheetah — a decades-long effort by successive regimes — into its former habitat is being proclaimed as a major breakthrough in conservation with much greater regeneration potential that it is being believed. The prime minister — the cheetahs were 'unveiled' on his birthday — even made the astounding claim that ecology was not in conflict with development in India. The global population of the cheetah has declined; it is estimated that only 7,100 of these felines are left in the world. The reintroduction of the cheetah to India is also aimed at resurrecting grasslands, which lie degraded even though they are essential to biodiversity. The solemn aims notwithstanding, the Cheetah Introduction Project is not without significant concerns. Some of the attendant problems, environmentalists argue, can be attributed to the ambitious — unscientific — goals of the programme. According to the Union ministry of environment and forest, India is expected to have around 21 cheetahs in the next 15 years and would have to continue to import in order to establish a viable population. This would require intensive management and end up consuming a disproportionate volume of thinning resources. Worse, it would distract efforts from critical conservation priorities. For instance, the Kuno National Park in Madhya Pradesh — where the cats will be rehabilitated — was originally earmarked for the relocation of some of Gujarat's lions that are vulnerable to epidemics. That was not to be, despite a Supreme Court endorsement. Strangely, the African cheetah is being prioritised over such native species — the great Indian bustard, the Indian wolf, blackbuck — whose survival is critical to the fate of India's grasslands. And this from a government that never misses an opportunity to parrot the mantra of the local over the global. The other, long-term challenges would include the viability of the landscape — depleted grasslands are not contiguous entities — the maintainability of a healthy prey base, the narrow pool of gene stock of the imported animals, the availability of a dedicated, trained staff, and, most importantly, a steady flow of funds, among other imperatives. The success of the project would be a feather on the cap of conservation. But should not indigenous species also be given a chance? [Sourced from The Telegraph, with edits and revisions] Q. The last line of the chapter refers to the expression "feather on the cap," which means:

A win that wasn't well-deserved.

A triumph that caused more damage than good.

Directions: Read the following passage and answer the question. In the world's first ever intercontinental translocation of large carnivores, eight African cheetahs have been brought to India, seven decades since the spotted cat was last sighted in the country. The reintroduction of the cheetah — a decades-long effort by successive regimes — into its former habitat is being proclaimed as a major breakthrough in conservation with much greater regeneration potential that it is being believed. The prime minister — the cheetahs were 'unveiled' on his birthday — even made the astounding claim that ecology was not in conflict with development in India. The global population of the cheetah has declined; it is estimated that only 7,100 of these felines are left in the world. The reintroduction of the cheetah to India is also aimed at resurrecting grasslands, which lie degraded even though they are essential to biodiversity. The solemn aims notwithstanding, the Cheetah Introduction Project is not without significant concerns. Some of the attendant problems, environmentalists argue, can be attributed to the ambitious — unscientific — goals of the programme. According to the Union ministry of environment and forest, India is expected to have around 21 cheetahs in the next 15 years and would have to continue to import in order to establish a viable population. This would require intensive management and end up consuming a disproportionate volume of thinning resources. Worse, it would distract efforts from critical conservation priorities. For instance, the Kuno National Park in Madhya Pradesh — where the cats will be rehabilitated — was originally earmarked for the relocation of some of Gujarat's lions that are vulnerable to epidemics. That was not to be, despite a Supreme Court endorsement. Strangely, the African cheetah is being prioritised over such native species — the great Indian bustard, the Indian wolf, blackbuck — whose survival is critical to the fate of India's grasslands. And this from a government that never misses an opportunity to parrot the mantra of the local over the global. The other, long-term challenges would include the viability of the landscape — depleted grasslands are not contiguous entities — the maintainability of a healthy prey base, the narrow pool of gene stock of the imported animals, the availability of a dedicated, trained staff, and, most importantly, a steady flow of funds, among other imperatives. The success of the project would be a feather on the cap of conservation. But should not indigenous species also be given a chance? [Sourced from The Telegraph, with edits and revisions] Q. With which of the following will the author concur?

The project is a recent endeavor that demonstrates the stakeholders' conservationist intentions.

Before positive outcomes may be anticipated, significant obstacles must be overcome.

Directions: Read the following passage and answer the question. In the world's first ever intercontinental translocation of large carnivores, eight African cheetahs have been brought to India, seven decades since the spotted cat was last sighted in the country. The reintroduction of the cheetah — a decades-long effort by successive regimes — into its former habitat is being proclaimed as a major breakthrough in conservation with much greater regeneration potential that it is being believed. The prime minister — the cheetahs were 'unveiled' on his birthday — even made the astounding claim that ecology was not in conflict with development in India. The global population of the cheetah has declined; it is estimated that only 7,100 of these felines are left in the world. The reintroduction of the cheetah to India is also aimed at resurrecting grasslands, which lie degraded even though they are essential to biodiversity. The solemn aims notwithstanding, the Cheetah Introduction Project is not without significant concerns. Some of the attendant problems, environmentalists argue, can be attributed to the ambitious — unscientific — goals of the programme. According to the Union ministry of environment and forest, India is expected to have around 21 cheetahs in the next 15 years and would have to continue to import in order to establish a viable population. This would require intensive management and end up consuming a disproportionate volume of thinning resources. Worse, it would distract efforts from critical conservation priorities. For instance, the Kuno National Park in Madhya Pradesh — where the cats will be rehabilitated — was originally earmarked for the relocation of some of Gujarat's lions that are vulnerable to epidemics. That was not to be, despite a Supreme Court endorsement. Strangely, the African cheetah is being prioritised over such native species — the great Indian bustard, the Indian wolf, blackbuck — whose survival is critical to the fate of India's grasslands. And this from a government that never misses an opportunity to parrot the mantra of the local over the global. The other, long-term challenges would include the viability of the landscape — depleted grasslands are not contiguous entities — the maintainability of a healthy prey base, the narrow pool of gene stock of the imported animals, the availability of a dedicated, trained staff, and, most importantly, a steady flow of funds, among other imperatives. The success of the project would be a feather on the cap of conservation. But should not indigenous species also be given a chance? [Sourced from The Telegraph, with edits and revisions] Q. What is the central theme of the passage?

The successful reintroduction of African cheetahs in India.

The declining population of cheetahs worldwide.

The challenges and concerns related to the Cheetah Introduction Project in India.

The need for India to prioritize the conservation of grasslands.

Directions: Read the following passage and answer the question. In the world's first ever intercontinental translocation of large carnivores, eight African cheetahs have been brought to India, seven decades since the spotted cat was last sighted in the country. The reintroduction of the cheetah — a decades-long effort by successive regimes — into its former habitat is being proclaimed as a major breakthrough in conservation with much greater regeneration potential that it is being believed. The prime minister — the cheetahs were 'unveiled' on his birthday — even made the astounding claim that ecology was not in conflict with development in India. The global population of the cheetah has declined; it is estimated that only 7,100 of these felines are left in the world. The reintroduction of the cheetah to India is also aimed at resurrecting grasslands, which lie degraded even though they are essential to biodiversity. The solemn aims notwithstanding, the Cheetah Introduction Project is not without significant concerns. Some of the attendant problems, environmentalists argue, can be attributed to the ambitious — unscientific — goals of the programme. According to the Union ministry of environment and forest, India is expected to have around 21 cheetahs in the next 15 years and would have to continue to import in order to establish a viable population. This would require intensive management and end up consuming a disproportionate volume of thinning resources. Worse, it would distract efforts from critical conservation priorities. For instance, the Kuno National Park in Madhya Pradesh — where the cats will be rehabilitated — was originally earmarked for the relocation of some of Gujarat's lions that are vulnerable to epidemics. That was not to be, despite a Supreme Court endorsement. Strangely, the African cheetah is being prioritised over such native species — the great Indian bustard, the Indian wolf, blackbuck — whose survival is critical to the fate of India's grasslands. And this from a government that never misses an opportunity to parrot the mantra of the local over the global. The other, long-term challenges would include the viability of the landscape — depleted grasslands are not contiguous entities — the maintainability of a healthy prey base, the narrow pool of gene stock of the imported animals, the availability of a dedicated, trained staff, and, most importantly, a steady flow of funds, among other imperatives. The success of the project would be a feather on the cap of conservation. But should not indigenous species also be given a chance? [Sourced from The Telegraph, with edits and revisions] Q. According to the passage, why was the Kuno National Park in Madhya Pradesh originally earmarked for the relocation of some of Gujarat's lions?

Because the park was known for its rich biodiversity.

Because the park had a surplus of grasslands.

Because Gujarat's lions were vulnerable to epidemics.

Because the park had a healthy prey base.

CLAT Mock Test - 13 Free MCQ Practice Test with Solutions

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