Test: CLAT Mock Test - 14 - CLAT MCQ

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given below.

In love, the problem is not who to love, but how to love. Love is an ability, a capacity in our minds that has to be systematically cultivated. Once the faculty of love has developed, we have the total freedom to love, and then any situation is a fertile ground for our love to grow. Man, irrespective of his belief or nationality, seeks love all around him. Yet only a rare few seem to discover an apparent satisfaction in personal relationships. Man helplessly waits for love to be given to him, to receive love. Alas! None ‘give’ love; all are anxiously waiting to ‘get’ love. All are always disappointed.

Love is of two distinct types. The ‘higher love’ is called prema bhakti, devotion; and the ‘lower love’ is known as sneha, affection. When the love is directed to a ‘higher’ object of love, it is called prema; when it is directed towards a ‘lower’ object of love, it is called sneha. Thus, we have prema bhakti towards parents, teachers, country, and knowledge, while we have sneha for our friends, brothers, sisters, dogs, cows, flowers, toys, and books. The emotion is the same in both the higher and lower kinds of love. But when we direct our love towards a higher, more inspiring ideal, our mind expands, our vision deepens and our efficiency multiplies. Then it is prema. When this prema is directed towards the Lord, the divine essence in man, it is called bhakti. When the same emotion of love goes towards the external objects of pleasure – things or beings, it slowly shells us into a prison of sorrows and excitements, pangs and sobs. Then love degrades itself to be of the lower type – sneha.

Rishis always repeat that higher love alone can help us overcome our sense of incompleteness and alienation. To ‘give’ love is, therefore, to love everyone without expecting any results, gains, and profits, but demanding of life your privilege to love all. True love is not a passive ‘taking’ but a dynamic ‘giving’. Love is its own reward when it is true and full, unconditional and joyful – love is afulfilment in itself. Very few realise this; none dares to live it in life. Only the special few, who have grown up a little in their inward vision, and evolved slightly in their spiritual growth, can feel this way and readily discover the heroism to love, to give love to all creatures. All are but Narayan in manifestation. What else then can we give to the world but love.

Some of us love only if we are loved in return. This is a commercial attitude, and an expression of our mental weakness. The Sun gives and demands nothing. Everywhere in nature, among animals and plants, the universal rhythm is to ‘give’ lovingly and not to ‘demand’ love from others.

To give love is true freedom; to demand love is pure slavery. Do not feel cheated if others do not give you love. The Lord Himself serves us all every moment, even when we do not love Him in return. Let us be godlike in our love for others – always and in all ways.

Q. What is the passage's main point addressing the idea of love and its importance in life?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given below.

In love, the problem is not who to love, but how to love. Love is an ability, a capacity in our minds that has to be systematically cultivated. Once the faculty of love has developed, we have the total freedom to love, and then any situation is a fertile ground for our love to grow. Man, irrespective of his belief or nationality, seeks love all around him. Yet only a rare few seem to discover an apparent satisfaction in personal relationships. Man helplessly waits for love to be given to him, to receive love. Alas! None ‘give’ love; all are anxiously waiting to ‘get’ love. All are always disappointed.

Love is of two distinct types. The ‘higher love’ is called prema bhakti, devotion; and the ‘lower love’ is known as sneha, affection. When the love is directed to a ‘higher’ object of love, it is called prema; when it is directed towards a ‘lower’ object of love, it is called sneha. Thus, we have prema bhakti towards parents, teachers, country, and knowledge, while we have sneha for our friends, brothers, sisters, dogs, cows, flowers, toys, and books. The emotion is the same in both the higher and lower kinds of love. But when we direct our love towards a higher, more inspiring ideal, our mind expands, our vision deepens and our efficiency multiplies. Then it is prema. When this prema is directed towards the Lord, the divine essence in man, it is called bhakti. When the same emotion of love goes towards the external objects of pleasure – things or beings, it slowly shells us into a prison of sorrows and excitements, pangs and sobs. Then love degrades itself to be of the lower type – sneha.

Rishis always repeat that higher love alone can help us overcome our sense of incompleteness and alienation. To ‘give’ love is, therefore, to love everyone without expecting any results, gains, and profits, but demanding of life your privilege to love all. True love is not a passive ‘taking’ but a dynamic ‘giving’. Love is its own reward when it is true and full, unconditional and joyful – love is afulfilment in itself. Very few realise this; none dares to live it in life. Only the special few, who have grown up a little in their inward vision, and evolved slightly in their spiritual growth, can feel this way and readily discover the heroism to love, to give love to all creatures. All are but Narayan in manifestation. What else then can we give to the world but love.

Some of us love only if we are loved in return. This is a commercial attitude, and an expression of our mental weakness. The Sun gives and demands nothing. Everywhere in nature, among animals and plants, the universal rhythm is to ‘give’ lovingly and not to ‘demand’ love from others.

To give love is true freedom; to demand love is pure slavery. Do not feel cheated if others do not give you love. The Lord Himself serves us all every moment, even when we do not love Him in return. Let us be godlike in our love for others – always and in all ways.

Q. What distinction can be drawn between prema bhakti and sneha in terms of the targets of their affection, according to the passage?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given below.

The Great Indian Startup Boom of the last decade, led by young entrepreneurs and catalysed by the government’s Startup India movement, created an environment of entrepreneurship in India. The Startup movement is not limited to metro cities, but has successfully captured the imagination of suburban and rural entrepreneurs. Today, there are more than one lakh startups recognised by the government, with about half of them coming from Tier 2 and Tier 3 cities. It has created a sense of agency among India’s youth, and a sense of freedom of being able to determine their own destiny.

The Startup movement is moving beyond the consumer Internet and e-commerce to genuine deep technology areas, such as space and remote sensing, artificial intelligence and robotics, biotech and pharma, electric vehicles, drones, defence, telecommunications, semiconductors, and many more. These real sectors go beyond digital marketplaces, seller discovery, and exchange of information, and impact many more sectors of the economy, which will bring deeper industrialisation in newer areas and more jobs. Deep tech entrepreneurship is also creating new avenues for science and technology (S&T) discoveries in the public sector labs to reach the market.

The successes at IIT Madras’s Research Park, which has incubated over 200 deep tech companies cumulatively valued at over ₹50,000 crore including those in space and aviation; the C-CAMP, which has in its portfolio seven deep biotech startups that have raised more than ₹550 crores; and the National Chemical Laboratory’s Venture Centre support to file and commercialise high-quality patents, are some of the evidence of how science in public-funded institutions can reach citizens and consumers, through startups.

The authors’ conversations with technology leaders in academia and industry have shown that faculty members find it easier to spin out their discoveries through startups founded by themselves or their alumni, instead of licensing or patent re-assignments. This evolution provides a unique opportunity for leveraging our deep historical investments in S&T in its public labs and institutions.

In a way, it can be said that deep tech startups are the main route through which India is taking technology risks, a crucial element of any country’s process to build new capabilities. Traditional risk-taking sectors such as government departments and legacy corporates seem frozen in comparison, perhaps due to the intense scrutiny of risky initiatives by their respective stakeholders, voters and public markets investors. Many mission-driven programs of the government have not yielded the expected innovation results, other than a few bright spots in sectors such as space and defence. India’s industrial investment in research and development (R&D) is also lamentably low in most sectors other than pharma.

The industry has mostly preferred investing in deep-tech startups and buying successful scaled technologies. This observation is corroborated by the number of deep tech startups being acquired by Indian legacy corporates, such as the Tatas buying Saankhya and Tejas Networks, Reliance acquiring Faradion and Hero Motors buying equity in Ather Motors etc.

Q. Which of the following, if true, undermines the claim that India is primarily taking technological risks through deep tech startups?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given below.

The Great Indian Startup Boom of the last decade, led by young entrepreneurs and catalysed by the government’s Startup India movement, created an environment of entrepreneurship in India. The Startup movement is not limited to metro cities, but has successfully captured the imagination of suburban and rural entrepreneurs. Today, there are more than one lakh startups recognised by the government, with about half of them coming from Tier 2 and Tier 3 cities. It has created a sense of agency among India’s youth, and a sense of freedom of being able to determine their own destiny.

The Startup movement is moving beyond the consumer Internet and e-commerce to genuine deep technology areas, such as space and remote sensing, artificial intelligence and robotics, biotech and pharma, electric vehicles, drones, defence, telecommunications, semiconductors, and many more. These real sectors go beyond digital marketplaces, seller discovery, and exchange of information, and impact many more sectors of the economy, which will bring deeper industrialisation in newer areas and more jobs. Deep tech entrepreneurship is also creating new avenues for science and technology (S&T) discoveries in the public sector labs to reach the market.

The successes at IIT Madras’s Research Park, which has incubated over 200 deep tech companies cumulatively valued at over ₹50,000 crore including those in space and aviation; the C-CAMP, which has in its portfolio seven deep biotech startups that have raised more than ₹550 crores; and the National Chemical Laboratory’s Venture Centre support to file and commercialise high-quality patents, are some of the evidence of how science in public-funded institutions can reach citizens and consumers, through startups.

The authors’ conversations with technology leaders in academia and industry have shown that faculty members find it easier to spin out their discoveries through startups founded by themselves or their alumni, instead of licensing or patent re-assignments. This evolution provides a unique opportunity for leveraging our deep historical investments in S&T in its public labs and institutions.

In a way, it can be said that deep tech startups are the main route through which India is taking technology risks, a crucial element of any country’s process to build new capabilities. Traditional risk-taking sectors such as government departments and legacy corporates seem frozen in comparison, perhaps due to the intense scrutiny of risky initiatives by their respective stakeholders, voters and public markets investors. Many mission-driven programs of the government have not yielded the expected innovation results, other than a few bright spots in sectors such as space and defence. India’s industrial investment in research and development (R&D) is also lamentably low in most sectors other than pharma.

The industry has mostly preferred investing in deep-tech startups and buying successful scaled technologies. This observation is corroborated by the number of deep tech startups being acquired by Indian legacy corporates, such as the Tatas buying Saankhya and Tejas Networks, Reliance acquiring Faradion and Hero Motors buying equity in Ather Motors etc.

Q. How does the author feel about deep tech startups' role in assuming technological risks?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given below.

The Great Indian Startup Boom of the last decade, led by young entrepreneurs and catalysed by the government’s Startup India movement, created an environment of entrepreneurship in India. The Startup movement is not limited to metro cities, but has successfully captured the imagination of suburban and rural entrepreneurs. Today, there are more than one lakh startups recognised by the government, with about half of them coming from Tier 2 and Tier 3 cities. It has created a sense of agency among India’s youth, and a sense of freedom of being able to determine their own destiny.

The Startup movement is moving beyond the consumer Internet and e-commerce to genuine deep technology areas, such as space and remote sensing, artificial intelligence and robotics, biotech and pharma, electric vehicles, drones, defence, telecommunications, semiconductors, and many more. These real sectors go beyond digital marketplaces, seller discovery, and exchange of information, and impact many more sectors of the economy, which will bring deeper industrialisation in newer areas and more jobs. Deep tech entrepreneurship is also creating new avenues for science and technology (S&T) discoveries in the public sector labs to reach the market.

The successes at IIT Madras’s Research Park, which has incubated over 200 deep tech companies cumulatively valued at over ₹50,000 crore including those in space and aviation; the C-CAMP, which has in its portfolio seven deep biotech startups that have raised more than ₹550 crores; and the National Chemical Laboratory’s Venture Centre support to file and commercialise high-quality patents, are some of the evidence of how science in public-funded institutions can reach citizens and consumers, through startups.

The authors’ conversations with technology leaders in academia and industry have shown that faculty members find it easier to spin out their discoveries through startups founded by themselves or their alumni, instead of licensing or patent re-assignments. This evolution provides a unique opportunity for leveraging our deep historical investments in S&T in its public labs and institutions.

In a way, it can be said that deep tech startups are the main route through which India is taking technology risks, a crucial element of any country’s process to build new capabilities. Traditional risk-taking sectors such as government departments and legacy corporates seem frozen in comparison, perhaps due to the intense scrutiny of risky initiatives by their respective stakeholders, voters and public markets investors. Many mission-driven programs of the government have not yielded the expected innovation results, other than a few bright spots in sectors such as space and defence. India’s industrial investment in research and development (R&D) is also lamentably low in most sectors other than pharma.

The industry has mostly preferred investing in deep-tech startups and buying successful scaled technologies. This observation is corroborated by the number of deep tech startups being acquired by Indian legacy corporates, such as the Tatas buying Saankhya and Tejas Networks, Reliance acquiring Faradion and Hero Motors buying equity in Ather Motors etc.

Q. What sparked the Great Indian Startup Boom of the past ten years, and what impact has it had on Indian entrepreneurship?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given below.

The Great Indian Startup Boom of the last decade, led by young entrepreneurs and catalysed by the government’s Startup India movement, created an environment of entrepreneurship in India. The Startup movement is not limited to metro cities, but has successfully captured the imagination of suburban and rural entrepreneurs. Today, there are more than one lakh startups recognised by the government, with about half of them coming from Tier 2 and Tier 3 cities. It has created a sense of agency among India’s youth, and a sense of freedom of being able to determine their own destiny.

The Startup movement is moving beyond the consumer Internet and e-commerce to genuine deep technology areas, such as space and remote sensing, artificial intelligence and robotics, biotech and pharma, electric vehicles, drones, defence, telecommunications, semiconductors, and many more. These real sectors go beyond digital marketplaces, seller discovery, and exchange of information, and impact many more sectors of the economy, which will bring deeper industrialisation in newer areas and more jobs. Deep tech entrepreneurship is also creating new avenues for science and technology (S&T) discoveries in the public sector labs to reach the market.

The successes at IIT Madras’s Research Park, which has incubated over 200 deep tech companies cumulatively valued at over ₹50,000 crore including those in space and aviation; the C-CAMP, which has in its portfolio seven deep biotech startups that have raised more than ₹550 crores; and the National Chemical Laboratory’s Venture Centre support to file and commercialise high-quality patents, are some of the evidence of how science in public-funded institutions can reach citizens and consumers, through startups.

The authors’ conversations with technology leaders in academia and industry have shown that faculty members find it easier to spin out their discoveries through startups founded by themselves or their alumni, instead of licensing or patent re-assignments. This evolution provides a unique opportunity for leveraging our deep historical investments in S&T in its public labs and institutions.

In a way, it can be said that deep tech startups are the main route through which India is taking technology risks, a crucial element of any country’s process to build new capabilities. Traditional risk-taking sectors such as government departments and legacy corporates seem frozen in comparison, perhaps due to the intense scrutiny of risky initiatives by their respective stakeholders, voters and public markets investors. Many mission-driven programs of the government have not yielded the expected innovation results, other than a few bright spots in sectors such as space and defence. India’s industrial investment in research and development (R&D) is also lamentably low in most sectors other than pharma.

The industry has mostly preferred investing in deep-tech startups and buying successful scaled technologies. This observation is corroborated by the number of deep tech startups being acquired by Indian legacy corporates, such as the Tatas buying Saankhya and Tejas Networks, Reliance acquiring Faradion and Hero Motors buying equity in Ather Motors etc.

Q. According to the passage, what has been a significant impact of the Indian Startup Boom in recent years?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given below.

The Great Indian Startup Boom of the last decade, led by young entrepreneurs and catalysed by the government’s Startup India movement, created an environment of entrepreneurship in India. The Startup movement is not limited to metro cities, but has successfully captured the imagination of suburban and rural entrepreneurs. Today, there are more than one lakh startups recognised by the government, with about half of them coming from Tier 2 and Tier 3 cities. It has created a sense of agency among India’s youth, and a sense of freedom of being able to determine their own destiny.

The Startup movement is moving beyond the consumer Internet and e-commerce to genuine deep technology areas, such as space and remote sensing, artificial intelligence and robotics, biotech and pharma, electric vehicles, drones, defence, telecommunications, semiconductors, and many more. These real sectors go beyond digital marketplaces, seller discovery, and exchange of information, and impact many more sectors of the economy, which will bring deeper industrialisation in newer areas and more jobs. Deep tech entrepreneurship is also creating new avenues for science and technology (S&T) discoveries in the public sector labs to reach the market.

The successes at IIT Madras’s Research Park, which has incubated over 200 deep tech companies cumulatively valued at over ₹50,000 crore including those in space and aviation; the C-CAMP, which has in its portfolio seven deep biotech startups that have raised more than ₹550 crores; and the National Chemical Laboratory’s Venture Centre support to file and commercialise high-quality patents, are some of the evidence of how science in public-funded institutions can reach citizens and consumers, through startups.

The authors’ conversations with technology leaders in academia and industry have shown that faculty members find it easier to spin out their discoveries through startups founded by themselves or their alumni, instead of licensing or patent re-assignments. This evolution provides a unique opportunity for leveraging our deep historical investments in S&T in its public labs and institutions.

In a way, it can be said that deep tech startups are the main route through which India is taking technology risks, a crucial element of any country’s process to build new capabilities. Traditional risk-taking sectors such as government departments and legacy corporates seem frozen in comparison, perhaps due to the intense scrutiny of risky initiatives by their respective stakeholders, voters and public markets investors. Many mission-driven programs of the government have not yielded the expected innovation results, other than a few bright spots in sectors such as space and defence. India’s industrial investment in research and development (R&D) is also lamentably low in most sectors other than pharma.

The industry has mostly preferred investing in deep-tech startups and buying successful scaled technologies. This observation is corroborated by the number of deep tech startups being acquired by Indian legacy corporates, such as the Tatas buying Saankhya and Tejas Networks, Reliance acquiring Faradion and Hero Motors buying equity in Ather Motors etc.

Q. What areas of technology are deep tech startups in India venturing into, as mentioned in the passage?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given below.

Today, Mechanicus’s diary is one of more than 2,100 in an Amsterdam collection held at the NIOD Institute for War, Holocaust and Genocide Studies, housed in the underground archives of a grand, doublewide mansion on the Golden Bend of the Herengracht Canal. The NIOD collection didn’t come together by accident. It was part of a concerted effort to collect, preserve and potentially publish the personal correspondence of ordinary citizens living through the occupation.

The idea to do so was hatched simultaneously by Loe de Jong, a Dutch Jewish journalist in exile in London, who worked for Radio Oranje, the broadcast station for the government in exile, and a group of local Dutch scholars led by the economics and social history professor, Nicolaas Wilhelmus Posthumus, who had already established a few archives of social movements.

More than a year before the war ended, De Jong had convinced the exiled Dutch Cabinet to establish a study centre of the occupation; it would open its doors as soon as the war ended. On 28 March 1944, Gerrit Bolkestein, the Dutch minister of education, arts and sciences, addressed the nation on Radio Oranje, in a speech that De Jong had written for him.

‘History cannot be written on the basis of official decisions and documents alone,’ said Bolkestein to his countrymen back home. ‘If our descendants are to understand fully what we as a nation have had to endure and overcome during these years, then what we really need are ordinary documents – a diary, letters.’

It was a relatively new notion that personal documents could illuminate history. Scholars of the early 20th century, above all, valued ‘objectivism’, a concept developed by the 19th-century German historian Leopold von Ranke, who sought to turn ‘historiography’ into a scientific discipline; this required ridding it of its moral dimension. Ranke argued that facts were central to objective history-writing and, to maintain a scholarly distance from facts, historians should eliminate personal bias and take a neutral attitude. But, between the two world wars, this notion of ‘objectivism’ was already losing its grip. Official documents kept by the Germans as part of their notoriously meticulous record-keeping project, for instance, were naturally subjective in their advancement of Nazi aims.

A more accurate way to differentiate between subjective and objective documentation would be through the prism of power. Sources considered ‘objective’ were typically associated with the dominant power elite; documents like diaries and letters, oral histories and first-hand witness accounts, by contrast, were often deemed suspect because they were tainted by experience.

Q. Which of the following statements tangentially supports the idea that private records like letters and diaries can shed light on historical events?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given below.

Today, Mechanicus’s diary is one of more than 2,100 in an Amsterdam collection held at the NIOD Institute for War, Holocaust and Genocide Studies, housed in the underground archives of a grand, doublewide mansion on the Golden Bend of the Herengracht Canal. The NIOD collection didn’t come together by accident. It was part of a concerted effort to collect, preserve and potentially publish the personal correspondence of ordinary citizens living through the occupation.

The idea to do so was hatched simultaneously by Loe de Jong, a Dutch Jewish journalist in exile in London, who worked for Radio Oranje, the broadcast station for the government in exile, and a group of local Dutch scholars led by the economics and social history professor, Nicolaas Wilhelmus Posthumus, who had already established a few archives of social movements.

More than a year before the war ended, De Jong had convinced the exiled Dutch Cabinet to establish a study centre of the occupation; it would open its doors as soon as the war ended. On 28 March 1944, Gerrit Bolkestein, the Dutch minister of education, arts and sciences, addressed the nation on Radio Oranje, in a speech that De Jong had written for him.

‘History cannot be written on the basis of official decisions and documents alone,’ said Bolkestein to his countrymen back home. ‘If our descendants are to understand fully what we as a nation have had to endure and overcome during these years, then what we really need are ordinary documents – a diary, letters.’

It was a relatively new notion that personal documents could illuminate history. Scholars of the early 20th century, above all, valued ‘objectivism’, a concept developed by the 19th-century German historian Leopold von Ranke, who sought to turn ‘historiography’ into a scientific discipline; this required ridding it of its moral dimension. Ranke argued that facts were central to objective history-writing and, to maintain a scholarly distance from facts, historians should eliminate personal bias and take a neutral attitude. But, between the two world wars, this notion of ‘objectivism’ was already losing its grip. Official documents kept by the Germans as part of their notoriously meticulous record-keeping project, for instance, were naturally subjective in their advancement of Nazi aims.

A more accurate way to differentiate between subjective and objective documentation would be through the prism of power. Sources considered ‘objective’ were typically associated with the dominant power elite; documents like diaries and letters, oral histories and first-hand witness accounts, by contrast, were often deemed suspect because they were tainted by experience.

Q. What historical idea did German historian Leopold von Ranke create, and what was its main objective?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given below.

Today, Mechanicus’s diary is one of more than 2,100 in an Amsterdam collection held at the NIOD Institute for War, Holocaust and Genocide Studies, housed in the underground archives of a grand, doublewide mansion on the Golden Bend of the Herengracht Canal. The NIOD collection didn’t come together by accident. It was part of a concerted effort to collect, preserve and potentially publish the personal correspondence of ordinary citizens living through the occupation.

The idea to do so was hatched simultaneously by Loe de Jong, a Dutch Jewish journalist in exile in London, who worked for Radio Oranje, the broadcast station for the government in exile, and a group of local Dutch scholars led by the economics and social history professor, Nicolaas Wilhelmus Posthumus, who had already established a few archives of social movements.

More than a year before the war ended, De Jong had convinced the exiled Dutch Cabinet to establish a study centre of the occupation; it would open its doors as soon as the war ended. On 28 March 1944, Gerrit Bolkestein, the Dutch minister of education, arts and sciences, addressed the nation on Radio Oranje, in a speech that De Jong had written for him.

‘History cannot be written on the basis of official decisions and documents alone,’ said Bolkestein to his countrymen back home. ‘If our descendants are to understand fully what we as a nation have had to endure and overcome during these years, then what we really need are ordinary documents – a diary, letters.’

It was a relatively new notion that personal documents could illuminate history. Scholars of the early 20th century, above all, valued ‘objectivism’, a concept developed by the 19th-century German historian Leopold von Ranke, who sought to turn ‘historiography’ into a scientific discipline; this required ridding it of its moral dimension. Ranke argued that facts were central to objective history-writing and, to maintain a scholarly distance from facts, historians should eliminate personal bias and take a neutral attitude. But, between the two world wars, this notion of ‘objectivism’ was already losing its grip. Official documents kept by the Germans as part of their notoriously meticulous record-keeping project, for instance, were naturally subjective in their advancement of Nazi aims.

A more accurate way to differentiate between subjective and objective documentation would be through the prism of power. Sources considered ‘objective’ were typically associated with the dominant power elite; documents like diaries and letters, oral histories and first-hand witness accounts, by contrast, were often deemed suspect because they were tainted by experience.

Q. What is the primary purpose of the NIOD Institute's collection of personal correspondence mentioned in the passage?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given below.

Today, Mechanicus’s diary is one of more than 2,100 in an Amsterdam collection held at the NIOD Institute for War, Holocaust and Genocide Studies, housed in the underground archives of a grand, doublewide mansion on the Golden Bend of the Herengracht Canal. The NIOD collection didn’t come together by accident. It was part of a concerted effort to collect, preserve and potentially publish the personal correspondence of ordinary citizens living through the occupation.

The idea to do so was hatched simultaneously by Loe de Jong, a Dutch Jewish journalist in exile in London, who worked for Radio Oranje, the broadcast station for the government in exile, and a group of local Dutch scholars led by the economics and social history professor, Nicolaas Wilhelmus Posthumus, who had already established a few archives of social movements.

More than a year before the war ended, De Jong had convinced the exiled Dutch Cabinet to establish a study centre of the occupation; it would open its doors as soon as the war ended. On 28 March 1944, Gerrit Bolkestein, the Dutch minister of education, arts and sciences, addressed the nation on Radio Oranje, in a speech that De Jong had written for him.

‘History cannot be written on the basis of official decisions and documents alone,’ said Bolkestein to his countrymen back home. ‘If our descendants are to understand fully what we as a nation have had to endure and overcome during these years, then what we really need are ordinary documents – a diary, letters.’

It was a relatively new notion that personal documents could illuminate history. Scholars of the early 20th century, above all, valued ‘objectivism’, a concept developed by the 19th-century German historian Leopold von Ranke, who sought to turn ‘historiography’ into a scientific discipline; this required ridding it of its moral dimension. Ranke argued that facts were central to objective history-writing and, to maintain a scholarly distance from facts, historians should eliminate personal bias and take a neutral attitude. But, between the two world wars, this notion of ‘objectivism’ was already losing its grip. Official documents kept by the Germans as part of their notoriously meticulous record-keeping project, for instance, were naturally subjective in their advancement of Nazi aims.

A more accurate way to differentiate between subjective and objective documentation would be through the prism of power. Sources considered ‘objective’ were typically associated with the dominant power elite; documents like diaries and letters, oral histories and first-hand witness accounts, by contrast, were often deemed suspect because they were tainted by experience.

Q. Who was responsible for the idea of collecting and preserving personal documents like diaries and letters during the wartime occupation?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given below.

Today, Mechanicus’s diary is one of more than 2,100 in an Amsterdam collection held at the NIOD Institute for War, Holocaust and Genocide Studies, housed in the underground archives of a grand, doublewide mansion on the Golden Bend of the Herengracht Canal. The NIOD collection didn’t come together by accident. It was part of a concerted effort to collect, preserve and potentially publish the personal correspondence of ordinary citizens living through the occupation.

The idea to do so was hatched simultaneously by Loe de Jong, a Dutch Jewish journalist in exile in London, who worked for Radio Oranje, the broadcast station for the government in exile, and a group of local Dutch scholars led by the economics and social history professor, Nicolaas Wilhelmus Posthumus, who had already established a few archives of social movements.

More than a year before the war ended, De Jong had convinced the exiled Dutch Cabinet to establish a study centre of the occupation; it would open its doors as soon as the war ended. On 28 March 1944, Gerrit Bolkestein, the Dutch minister of education, arts and sciences, addressed the nation on Radio Oranje, in a speech that De Jong had written for him.

‘History cannot be written on the basis of official decisions and documents alone,’ said Bolkestein to his countrymen back home. ‘If our descendants are to understand fully what we as a nation have had to endure and overcome during these years, then what we really need are ordinary documents – a diary, letters.’

It was a relatively new notion that personal documents could illuminate history. Scholars of the early 20th century, above all, valued ‘objectivism’, a concept developed by the 19th-century German historian Leopold von Ranke, who sought to turn ‘historiography’ into a scientific discipline; this required ridding it of its moral dimension. Ranke argued that facts were central to objective history-writing and, to maintain a scholarly distance from facts, historians should eliminate personal bias and take a neutral attitude. But, between the two world wars, this notion of ‘objectivism’ was already losing its grip. Official documents kept by the Germans as part of their notoriously meticulous record-keeping project, for instance, were naturally subjective in their advancement of Nazi aims.

A more accurate way to differentiate between subjective and objective documentation would be through the prism of power. Sources considered ‘objective’ were typically associated with the dominant power elite; documents like diaries and letters, oral histories and first-hand witness accounts, by contrast, were often deemed suspect because they were tainted by experience.

Q. Who were the important players in the founding of the NIOD collection in Amsterdam and what was the main driving force behind its establishment?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows.

When her grandmother learned of Ashima's pregnancy, she was particularly thrilled at the prospect of naming the family's first sahib. And so Ashima and Ashoke have agreed to put off the decision of what to name the baby until a letter comes, ignoring the forms from the hospital about filing for a birth certificate. Ashima's grandmother has mailed the letter herself, walking with her cane to the post office, her first trip out of the house in a decade. The letter contains one name for a girl, one for a boy. Ashima's grandmother has revealed them to no one.
Though the letter was sent a month ago, in July, it has yet to arrive. Ashima and Ashoke are not terribly concerned. After all, they both know, an infant doesn't really need a name. He needs to be fed and blessed, to be given some gold and silver, to be patted on the back after feedings and held carefully behind the neck. Names can wait. In India parents take their time. It wasn't unusual for years to pass before the right name, the best possible name, was determined. Ashima and Ashoke can both cite examples of cousins who were not officially named until they were registered, at six or seven, in school. The Nandis and Dr. Gupta understand perfectly. Of course you must wait, they agree, wait for the name in his great-grandmother's letter.
Besides, there are always pet names to tide one over: a practice of Bengali nomenclature grants, to every single person, two names. In Bengali the word for pet name is daknam, meaning, literally, the name by which one is called, by friends, family, and other intimates, at home and in other private, unguarded moments. Pet names are a persistent remnant of childhood, a reminder that life is not always so serious, so formal, so complicated. They are a reminder, too, that one is not all things to all people. They all have pet names. Ashima's pet name is Monu, Ashoke's is Mithu, and even as adults, these are the names by which they are known in their respective families, the names by which they are adored and scolded and missed and loved.
Every pet name is paired with a good name, a bhalonam, for identification in the outside world. Consequently, good names appear on envelopes, on diplomas, in telephone directories, and in all other public places. (For this reason, letters from Ashima's mother say "Ashima" on the outside, "Monu" on the inside.) Good names tend to represent dignified and enlightened qualities. Ashima means "she who is limitless, without borders." Ashoke, the name of an emperor, means "he who transcends grief." Pet names have no such aspirations. Pet names are never recorded officially, only uttered and remembered. Unlike good names, pet names are frequently meaningless, deliberately silly, ironic, even onomatopoetic. Often in one's infancy, one answers unwittingly to dozens of pet names, until one eventually sticks.

[Extracted with edits and revisions from 'The Namesake' by Jhumpa Lahiri]

Q. Which of the following statements is the author most likely to agree with?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows.

When her grandmother learned of Ashima's pregnancy, she was particularly thrilled at the prospect of naming the family's first sahib. And so Ashima and Ashoke have agreed to put off the decision of what to name the baby until a letter comes, ignoring the forms from the hospital about filing for a birth certificate. Ashima's grandmother has mailed the letter herself, walking with her cane to the post office, her first trip out of the house in a decade. The letter contains one name for a girl, one for a boy. Ashima's grandmother has revealed them to no one.
Though the letter was sent a month ago, in July, it has yet to arrive. Ashima and Ashoke are not terribly concerned. After all, they both know, an infant doesn't really need a name. He needs to be fed and blessed, to be given some gold and silver, to be patted on the back after feedings and held carefully behind the neck. Names can wait. In India parents take their time. It wasn't unusual for years to pass before the right name, the best possible name, was determined. Ashima and Ashoke can both cite examples of cousins who were not officially named until they were registered, at six or seven, in school. The Nandis and Dr. Gupta understand perfectly. Of course you must wait, they agree, wait for the name in his great-grandmother's letter.
Besides, there are always pet names to tide one over: a practice of Bengali nomenclature grants, to every single person, two names. In Bengali the word for pet name is daknam, meaning, literally, the name by which one is called, by friends, family, and other intimates, at home and in other private, unguarded moments. Pet names are a persistent remnant of childhood, a reminder that life is not always so serious, so formal, so complicated. They are a reminder, too, that one is not all things to all people. They all have pet names. Ashima's pet name is Monu, Ashoke's is Mithu, and even as adults, these are the names by which they are known in their respective families, the names by which they are adored and scolded and missed and loved.
Every pet name is paired with a good name, a bhalonam, for identification in the outside world. Consequently, good names appear on envelopes, on diplomas, in telephone directories, and in all other public places. (For this reason, letters from Ashima's mother say "Ashima" on the outside, "Monu" on the inside.) Good names tend to represent dignified and enlightened qualities. Ashima means "she who is limitless, without borders." Ashoke, the name of an emperor, means "he who transcends grief." Pet names have no such aspirations. Pet names are never recorded officially, only uttered and remembered. Unlike good names, pet names are frequently meaningless, deliberately silly, ironic, even onomatopoetic. Often in one's infancy, one answers unwittingly to dozens of pet names, until one eventually sticks.

[Extracted with edits and revisions from 'The Namesake' by Jhumpa Lahiri]

Q. Which of the following does not apply to the author's explanation of the value of a pet name in the passage?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows.

When her grandmother learned of Ashima's pregnancy, she was particularly thrilled at the prospect of naming the family's first sahib. And so Ashima and Ashoke have agreed to put off the decision of what to name the baby until a letter comes, ignoring the forms from the hospital about filing for a birth certificate. Ashima's grandmother has mailed the letter herself, walking with her cane to the post office, her first trip out of the house in a decade. The letter contains one name for a girl, one for a boy. Ashima's grandmother has revealed them to no one.
Though the letter was sent a month ago, in July, it has yet to arrive. Ashima and Ashoke are not terribly concerned. After all, they both know, an infant doesn't really need a name. He needs to be fed and blessed, to be given some gold and silver, to be patted on the back after feedings and held carefully behind the neck. Names can wait. In India parents take their time. It wasn't unusual for years to pass before the right name, the best possible name, was determined. Ashima and Ashoke can both cite examples of cousins who were not officially named until they were registered, at six or seven, in school. The Nandis and Dr. Gupta understand perfectly. Of course you must wait, they agree, wait for the name in his great-grandmother's letter.
Besides, there are always pet names to tide one over: a practice of Bengali nomenclature grants, to every single person, two names. In Bengali the word for pet name is daknam, meaning, literally, the name by which one is called, by friends, family, and other intimates, at home and in other private, unguarded moments. Pet names are a persistent remnant of childhood, a reminder that life is not always so serious, so formal, so complicated. They are a reminder, too, that one is not all things to all people. They all have pet names. Ashima's pet name is Monu, Ashoke's is Mithu, and even as adults, these are the names by which they are known in their respective families, the names by which they are adored and scolded and missed and loved.
Every pet name is paired with a good name, a bhalonam, for identification in the outside world. Consequently, good names appear on envelopes, on diplomas, in telephone directories, and in all other public places. (For this reason, letters from Ashima's mother say "Ashima" on the outside, "Monu" on the inside.) Good names tend to represent dignified and enlightened qualities. Ashima means "she who is limitless, without borders." Ashoke, the name of an emperor, means "he who transcends grief." Pet names have no such aspirations. Pet names are never recorded officially, only uttered and remembered. Unlike good names, pet names are frequently meaningless, deliberately silly, ironic, even onomatopoetic. Often in one's infancy, one answers unwittingly to dozens of pet names, until one eventually sticks.

[Extracted with edits and revisions from 'The Namesake' by Jhumpa Lahiri]

Q. The author is most likely to agree with which of the following assertions.

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows.

When her grandmother learned of Ashima's pregnancy, she was particularly thrilled at the prospect of naming the family's first sahib. And so Ashima and Ashoke have agreed to put off the decision of what to name the baby until a letter comes, ignoring the forms from the hospital about filing for a birth certificate. Ashima's grandmother has mailed the letter herself, walking with her cane to the post office, her first trip out of the house in a decade. The letter contains one name for a girl, one for a boy. Ashima's grandmother has revealed them to no one.
Though the letter was sent a month ago, in July, it has yet to arrive. Ashima and Ashoke are not terribly concerned. After all, they both know, an infant doesn't really need a name. He needs to be fed and blessed, to be given some gold and silver, to be patted on the back after feedings and held carefully behind the neck. Names can wait. In India parents take their time. It wasn't unusual for years to pass before the right name, the best possible name, was determined. Ashima and Ashoke can both cite examples of cousins who were not officially named until they were registered, at six or seven, in school. The Nandis and Dr. Gupta understand perfectly. Of course you must wait, they agree, wait for the name in his great-grandmother's letter.
Besides, there are always pet names to tide one over: a practice of Bengali nomenclature grants, to every single person, two names. In Bengali the word for pet name is daknam, meaning, literally, the name by which one is called, by friends, family, and other intimates, at home and in other private, unguarded moments. Pet names are a persistent remnant of childhood, a reminder that life is not always so serious, so formal, so complicated. They are a reminder, too, that one is not all things to all people. They all have pet names. Ashima's pet name is Monu, Ashoke's is Mithu, and even as adults, these are the names by which they are known in their respective families, the names by which they are adored and scolded and missed and loved.
Every pet name is paired with a good name, a bhalonam, for identification in the outside world. Consequently, good names appear on envelopes, on diplomas, in telephone directories, and in all other public places. (For this reason, letters from Ashima's mother say "Ashima" on the outside, "Monu" on the inside.) Good names tend to represent dignified and enlightened qualities. Ashima means "she who is limitless, without borders." Ashoke, the name of an emperor, means "he who transcends grief." Pet names have no such aspirations. Pet names are never recorded officially, only uttered and remembered. Unlike good names, pet names are frequently meaningless, deliberately silly, ironic, even onomatopoetic. Often in one's infancy, one answers unwittingly to dozens of pet names, until one eventually sticks.
[Extracted with edits and revisions from 'The Namesake' by Jhumpa Lahiri]

Q. What is the significance of the letter that Ashima's grandmother has sent regarding the baby's name?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows.

When her grandmother learned of Ashima's pregnancy, she was particularly thrilled at the prospect of naming the family's first sahib. And so Ashima and Ashoke have agreed to put off the decision of what to name the baby until a letter comes, ignoring the forms from the hospital about filing for a birth certificate. Ashima's grandmother has mailed the letter herself, walking with her cane to the post office, her first trip out of the house in a decade. The letter contains one name for a girl, one for a boy. Ashima's grandmother has revealed them to no one.
Though the letter was sent a month ago, in July, it has yet to arrive. Ashima and Ashoke are not terribly concerned. After all, they both know, an infant doesn't really need a name. He needs to be fed and blessed, to be given some gold and silver, to be patted on the back after feedings and held carefully behind the neck. Names can wait. In India parents take their time. It wasn't unusual for years to pass before the right name, the best possible name, was determined. Ashima and Ashoke can both cite examples of cousins who were not officially named until they were registered, at six or seven, in school. The Nandis and Dr. Gupta understand perfectly. Of course you must wait, they agree, wait for the name in his great-grandmother's letter.
Besides, there are always pet names to tide one over: a practice of Bengali nomenclature grants, to every single person, two names. In Bengali the word for pet name is daknam, meaning, literally, the name by which one is called, by friends, family, and other intimates, at home and in other private, unguarded moments. Pet names are a persistent remnant of childhood, a reminder that life is not always so serious, so formal, so complicated. They are a reminder, too, that one is not all things to all people. They all have pet names. Ashima's pet name is Monu, Ashoke's is Mithu, and even as adults, these are the names by which they are known in their respective families, the names by which they are adored and scolded and missed and loved.
Every pet name is paired with a good name, a bhalonam, for identification in the outside world. Consequently, good names appear on envelopes, on diplomas, in telephone directories, and in all other public places. (For this reason, letters from Ashima's mother say "Ashima" on the outside, "Monu" on the inside.) Good names tend to represent dignified and enlightened qualities. Ashima means "she who is limitless, without borders." Ashoke, the name of an emperor, means "he who transcends grief." Pet names have no such aspirations. Pet names are never recorded officially, only uttered and remembered. Unlike good names, pet names are frequently meaningless, deliberately silly, ironic, even onomatopoetic. Often in one's infancy, one answers unwittingly to dozens of pet names, until one eventually sticks.
[Extracted with edits and revisions from 'The Namesake' by Jhumpa Lahiri]

Q. What is the primary difference between pet names and good names in Bengali naming traditions, as explained in the passage?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows.

In our current age, finding an accurate map of the Ganga River system in India is almost as difficult as in Columbus's time. In 2017, the Survey of India started operating according to a new law. Any maps of India published in India must first be sent there. Often, the maps languish in their office for several months. Nine out of ten times, they send the map back with corrections and changes.
Often, they look like the kind of simplistic maps used when we were schoolchildren. Showing Tibet is a no-no, as is showing the borders. Violators risk forty-five days in jail and a fine. Children are growing up with distorted maps of the country. This is an incredible paradox at a time when Google Maps offers such exquisite detail.
Traditionally, Gangaji was the one who did not honour boundaries – she was the place where bodies disappeared, the place where a rigidly bound society slipped off its boundaries. Today we violate her boundaries, half-disappeared and sewage-choked, strapped up with barrages and dams. In the old days, sages would learn how Gangaji changed during the monsoon season. Now, the river's personality is determined more by the opening and shutting of the barrage gates.
Time and water are both flowing faster. For millennia, most of the rain in the subcontinent has fallen within one hundred stormy hours during the three-month monsoon season in northern India. With each passing year, more rain falls within a shorter time span. According to the World Economic Forum, out of sixty-seven surveyed countries, India is the most vulnerable to climate change.
As peak rainfall becomes more intense, landslides – already an existential threat to thousands of mountain villages – will become more common. The monsoon crops, chief among them rice, will be alternately drowned and starved, and the summer crops will die if more irrigation cannot be drawn from the limited water table. But a lot of solutions exist.
Through this troubled landscape winds the mighty river, now glimmering, now dull, now out of sight. Each day, with our excreta, our disavowal of balance and responsibility and our acceptance of the legacy of industrialisation, we are writing a dark chapter in the biography of this ancient goddess, the eternal life force, the Ganga River.

[Extracted with edits and revisions from ''Superhuman River: Stories of the Ganga']

Q. Which of the following best captures the major idea of the passage?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows.

In our current age, finding an accurate map of the Ganga River system in India is almost as difficult as in Columbus's time. In 2017, the Survey of India started operating according to a new law. Any maps of India published in India must first be sent there. Often, the maps languish in their office for several months. Nine out of ten times, they send the map back with corrections and changes.
Often, they look like the kind of simplistic maps used when we were schoolchildren. Showing Tibet is a no-no, as is showing the borders. Violators risk forty-five days in jail and a fine. Children are growing up with distorted maps of the country. This is an incredible paradox at a time when Google Maps offers such exquisite detail.
Traditionally, Gangaji was the one who did not honour boundaries – she was the place where bodies disappeared, the place where a rigidly bound society slipped off its boundaries. Today we violate her boundaries, half-disappeared and sewage-choked, strapped up with barrages and dams. In the old days, sages would learn how Gangaji changed during the monsoon season. Now, the river's personality is determined more by the opening and shutting of the barrage gates.
Time and water are both flowing faster. For millennia, most of the rain in the subcontinent has fallen within one hundred stormy hours during the three-month monsoon season in northern India. With each passing year, more rain falls within a shorter time span. According to the World Economic Forum, out of sixty-seven surveyed countries, India is the most vulnerable to climate change.
As peak rainfall becomes more intense, landslides – already an existential threat to thousands of mountain villages – will become more common. The monsoon crops, chief among them rice, will be alternately drowned and starved, and the summer crops will die if more irrigation cannot be drawn from the limited water table. But a lot of solutions exist.
Through this troubled landscape winds the mighty river, now glimmering, now dull, now out of sight. Each day, with our excreta, our disavowal of balance and responsibility and our acceptance of the legacy of industrialisation, we are writing a dark chapter in the biography of this ancient goddess, the eternal life force, the Ganga River.

[Extracted with edits and revisions from ''Superhuman River: Stories of the Ganga']

Q. What does the passage's use of the phrase "strapped up" mean?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows.

In our current age, finding an accurate map of the Ganga River system in India is almost as difficult as in Columbus's time. In 2017, the Survey of India started operating according to a new law. Any maps of India published in India must first be sent there. Often, the maps languish in their office for several months. Nine out of ten times, they send the map back with corrections and changes.
Often, they look like the kind of simplistic maps used when we were schoolchildren. Showing Tibet is a no-no, as is showing the borders. Violators risk forty-five days in jail and a fine. Children are growing up with distorted maps of the country. This is an incredible paradox at a time when Google Maps offers such exquisite detail.
Traditionally, Gangaji was the one who did not honour boundaries – she was the place where bodies disappeared, the place where a rigidly bound society slipped off its boundaries. Today we violate her boundaries, half-disappeared and sewage-choked, strapped up with barrages and dams. In the old days, sages would learn how Gangaji changed during the monsoon season. Now, the river's personality is determined more by the opening and shutting of the barrage gates.
Time and water are both flowing faster. For millennia, most of the rain in the subcontinent has fallen within one hundred stormy hours during the three-month monsoon season in northern India. With each passing year, more rain falls within a shorter time span. According to the World Economic Forum, out of sixty-seven surveyed countries, India is the most vulnerable to climate change.
As peak rainfall becomes more intense, landslides – already an existential threat to thousands of mountain villages – will become more common. The monsoon crops, chief among them rice, will be alternately drowned and starved, and the summer crops will die if more irrigation cannot be drawn from the limited water table. But a lot of solutions exist.
Through this troubled landscape winds the mighty river, now glimmering, now dull, now out of sight. Each day, with our excreta, our disavowal of balance and responsibility and our acceptance of the legacy of industrialisation, we are writing a dark chapter in the biography of this ancient goddess, the eternal life force, the Ganga River.

[Extracted with edits and revisions from ''Superhuman River: Stories of the Ganga']

Q. Which of the following best describes the "incredible paradox" the author talks about in the text provided?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows.

In our current age, finding an accurate map of the Ganga River system in India is almost as difficult as in Columbus's time. In 2017, the Survey of India started operating according to a new law. Any maps of India published in India must first be sent there. Often, the maps languish in their office for several months. Nine out of ten times, they send the map back with corrections and changes.
Often, they look like the kind of simplistic maps used when we were schoolchildren. Showing Tibet is a no-no, as is showing the borders. Violators risk forty-five days in jail and a fine. Children are growing up with distorted maps of the country. This is an incredible paradox at a time when Google Maps offers such exquisite detail.
Traditionally, Gangaji was the one who did not honour boundaries – she was the place where bodies disappeared, the place where a rigidly bound society slipped off its boundaries. Today we violate her boundaries, half-disappeared and sewage-choked, strapped up with barrages and dams. In the old days, sages would learn how Gangaji changed during the monsoon season. Now, the river's personality is determined more by the opening and shutting of the barrage gates.
Time and water are both flowing faster. For millennia, most of the rain in the subcontinent has fallen within one hundred stormy hours during the three-month monsoon season in northern India. With each passing year, more rain falls within a shorter time span. According to the World Economic Forum, out of sixty-seven surveyed countries, India is the most vulnerable to climate change.
As peak rainfall becomes more intense, landslides – already an existential threat to thousands of mountain villages – will become more common. The monsoon crops, chief among them rice, will be alternately drowned and starved, and the summer crops will die if more irrigation cannot be drawn from the limited water table. But a lot of solutions exist.
Through this troubled landscape winds the mighty river, now glimmering, now dull, now out of sight. Each day, with our excreta, our disavowal of balance and responsibility and our acceptance of the legacy of industrialisation, we are writing a dark chapter in the biography of this ancient goddess, the eternal life force, the Ganga River.
[Extracted with edits and revisions from ''Superhuman River: Stories of the Ganga']

Q. What major change occurred in the process of map publication in India in 2017, as mentioned in the passage?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows.

In our current age, finding an accurate map of the Ganga River system in India is almost as difficult as in Columbus's time. In 2017, the Survey of India started operating according to a new law. Any maps of India published in India must first be sent there. Often, the maps languish in their office for several months. Nine out of ten times, they send the map back with corrections and changes.
Often, they look like the kind of simplistic maps used when we were schoolchildren. Showing Tibet is a no-no, as is showing the borders. Violators risk forty-five days in jail and a fine. Children are growing up with distorted maps of the country. This is an incredible paradox at a time when Google Maps offers such exquisite detail.
Traditionally, Gangaji was the one who did not honour boundaries – she was the place where bodies disappeared, the place where a rigidly bound society slipped off its boundaries. Today we violate her boundaries, half-disappeared and sewage-choked, strapped up with barrages and dams. In the old days, sages would learn how Gangaji changed during the monsoon season. Now, the river's personality is determined more by the opening and shutting of the barrage gates.
Time and water are both flowing faster. For millennia, most of the rain in the subcontinent has fallen within one hundred stormy hours during the three-month monsoon season in northern India. With each passing year, more rain falls within a shorter time span. According to the World Economic Forum, out of sixty-seven surveyed countries, India is the most vulnerable to climate change.
As peak rainfall becomes more intense, landslides – already an existential threat to thousands of mountain villages – will become more common. The monsoon crops, chief among them rice, will be alternately drowned and starved, and the summer crops will die if more irrigation cannot be drawn from the limited water table. But a lot of solutions exist.
Through this troubled landscape winds the mighty river, now glimmering, now dull, now out of sight. Each day, with our excreta, our disavowal of balance and responsibility and our acceptance of the legacy of industrialisation, we are writing a dark chapter in the biography of this ancient goddess, the eternal life force, the Ganga River.
[Extracted with edits and revisions from ''Superhuman River: Stories of the Ganga']

Q. What paradox is highlighted in the passage regarding maps of India in the current age?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.

Prime Minister Narendra Modi on Sunday visited the Heliopolis Commonwealth War Cemetery here and offered tributes to the Indian soldiers who bravely fought and laid down their lives in Egypt and Palestine during the First World War. Modi offered floral tributes and signed the visitor’s book at the cemetery that comprises the Heliopolis (Port Tewfik) Memorial and the Heliopolis (Aden) Memorial.

The Heliopolis (Port Tewfik) Memorial commemorates nearly 4,000 Indian soldiers who died fighting in Egypt and Palestine in the First World War. The Heliopolis (Aden) Memorial pays tribute to more than 600 men of the Commonwealth forces who sacrificed their lives for Aden during the First World War.

The cemetery is maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. It also houses 1,700 Commonwealth burials of the Second World War as well as several war graves of other nationalities, according to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission website. Located at the south end of the [1], the original Port Tewfik memorial was unveiled in 1926.

Designed by Sir John Burnet, the original memorial sustained damages during the 1967-1973 Israeli-Egyptian conflict and was eventually demolished, according to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission website. In October 1980, a new memorial with panels bearing the names of the martyred Indian soldiers was unveiled by the Indian Ambassador to Egypt in the Heliopolis Commonwealth War Grave Cemetery.

[Extracted, with edits and revisions, from: “PM Modi visits Heliopolis War Cemetery in Cairo to pay respects to Indian soldiers who laid down their lives during WW I”, India Today]

Q. Which Arab country was the first to sign a peace treaty with Israel in 1979?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.

Prime Minister Narendra Modi on Sunday visited the Heliopolis Commonwealth War Cemetery here and offered tributes to the Indian soldiers who bravely fought and laid down their lives in Egypt and Palestine during the First World War. Modi offered floral tributes and signed the visitor’s book at the cemetery that comprises the Heliopolis (Port Tewfik) Memorial and the Heliopolis (Aden) Memorial.

The Heliopolis (Port Tewfik) Memorial commemorates nearly 4,000 Indian soldiers who died fighting in Egypt and Palestine in the First World War. The Heliopolis (Aden) Memorial pays tribute to more than 600 men of the Commonwealth forces who sacrificed their lives for Aden during the First World War.

The cemetery is maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. It also houses 1,700 Commonwealth burials of the Second World War as well as several war graves of other nationalities, according to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission website. Located at the south end of the [1], the original Port Tewfik memorial was unveiled in 1926.

Designed by Sir John Burnet, the original memorial sustained damages during the 1967-1973 Israeli-Egyptian conflict and was eventually demolished, according to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission website. In October 1980, a new memorial with panels bearing the names of the martyred Indian soldiers was unveiled by the Indian Ambassador to Egypt in the Heliopolis Commonwealth War Grave Cemetery.

[Extracted, with edits and revisions, from: “PM Modi visits Heliopolis War Cemetery in Cairo to pay respects to Indian soldiers who laid down their lives during WW I”, India Today]

Q. Which Indian site is among the five sites with distinctive features listed by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission (CWGC)?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.

Prime Minister Narendra Modi on Sunday visited the Heliopolis Commonwealth War Cemetery here and offered tributes to the Indian soldiers who bravely fought and laid down their lives in Egypt and Palestine during the First World War. Modi offered floral tributes and signed the visitor’s book at the cemetery that comprises the Heliopolis (Port Tewfik) Memorial and the Heliopolis (Aden) Memorial.

The Heliopolis (Port Tewfik) Memorial commemorates nearly 4,000 Indian soldiers who died fighting in Egypt and Palestine in the First World War. The Heliopolis (Aden) Memorial pays tribute to more than 600 men of the Commonwealth forces who sacrificed their lives for Aden during the First World War.

The cemetery is maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. It also houses 1,700 Commonwealth burials of the Second World War as well as several war graves of other nationalities, according to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission website. Located at the south end of the [1], the original Port Tewfik memorial was unveiled in 1926.

Designed by Sir John Burnet, the original memorial sustained damages during the 1967-1973 Israeli-Egyptian conflict and was eventually demolished, according to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission website. In October 1980, a new memorial with panels bearing the names of the martyred Indian soldiers was unveiled by the Indian Ambassador to Egypt in the Heliopolis Commonwealth War Grave Cemetery.

[Extracted, with edits and revisions, from: “PM Modi visits Heliopolis War Cemetery in Cairo to pay respects to Indian soldiers who laid down their lives during WW I”, India Today]

Q. The Suez Canal is a man-made waterway in Egypt that links the Red Sea to the Mediterranean Sea. When was the Suez Canal nationalized by Egypt?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.

Prime Minister Narendra Modi on Sunday visited the Heliopolis Commonwealth War Cemetery here and offered tributes to the Indian soldiers who bravely fought and laid down their lives in Egypt and Palestine during the First World War. Modi offered floral tributes and signed the visitor’s book at the cemetery that comprises the Heliopolis (Port Tewfik) Memorial and the Heliopolis (Aden) Memorial.

The Heliopolis (Port Tewfik) Memorial commemorates nearly 4,000 Indian soldiers who died fighting in Egypt and Palestine in the First World War. The Heliopolis (Aden) Memorial pays tribute to more than 600 men of the Commonwealth forces who sacrificed their lives for Aden during the First World War.

The cemetery is maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. It also houses 1,700 Commonwealth burials of the Second World War as well as several war graves of other nationalities, according to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission website. Located at the south end of the [1], the original Port Tewfik memorial was unveiled in 1926.

Designed by Sir John Burnet, the original memorial sustained damages during the 1967-1973 Israeli-Egyptian conflict and was eventually demolished, according to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission website. In October 1980, a new memorial with panels bearing the names of the martyred Indian soldiers was unveiled by the Indian Ambassador to Egypt in the Heliopolis Commonwealth War Grave Cemetery.

[Extracted, with edits and revisions, from: “PM Modi visits Heliopolis War Cemetery in Cairo to pay respects to Indian soldiers who laid down their lives during WW I”, India Today]

Q. Who does the Heliopolis (Aden) Memorial in the Heliopolis Commonwealth War Cemetery pay tribute to?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.

Prime Minister Narendra Modi on Sunday visited the Heliopolis Commonwealth War Cemetery here and offered tributes to the Indian soldiers who bravely fought and laid down their lives in Egypt and Palestine during the First World War. Modi offered floral tributes and signed the visitor’s book at the cemetery that comprises the Heliopolis (Port Tewfik) Memorial and the Heliopolis (Aden) Memorial.

The Heliopolis (Port Tewfik) Memorial commemorates nearly 4,000 Indian soldiers who died fighting in Egypt and Palestine in the First World War. The Heliopolis (Aden) Memorial pays tribute to more than 600 men of the Commonwealth forces who sacrificed their lives for Aden during the First World War.

The cemetery is maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. It also houses 1,700 Commonwealth burials of the Second World War as well as several war graves of other nationalities, according to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission website. Located at the south end of the [1], the original Port Tewfik memorial was unveiled in 1926.

Designed by Sir John Burnet, the original memorial sustained damages during the 1967-1973 Israeli-Egyptian conflict and was eventually demolished, according to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission website. In October 1980, a new memorial with panels bearing the names of the martyred Indian soldiers was unveiled by the Indian Ambassador to Egypt in the Heliopolis Commonwealth War Grave Cemetery.

[Extracted, with edits and revisions, from: “PM Modi visits Heliopolis War Cemetery in Cairo to pay respects to Indian soldiers who laid down their lives during WW I”, India Today]

Q. What event led to the demolition of the original Port Tewfik memorial at the Heliopolis Commonwealth War Cemetery?