Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
“Growing up, we had a great big house, which had everything,” recalls Dr Bindeshwar Pathak, founder of the NGO Sulabh International. “Everything, that is, except a toilet. So, at about four a.m. everyday, I would hear my mother, aunt, grandmother and sisters going out in the dark to relieve themselves.” Being born to an upper caste Brahmin family in 1943 granted one a number of social privileges, but open defecation was a common practice, and not even the elite were exempt. “Back then, there was no infrastructure that people could adopt for better sanitation,” he says of his home village Rampur Baghel in Bihar’s Vaishali district. “Septic tanks were costly and only very few towns even had a sewage network.”
Sanitation systems at the time (one that persists in many underdeveloped parts of India even today) were rudimentary, with convenience, comfort or dignity reserved only for those among the higher classes, such as zamindars. They used bucket toilets and dry latrines but these had to be regularly cleaned—a task typically passed on to people from the ‘lower’ caste, who were deemed ‘untouchable’. People from this marginalized group had to rely on the open out-doors for their own needs, regardless of weather or peril.
As a young boy, Pathak witnessed and became keenly aware of every-day discriminations based on caste, a system so suffocatingly powerful that it dictated everything—one’s life, occupation, even death. He remembers wondering why his grandmother sprinkled the ground with water every time the lady who sold them bamboo utensils visited their house. “When I asked, she explained that the woman was an ‘untouchable’—someone who pollutes the land,” the 80-year-old recounts. All hell broke loose one day when young Pathak touched the woman out of curiosity. His grandmother forced him to swallow cow dung and cow urine in an attempt to ‘purify’ him.
“‘Untouchables’ were not allowed to touch village wells, and so had to wait, sometimes for an entire day, for some kind stranger to draw water from the well for them,” he adds. While pained by the normalized injustices around him, Pathak’s focus turned to finding a job like most youngsters his age. He studied sociology and a bit of criminology in college and decided to pursue the latter. “I thought this could help me to be-come a member of the CID (Crime Investigation Department) or a police officer,” he says. And he would have become one, if not for a serendipitous train journey that would determine the trajectory of his life.
In 1968, while on his way to university for a criminology course, he happened to meet a cousin and a friend at Hajipur Junction railway station who told him about a vacant secretary’s position in the Bihar Gandhi Centenary Celebrations Committee. “They said they would get me the job and took my luggage from the train even though I resisted,” he smiles. The Committee’s mission was to spread the ideals and teachings of Mahatma Gandhi through its four cells, one of which was dedicated to ‘Bhangi-mukti’ or ‘scavengers’ liberation’. The job never materialized but Pathak began working for the group, as an unpaid translator. By 1969, he was transferred to the Bhangi-mukti cell as a liaison officer and sent to live with manual scavengers in Bettiah to figure out a solution to the twin problems of open defecation and human scavenging. Despite his familiarity with the realities of caste atrocities, Pathak’s time with the scavengers was eye opening: “Beyond description …” is how he terms the grim conditions he found there. Human waste would have to be transported as head-loads in flimsy containers prone to spillage and seepage. Caste-based bondage was very strong. “The belief was once you are born an ‘untouchable’, you will die one,” says the 80-year-old.
Q. What does the word "zamindars" mean in the context of the passage?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
“Growing up, we had a great big house, which had everything,” recalls Dr Bindeshwar Pathak, founder of the NGO Sulabh International. “Everything, that is, except a toilet. So, at about four a.m. everyday, I would hear my mother, aunt, grandmother and sisters going out in the dark to relieve themselves.” Being born to an upper caste Brahmin family in 1943 granted one a number of social privileges, but open defecation was a common practice, and not even the elite were exempt. “Back then, there was no infrastructure that people could adopt for better sanitation,” he says of his home village Rampur Baghel in Bihar’s Vaishali district. “Septic tanks were costly and only very few towns even had a sewage network.”
Sanitation systems at the time (one that persists in many underdeveloped parts of India even today) were rudimentary, with convenience, comfort or dignity reserved only for those among the higher classes, such as zamindars. They used bucket toilets and dry latrines but these had to be regularly cleaned—a task typically passed on to people from the ‘lower’ caste, who were deemed ‘untouchable’. People from this marginalized group had to rely on the open out-doors for their own needs, regardless of weather or peril.
As a young boy, Pathak witnessed and became keenly aware of every-day discriminations based on caste, a system so suffocatingly powerful that it dictated everything—one’s life, occupation, even death. He remembers wondering why his grandmother sprinkled the ground with water every time the lady who sold them bamboo utensils visited their house. “When I asked, she explained that the woman was an ‘untouchable’—someone who pollutes the land,” the 80-year-old recounts. All hell broke loose one day when young Pathak touched the woman out of curiosity. His grandmother forced him to swallow cow dung and cow urine in an attempt to ‘purify’ him.
“‘Untouchables’ were not allowed to touch village wells, and so had to wait, sometimes for an entire day, for some kind stranger to draw water from the well for them,” he adds. While pained by the normalized injustices around him, Pathak’s focus turned to finding a job like most youngsters his age. He studied sociology and a bit of criminology in college and decided to pursue the latter. “I thought this could help me to be-come a member of the CID (Crime Investigation Department) or a police officer,” he says. And he would have become one, if not for a serendipitous train journey that would determine the trajectory of his life.
In 1968, while on his way to university for a criminology course, he happened to meet a cousin and a friend at Hajipur Junction railway station who told him about a vacant secretary’s position in the Bihar Gandhi Centenary Celebrations Committee. “They said they would get me the job and took my luggage from the train even though I resisted,” he smiles. The Committee’s mission was to spread the ideals and teachings of Mahatma Gandhi through its four cells, one of which was dedicated to ‘Bhangi-mukti’ or ‘scavengers’ liberation’. The job never materialized but Pathak began working for the group, as an unpaid translator. By 1969, he was transferred to the Bhangi-mukti cell as a liaison officer and sent to live with manual scavengers in Bettiah to figure out a solution to the twin problems of open defecation and human scavenging. Despite his familiarity with the realities of caste atrocities, Pathak’s time with the scavengers was eye opening: “Beyond description …” is how he terms the grim conditions he found there. Human waste would have to be transported as head-loads in flimsy containers prone to spillage and seepage. Caste-based bondage was very strong. “The belief was once you are born an ‘untouchable’, you will die one,” says the 80-year-old.
Q. How can the author's attitude towards the second paragraph be most accurately characterized?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
“Growing up, we had a great big house, which had everything,” recalls Dr Bindeshwar Pathak, founder of the NGO Sulabh International. “Everything, that is, except a toilet. So, at about four a.m. everyday, I would hear my mother, aunt, grandmother and sisters going out in the dark to relieve themselves.” Being born to an upper caste Brahmin family in 1943 granted one a number of social privileges, but open defecation was a common practice, and not even the elite were exempt. “Back then, there was no infrastructure that people could adopt for better sanitation,” he says of his home village Rampur Baghel in Bihar’s Vaishali district. “Septic tanks were costly and only very few towns even had a sewage network.”
Sanitation systems at the time (one that persists in many underdeveloped parts of India even today) were rudimentary, with convenience, comfort or dignity reserved only for those among the higher classes, such as zamindars. They used bucket toilets and dry latrines but these had to be regularly cleaned—a task typically passed on to people from the ‘lower’ caste, who were deemed ‘untouchable’. People from this marginalized group had to rely on the open out-doors for their own needs, regardless of weather or peril.
As a young boy, Pathak witnessed and became keenly aware of every-day discriminations based on caste, a system so suffocatingly powerful that it dictated everything—one’s life, occupation, even death. He remembers wondering why his grandmother sprinkled the ground with water every time the lady who sold them bamboo utensils visited their house. “When I asked, she explained that the woman was an ‘untouchable’—someone who pollutes the land,” the 80-year-old recounts. All hell broke loose one day when young Pathak touched the woman out of curiosity. His grandmother forced him to swallow cow dung and cow urine in an attempt to ‘purify’ him.
“‘Untouchables’ were not allowed to touch village wells, and so had to wait, sometimes for an entire day, for some kind stranger to draw water from the well for them,” he adds. While pained by the normalized injustices around him, Pathak’s focus turned to finding a job like most youngsters his age. He studied sociology and a bit of criminology in college and decided to pursue the latter. “I thought this could help me to be-come a member of the CID (Crime Investigation Department) or a police officer,” he says. And he would have become one, if not for a serendipitous train journey that would determine the trajectory of his life.
In 1968, while on his way to university for a criminology course, he happened to meet a cousin and a friend at Hajipur Junction railway station who told him about a vacant secretary’s position in the Bihar Gandhi Centenary Celebrations Committee. “They said they would get me the job and took my luggage from the train even though I resisted,” he smiles. The Committee’s mission was to spread the ideals and teachings of Mahatma Gandhi through its four cells, one of which was dedicated to ‘Bhangi-mukti’ or ‘scavengers’ liberation’. The job never materialized but Pathak began working for the group, as an unpaid translator. By 1969, he was transferred to the Bhangi-mukti cell as a liaison officer and sent to live with manual scavengers in Bettiah to figure out a solution to the twin problems of open defecation and human scavenging. Despite his familiarity with the realities of caste atrocities, Pathak’s time with the scavengers was eye opening: “Beyond description …” is how he terms the grim conditions he found there. Human waste would have to be transported as head-loads in flimsy containers prone to spillage and seepage. Caste-based bondage was very strong. “The belief was once you are born an ‘untouchable’, you will die one,” says the 80-year-old.
Q. Which of the following CANNOT be inferred from the passage?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
“Growing up, we had a great big house, which had everything,” recalls Dr Bindeshwar Pathak, founder of the NGO Sulabh International. “Everything, that is, except a toilet. So, at about four a.m. everyday, I would hear my mother, aunt, grandmother and sisters going out in the dark to relieve themselves.” Being born to an upper caste Brahmin family in 1943 granted one a number of social privileges, but open defecation was a common practice, and not even the elite were exempt. “Back then, there was no infrastructure that people could adopt for better sanitation,” he says of his home village Rampur Baghel in Bihar’s Vaishali district. “Septic tanks were costly and only very few towns even had a sewage network.”
Sanitation systems at the time (one that persists in many underdeveloped parts of India even today) were rudimentary, with convenience, comfort or dignity reserved only for those among the higher classes, such as zamindars. They used bucket toilets and dry latrines but these had to be regularly cleaned—a task typically passed on to people from the ‘lower’ caste, who were deemed ‘untouchable’. People from this marginalized group had to rely on the open out-doors for their own needs, regardless of weather or peril.
As a young boy, Pathak witnessed and became keenly aware of every-day discriminations based on caste, a system so suffocatingly powerful that it dictated everything—one’s life, occupation, even death. He remembers wondering why his grandmother sprinkled the ground with water every time the lady who sold them bamboo utensils visited their house. “When I asked, she explained that the woman was an ‘untouchable’—someone who pollutes the land,” the 80-year-old recounts. All hell broke loose one day when young Pathak touched the woman out of curiosity. His grandmother forced him to swallow cow dung and cow urine in an attempt to ‘purify’ him.
“‘Untouchables’ were not allowed to touch village wells, and so had to wait, sometimes for an entire day, for some kind stranger to draw water from the well for them,” he adds. While pained by the normalized injustices around him, Pathak’s focus turned to finding a job like most youngsters his age. He studied sociology and a bit of criminology in college and decided to pursue the latter. “I thought this could help me to be-come a member of the CID (Crime Investigation Department) or a police officer,” he says. And he would have become one, if not for a serendipitous train journey that would determine the trajectory of his life.
In 1968, while on his way to university for a criminology course, he happened to meet a cousin and a friend at Hajipur Junction railway station who told him about a vacant secretary’s position in the Bihar Gandhi Centenary Celebrations Committee. “They said they would get me the job and took my luggage from the train even though I resisted,” he smiles. The Committee’s mission was to spread the ideals and teachings of Mahatma Gandhi through its four cells, one of which was dedicated to ‘Bhangi-mukti’ or ‘scavengers’ liberation’. The job never materialized but Pathak began working for the group, as an unpaid translator. By 1969, he was transferred to the Bhangi-mukti cell as a liaison officer and sent to live with manual scavengers in Bettiah to figure out a solution to the twin problems of open defecation and human scavenging. Despite his familiarity with the realities of caste atrocities, Pathak’s time with the scavengers was eye opening: “Beyond description …” is how he terms the grim conditions he found there. Human waste would have to be transported as head-loads in flimsy containers prone to spillage and seepage. Caste-based bondage was very strong. “The belief was once you are born an ‘untouchable’, you will die one,” says the 80-year-old.
Q. In the context of the passage, the term "untouchable" is most probably referring to:
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
“Growing up, we had a great big house, which had everything,” recalls Dr Bindeshwar Pathak, founder of the NGO Sulabh International. “Everything, that is, except a toilet. So, at about four a.m. everyday, I would hear my mother, aunt, grandmother and sisters going out in the dark to relieve themselves.” Being born to an upper caste Brahmin family in 1943 granted one a number of social privileges, but open defecation was a common practice, and not even the elite were exempt. “Back then, there was no infrastructure that people could adopt for better sanitation,” he says of his home village Rampur Baghel in Bihar’s Vaishali district. “Septic tanks were costly and only very few towns even had a sewage network.”
Sanitation systems at the time (one that persists in many underdeveloped parts of India even today) were rudimentary, with convenience, comfort or dignity reserved only for those among the higher classes, such as zamindars. They used bucket toilets and dry latrines but these had to be regularly cleaned—a task typically passed on to people from the ‘lower’ caste, who were deemed ‘untouchable’. People from this marginalized group had to rely on the open out-doors for their own needs, regardless of weather or peril.
As a young boy, Pathak witnessed and became keenly aware of every-day discriminations based on caste, a system so suffocatingly powerful that it dictated everything—one’s life, occupation, even death. He remembers wondering why his grandmother sprinkled the ground with water every time the lady who sold them bamboo utensils visited their house. “When I asked, she explained that the woman was an ‘untouchable’—someone who pollutes the land,” the 80-year-old recounts. All hell broke loose one day when young Pathak touched the woman out of curiosity. His grandmother forced him to swallow cow dung and cow urine in an attempt to ‘purify’ him.
“‘Untouchables’ were not allowed to touch village wells, and so had to wait, sometimes for an entire day, for some kind stranger to draw water from the well for them,” he adds. While pained by the normalized injustices around him, Pathak’s focus turned to finding a job like most youngsters his age. He studied sociology and a bit of criminology in college and decided to pursue the latter. “I thought this could help me to be-come a member of the CID (Crime Investigation Department) or a police officer,” he says. And he would have become one, if not for a serendipitous train journey that would determine the trajectory of his life.
In 1968, while on his way to university for a criminology course, he happened to meet a cousin and a friend at Hajipur Junction railway station who told him about a vacant secretary’s position in the Bihar Gandhi Centenary Celebrations Committee. “They said they would get me the job and took my luggage from the train even though I resisted,” he smiles. The Committee’s mission was to spread the ideals and teachings of Mahatma Gandhi through its four cells, one of which was dedicated to ‘Bhangi-mukti’ or ‘scavengers’ liberation’. The job never materialized but Pathak began working for the group, as an unpaid translator. By 1969, he was transferred to the Bhangi-mukti cell as a liaison officer and sent to live with manual scavengers in Bettiah to figure out a solution to the twin problems of open defecation and human scavenging. Despite his familiarity with the realities of caste atrocities, Pathak’s time with the scavengers was eye opening: “Beyond description …” is how he terms the grim conditions he found there. Human waste would have to be transported as head-loads in flimsy containers prone to spillage and seepage. Caste-based bondage was very strong. “The belief was once you are born an ‘untouchable’, you will die one,” says the 80-year-old.
Q. What most effectively encapsulates the main theme of the passage?
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