Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
Philosophy is dead, Stephen Hawking once declared, because it ‘has not kept up with modern developments in science, particularly physics! It is scientists, not philosophers, who are now ‘the bearers of the torch of discovery in our quest for knowledge’. The response from some philosophers was to accuse Hawking of ‘scientism’. The charge of ‘scientism is meant to convey disapproval of anyone who values scientific disciplines, such as physics, over non-scientific disciplines, such as philosophy. The philosopher Tom Sorell writes that scientism is ‘a matter of putting too high a value on science in comparison with other branches of learning or culture’. But what's wrong with putting a higher value on science compared with other academic disciplines? What is so bad about scientism? If physics is in fact a better torch in the quest for knowledge than philosophy, as Hawking claimed, then perhaps it should be valued over philosophy and other non-scientific fields of enquiry.
Before we can address these questions, however, we need to get our definitions straight. For, much like other philosophical isms, ‘scientism’ means different things to different philosophers. Now, the question of whether science is the only way of knowing about reality, or at least better than non- scientific ways of knowing, is an epistemological question. Construed as an epistemological thesis, then, scientism can be broadly understood as either the view that scientific knowledge is the only form of knowledge we have, or the view that scientific knowledge is the best form of knowledge we have. But scientism comes in other varieties as well, including methodological and metaphysical ones. As a methodological thesis, scientism is either the view that scientific methods are the only. ways of knowing about reality we have, or the view that scientific methods are the best ways of knowing about reality we have. And, construed as a metaphysical thesis, scientism is either the view that science is our only guide to what exists, or the view that science is our best guide to what exists.
Without a clear understanding of the aforementioned varieties of scientism, philosophical parties to the scientism debate are at risk of merely talking past each other. That is, some defenders of scientism might be arguing for weaker varieties of scientism, in terms of scientific knowledge or methods being the best ones, while their opponents interpret them as arguing for stronger varieties of scientism, in terms of scientific knowledge or methods being the only ones. My own position, for example, is a weak variety of scientism. In my paper ‘What's So Bad about Scientism?” (2017), defend scientism as an epistemological thesis, which I call ‘Weak Scientism’. This is the view that scientific knowledge i the best form of knowledge we have (as opposed to ‘Strong Scientist, which is the view that scientific knowledge is the only knowledge we have).
Q. What does the term "scientism" primarily refer to in the passage?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
Philosophy is dead, Stephen Hawking once declared, because it ‘has not kept up with modern developments in science, particularly physics! It is scientists, not philosophers, who are now ‘the bearers of the torch of discovery in our quest for knowledge’. The response from some philosophers was to accuse Hawking of ‘scientism’. The charge of ‘scientism is meant to convey disapproval of anyone who values scientific disciplines, such as physics, over non-scientific disciplines, such as philosophy. The philosopher Tom Sorell writes that scientism is ‘a matter of putting too high a value on science in comparison with other branches of learning or culture’. But what's wrong with putting a higher value on science compared with other academic disciplines? What is so bad about scientism? If physics is in fact a better torch in the quest for knowledge than philosophy, as Hawking claimed, then perhaps it should be valued over philosophy and other non-scientific fields of enquiry.
Before we can address these questions, however, we need to get our definitions straight. For, much like other philosophical isms, ‘scientism’ means different things to different philosophers. Now, the question of whether science is the only way of knowing about reality, or at least better than non- scientific ways of knowing, is an epistemological question. Construed as an epistemological thesis, then, scientism can be broadly understood as either the view that scientific knowledge is the only form of knowledge we have, or the view that scientific knowledge is the best form of knowledge we have. But scientism comes in other varieties as well, including methodological and metaphysical ones. As a methodological thesis, scientism is either the view that scientific methods are the only. ways of knowing about reality we have, or the view that scientific methods are the best ways of knowing about reality we have. And, construed as a metaphysical thesis, scientism is either the view that science is our only guide to what exists, or the view that science is our best guide to what exists.
Without a clear understanding of the aforementioned varieties of scientism, philosophical parties to the scientism debate are at risk of merely talking past each other. That is, some defenders of scientism might be arguing for weaker varieties of scientism, in terms of scientific knowledge or methods being the best ones, while their opponents interpret them as arguing for stronger varieties of scientism, in terms of scientific knowledge or methods being the only ones. My own position, for example, is a weak variety of scientism. In my paper ‘What's So Bad about Scientism?” (2017), defend scientism as an epistemological thesis, which I call ‘Weak Scientism’. This is the view that scientific knowledge i the best form of knowledge we have (as opposed to ‘Strong Scientist, which is the view that scientific knowledge is the only knowledge we have).
Q. What is the primary reason some philosophers accused Stephen Hawking of 'scientism'?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
Philosophy is dead, Stephen Hawking once declared, because it ‘has not kept up with modern developments in science, particularly physics! It is scientists, not philosophers, who are now ‘the bearers of the torch of discovery in our quest for knowledge’. The response from some philosophers was to accuse Hawking of ‘scientism’. The charge of ‘scientism is meant to convey disapproval of anyone who values scientific disciplines, such as physics, over non-scientific disciplines, such as philosophy. The philosopher Tom Sorell writes that scientism is ‘a matter of putting too high a value on science in comparison with other branches of learning or culture’. But what's wrong with putting a higher value on science compared with other academic disciplines? What is so bad about scientism? If physics is in fact a better torch in the quest for knowledge than philosophy, as Hawking claimed, then perhaps it should be valued over philosophy and other non-scientific fields of enquiry.
Before we can address these questions, however, we need to get our definitions straight. For, much like other philosophical isms, ‘scientism’ means different things to different philosophers. Now, the question of whether science is the only way of knowing about reality, or at least better than non- scientific ways of knowing, is an epistemological question. Construed as an epistemological thesis, then, scientism can be broadly understood as either the view that scientific knowledge is the only form of knowledge we have, or the view that scientific knowledge is the best form of knowledge we have. But scientism comes in other varieties as well, including methodological and metaphysical ones. As a methodological thesis, scientism is either the view that scientific methods are the only. ways of knowing about reality we have, or the view that scientific methods are the best ways of knowing about reality we have. And, construed as a metaphysical thesis, scientism is either the view that science is our only guide to what exists, or the view that science is our best guide to what exists.
Without a clear understanding of the aforementioned varieties of scientism, philosophical parties to the scientism debate are at risk of merely talking past each other. That is, some defenders of scientism might be arguing for weaker varieties of scientism, in terms of scientific knowledge or methods being the best ones, while their opponents interpret them as arguing for stronger varieties of scientism, in terms of scientific knowledge or methods being the only ones. My own position, for example, is a weak variety of scientism. In my paper ‘What's So Bad about Scientism?” (2017), defend scientism as an epistemological thesis, which I call ‘Weak Scientism’. This is the view that scientific knowledge i the best form of knowledge we have (as opposed to ‘Strong Scientist, which is the view that scientific knowledge is the only knowledge we have).
Q. Which of the following statements most accurately encapsulates the author's stance regarding scientism?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
Philosophy is dead, Stephen Hawking once declared, because it ‘has not kept up with modern developments in science, particularly physics! It is scientists, not philosophers, who are now ‘the bearers of the torch of discovery in our quest for knowledge’. The response from some philosophers was to accuse Hawking of ‘scientism’. The charge of ‘scientism is meant to convey disapproval of anyone who values scientific disciplines, such as physics, over non-scientific disciplines, such as philosophy. The philosopher Tom Sorell writes that scientism is ‘a matter of putting too high a value on science in comparison with other branches of learning or culture’. But what's wrong with putting a higher value on science compared with other academic disciplines? What is so bad about scientism? If physics is in fact a better torch in the quest for knowledge than philosophy, as Hawking claimed, then perhaps it should be valued over philosophy and other non-scientific fields of enquiry.
Before we can address these questions, however, we need to get our definitions straight. For, much like other philosophical isms, ‘scientism’ means different things to different philosophers. Now, the question of whether science is the only way of knowing about reality, or at least better than non- scientific ways of knowing, is an epistemological question. Construed as an epistemological thesis, then, scientism can be broadly understood as either the view that scientific knowledge is the only form of knowledge we have, or the view that scientific knowledge is the best form of knowledge we have. But scientism comes in other varieties as well, including methodological and metaphysical ones. As a methodological thesis, scientism is either the view that scientific methods are the only. ways of knowing about reality we have, or the view that scientific methods are the best ways of knowing about reality we have. And, construed as a metaphysical thesis, scientism is either the view that science is our only guide to what exists, or the view that science is our best guide to what exists.
Without a clear understanding of the aforementioned varieties of scientism, philosophical parties to the scientism debate are at risk of merely talking past each other. That is, some defenders of scientism might be arguing for weaker varieties of scientism, in terms of scientific knowledge or methods being the best ones, while their opponents interpret them as arguing for stronger varieties of scientism, in terms of scientific knowledge or methods being the only ones. My own position, for example, is a weak variety of scientism. In my paper ‘What's So Bad about Scientism?” (2017), defend scientism as an epistemological thesis, which I call ‘Weak Scientism’. This is the view that scientific knowledge i the best form of knowledge we have (as opposed to ‘Strong Scientist, which is the view that scientific knowledge is the only knowledge we have).
Q. Which of the following titles best captures the essence of the passage?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
Philosophy is dead, Stephen Hawking once declared, because it ‘has not kept up with modern developments in science, particularly physics! It is scientists, not philosophers, who are now ‘the bearers of the torch of discovery in our quest for knowledge’. The response from some philosophers was to accuse Hawking of ‘scientism’. The charge of ‘scientism is meant to convey disapproval of anyone who values scientific disciplines, such as physics, over non-scientific disciplines, such as philosophy. The philosopher Tom Sorell writes that scientism is ‘a matter of putting too high a value on science in comparison with other branches of learning or culture’. But what's wrong with putting a higher value on science compared with other academic disciplines? What is so bad about scientism? If physics is in fact a better torch in the quest for knowledge than philosophy, as Hawking claimed, then perhaps it should be valued over philosophy and other non-scientific fields of enquiry.
Before we can address these questions, however, we need to get our definitions straight. For, much like other philosophical isms, ‘scientism’ means different things to different philosophers. Now, the question of whether science is the only way of knowing about reality, or at least better than non- scientific ways of knowing, is an epistemological question. Construed as an epistemological thesis, then, scientism can be broadly understood as either the view that scientific knowledge is the only form of knowledge we have, or the view that scientific knowledge is the best form of knowledge we have. But scientism comes in other varieties as well, including methodological and metaphysical ones. As a methodological thesis, scientism is either the view that scientific methods are the only. ways of knowing about reality we have, or the view that scientific methods are the best ways of knowing about reality we have. And, construed as a metaphysical thesis, scientism is either the view that science is our only guide to what exists, or the view that science is our best guide to what exists.
Without a clear understanding of the aforementioned varieties of scientism, philosophical parties to the scientism debate are at risk of merely talking past each other. That is, some defenders of scientism might be arguing for weaker varieties of scientism, in terms of scientific knowledge or methods being the best ones, while their opponents interpret them as arguing for stronger varieties of scientism, in terms of scientific knowledge or methods being the only ones. My own position, for example, is a weak variety of scientism. In my paper ‘What's So Bad about Scientism?” (2017), defend scientism as an epistemological thesis, which I call ‘Weak Scientism’. This is the view that scientific knowledge i the best form of knowledge we have (as opposed to ‘Strong Scientist, which is the view that scientific knowledge is the only knowledge we have).
Q. How does the author perceive the worth of science in relation to other academic disciplines?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
Bengaluru is blushing all over. A serial bloomer, the city unfurls its flora one after the other, bud by bud, carpeting its roads with petals now shocking pink, now golden yellow, all year round. As trees burst into every colour possible and flowers overtake trunks, the air smells like spilt perfume. These overlapping flowering seasons are no coincidence, but the result of careful botanical planning.
Bengaluru is reaping what it sowed. When a city is in the news for its flowers, flooding social media with photos taken from home or moving vehicle, it is time to give horticulture its due. Let’s address all flowers formally and respectfully by their baptised name instead of silly pet names.
Kigelia Africana (sausage tree), Neolamarckia cadamba (burflower-tree), Pongamia pinnata (beech tree), Spathodea (African tulips). . . . And Tabebuia rosea – rosy trumpet tree or pink poui – that writer Shobhaa De on a recent visit to the city said sounds like a skin condition.
Tabebuia rosea staged an overnight coup this year too, re-activating the fingers of Bengalureans into pointing to the tree here, there and everywhere. An utter amnesia overtook us on the garbage and gutter situation. All we could look at, talk about and click profusely was the rosy trumpet tree along our path. With their flamboyant rosy exuberance, the trees struck a pose where they stood – in the middle of the road, right outside your window, en route to wherever you are going. The usual flower thieves in apartment blocks forgot their sly plucking, shamed by this plenitude.
Purple jacaranda, red or white hibiscus and roses in every hue. Orange crossandra or white jasmine gajras in the hair. Fern in the forests around the city. Lilies, orchids and sunflowers perched pricy in the florist’s window. And still Bengaluru mourns the imminent departure of the Tabebuia rosea. Alas, the trees are already starting to shed their ornamental look, baring the twigs beneath. And even though other flowers will take over the floral relay race, we will miss the trees that crowded the skyline with their stunning pinkness like flower arrangements in huge celestial vases.
Mysore ruler Hyder Ali gave us a 240-acre garden named Lalbagh, while German botanist-gardener Gustav Hermann Krumbiegel and then forest official SG Neginhal worked their own magic just so Bengaluru could call itself Garden City. But all it takes is a Tabebuia rosea to make the a Bengorelan happy.
Q. What is the meaning of "flamboyant" as used in the passage?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
Bengaluru is blushing all over. A serial bloomer, the city unfurls its flora one after the other, bud by bud, carpeting its roads with petals now shocking pink, now golden yellow, all year round. As trees burst into every colour possible and flowers overtake trunks, the air smells like spilt perfume. These overlapping flowering seasons are no coincidence, but the result of careful botanical planning.
Bengaluru is reaping what it sowed. When a city is in the news for its flowers, flooding social media with photos taken from home or moving vehicle, it is time to give horticulture its due. Let’s address all flowers formally and respectfully by their baptised name instead of silly pet names.
Kigelia Africana (sausage tree), Neolamarckia cadamba (burflower-tree), Pongamia pinnata (beech tree), Spathodea (African tulips). . . . And Tabebuia rosea – rosy trumpet tree or pink poui – that writer Shobhaa De on a recent visit to the city said sounds like a skin condition.
Tabebuia rosea staged an overnight coup this year too, re-activating the fingers of Bengalureans into pointing to the tree here, there and everywhere. An utter amnesia overtook us on the garbage and gutter situation. All we could look at, talk about and click profusely was the rosy trumpet tree along our path. With their flamboyant rosy exuberance, the trees struck a pose where they stood – in the middle of the road, right outside your window, en route to wherever you are going. The usual flower thieves in apartment blocks forgot their sly plucking, shamed by this plenitude.
Purple jacaranda, red or white hibiscus and roses in every hue. Orange crossandra or white jasmine gajras in the hair. Fern in the forests around the city. Lilies, orchids and sunflowers perched pricy in the florist’s window. And still Bengaluru mourns the imminent departure of the Tabebuia rosea. Alas, the trees are already starting to shed their ornamental look, baring the twigs beneath. And even though other flowers will take over the floral relay race, we will miss the trees that crowded the skyline with their stunning pinkness like flower arrangements in huge celestial vases.
Mysore ruler Hyder Ali gave us a 240-acre garden named Lalbagh, while German botanist-gardener Gustav Hermann Krumbiegel and then forest official SG Neginhal worked their own magic just so Bengaluru could call itself Garden City. But all it takes is a Tabebuia rosea to make the a Bengorelan happy.
Q. Which statement accurately describes Bengaluru?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
Bengaluru is blushing all over. A serial bloomer, the city unfurls its flora one after the other, bud by bud, carpeting its roads with petals now shocking pink, now golden yellow, all year round. As trees burst into every colour possible and flowers overtake trunks, the air smells like spilt perfume. These overlapping flowering seasons are no coincidence, but the result of careful botanical planning.
Bengaluru is reaping what it sowed. When a city is in the news for its flowers, flooding social media with photos taken from home or moving vehicle, it is time to give horticulture its due. Let’s address all flowers formally and respectfully by their baptised name instead of silly pet names.
Kigelia Africana (sausage tree), Neolamarckia cadamba (burflower-tree), Pongamia pinnata (beech tree), Spathodea (African tulips). . . . And Tabebuia rosea – rosy trumpet tree or pink poui – that writer Shobhaa De on a recent visit to the city said sounds like a skin condition.
Tabebuia rosea staged an overnight coup this year too, re-activating the fingers of Bengalureans into pointing to the tree here, there and everywhere. An utter amnesia overtook us on the garbage and gutter situation. All we could look at, talk about and click profusely was the rosy trumpet tree along our path. With their flamboyant rosy exuberance, the trees struck a pose where they stood – in the middle of the road, right outside your window, en route to wherever you are going. The usual flower thieves in apartment blocks forgot their sly plucking, shamed by this plenitude.
Purple jacaranda, red or white hibiscus and roses in every hue. Orange crossandra or white jasmine gajras in the hair. Fern in the forests around the city. Lilies, orchids and sunflowers perched pricy in the florist’s window. And still Bengaluru mourns the imminent departure of the Tabebuia rosea. Alas, the trees are already starting to shed their ornamental look, baring the twigs beneath. And even though other flowers will take over the floral relay race, we will miss the trees that crowded the skyline with their stunning pinkness like flower arrangements in huge celestial vases.
Mysore ruler Hyder Ali gave us a 240-acre garden named Lalbagh, while German botanist-gardener Gustav Hermann Krumbiegel and then forest official SG Neginhal worked their own magic just so Bengaluru could call itself Garden City. But all it takes is a Tabebuia rosea to make the a Bengorelan happy.
Q. Which of the following statements is a piece of information explicitly stated in the passage?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
Bengaluru is blushing all over. A serial bloomer, the city unfurls its flora one after the other, bud by bud, carpeting its roads with petals now shocking pink, now golden yellow, all year round. As trees burst into every colour possible and flowers overtake trunks, the air smells like spilt perfume. These overlapping flowering seasons are no coincidence, but the result of careful botanical planning.
Bengaluru is reaping what it sowed. When a city is in the news for its flowers, flooding social media with photos taken from home or moving vehicle, it is time to give horticulture its due. Let’s address all flowers formally and respectfully by their baptised name instead of silly pet names.
Kigelia Africana (sausage tree), Neolamarckia cadamba (burflower-tree), Pongamia pinnata (beech tree), Spathodea (African tulips). . . . And Tabebuia rosea – rosy trumpet tree or pink poui – that writer Shobhaa De on a recent visit to the city said sounds like a skin condition.
Tabebuia rosea staged an overnight coup this year too, re-activating the fingers of Bengalureans into pointing to the tree here, there and everywhere. An utter amnesia overtook us on the garbage and gutter situation. All we could look at, talk about and click profusely was the rosy trumpet tree along our path. With their flamboyant rosy exuberance, the trees struck a pose where they stood – in the middle of the road, right outside your window, en route to wherever you are going. The usual flower thieves in apartment blocks forgot their sly plucking, shamed by this plenitude.
Purple jacaranda, red or white hibiscus and roses in every hue. Orange crossandra or white jasmine gajras in the hair. Fern in the forests around the city. Lilies, orchids and sunflowers perched pricy in the florist’s window. And still Bengaluru mourns the imminent departure of the Tabebuia rosea. Alas, the trees are already starting to shed their ornamental look, baring the twigs beneath. And even though other flowers will take over the floral relay race, we will miss the trees that crowded the skyline with their stunning pinkness like flower arrangements in huge celestial vases.
Mysore ruler Hyder Ali gave us a 240-acre garden named Lalbagh, while German botanist-gardener Gustav Hermann Krumbiegel and then forest official SG Neginhal worked their own magic just so Bengaluru could call itself Garden City. But all it takes is a Tabebuia rosea to make the a Bengorelan happy.
Q. Which of the following options characterizes the writing style employed in the passage most accurately?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
Bengaluru is blushing all over. A serial bloomer, the city unfurls its flora one after the other, bud by bud, carpeting its roads with petals now shocking pink, now golden yellow, all year round. As trees burst into every colour possible and flowers overtake trunks, the air smells like spilt perfume. These overlapping flowering seasons are no coincidence, but the result of careful botanical planning.
Bengaluru is reaping what it sowed. When a city is in the news for its flowers, flooding social media with photos taken from home or moving vehicle, it is time to give horticulture its due. Let’s address all flowers formally and respectfully by their baptised name instead of silly pet names.
Kigelia Africana (sausage tree), Neolamarckia cadamba (burflower-tree), Pongamia pinnata (beech tree), Spathodea (African tulips). . . . And Tabebuia rosea – rosy trumpet tree or pink poui – that writer Shobhaa De on a recent visit to the city said sounds like a skin condition.
Tabebuia rosea staged an overnight coup this year too, re-activating the fingers of Bengalureans into pointing to the tree here, there and everywhere. An utter amnesia overtook us on the garbage and gutter situation. All we could look at, talk about and click profusely was the rosy trumpet tree along our path. With their flamboyant rosy exuberance, the trees struck a pose where they stood – in the middle of the road, right outside your window, en route to wherever you are going. The usual flower thieves in apartment blocks forgot their sly plucking, shamed by this plenitude.
Purple jacaranda, red or white hibiscus and roses in every hue. Orange crossandra or white jasmine gajras in the hair. Fern in the forests around the city. Lilies, orchids and sunflowers perched pricy in the florist’s window. And still Bengaluru mourns the imminent departure of the Tabebuia rosea. Alas, the trees are already starting to shed their ornamental look, baring the twigs beneath. And even though other flowers will take over the floral relay race, we will miss the trees that crowded the skyline with their stunning pinkness like flower arrangements in huge celestial vases.
Mysore ruler Hyder Ali gave us a 240-acre garden named Lalbagh, while German botanist-gardener Gustav Hermann Krumbiegel and then forest official SG Neginhal worked their own magic just so Bengaluru could call itself Garden City. But all it takes is a Tabebuia rosea to make the a Bengorelan happy.
Q. What did the passage imply about Bengaluru's nickname "Garden City"?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
A gaggle of magpie geese float across a bright, almost blinding yellow fabric suspended from ceiling-high spokes, among all the neatly-stacked Kanjeevarams in Kingsley. The fabric is one of many brightly-hued pieces with abundant and unusual motifs that remain as centerpieces in the building known for its arched windows, checkered floors and colonial character. Chennai is perhaps unfamiliar with the stories behind the pieces, for they come all the way from the First Nations cultures of Australia: the first peoples of Australia, who have existed for thousands of years prior to colonisation.
The magpie geese or murnubbarr karrolka as they call it, fly long distances in the wet seasons, and are characteristic of the Kakadu and Western Arnhem Land where they are often found. For Dora Daiguma, an aboriginal artist hailing from Arnhem, they signify her land, surroundings and childhood memories. Suspended adjacently is another piece that carries an earthy red hue, dotted by amorphous, rather fibrous shapes — Bah-je by Linda Guruwana. Bah-je translates to hunting bag in Djinang, one of more than 250 indigenous languages in Australia.
The well-displayed installation titled Jarrachara is an invitation to simply absorb the stories of First Nations’ cultures as told through a medium as intimate as textile. Jarrachara is a distinctive cool wind that blows across Arnhem Land in Australia’s far north in the dry season. It signifies ‘ceremonial coming together’. The installation has 24 screen-printed textiles created by 15 female First Nations artists, all part of Babbara Women’s Centre (set up in 1987) based in Maningrida — a regional community in the Northern territory of Australia. They are punctuated by a few framed, wood-cut prints done in collaboration with Tharangini Studio in Bengaluru.
The earliest forms of Aboriginal art were rock carvings and paintings, body painting and ground designs. Sarah Kirlew, Australian Consul-General for South India says, “There are engravings on cave walls in Arnhem Land dating back 60,000 years. Placing the art on canvas and board began about 50 years ago. Today Aboriginal art is done in an expanding range of mediums, including, as in this exhibition, textiles.”
Most of the artworks and allied motifs share knowledge about, simply, their life: traditional bush foods, and harvest such as cheeky yam, long yam, dugong (marine mammal), barramundi (Asian sea bass) and long-necked turtles make appearances. Jessica continues, “Traditional life in saltwater and freshwater country is explored in the medium. Dilly bags and woven fish traps and other objects traditionally made by women to collect food and carry children are depicted. The stories also include creation spirits — [that appear in creation stories] such as mimihs, yawkyawk (mermaid spirits), djomi (mermaid) and other women’s creation stories specific to this region in Arnhem Land. The designs share the plants and animals unique to this region.”
Q. What is the main theme of the passage?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
A gaggle of magpie geese float across a bright, almost blinding yellow fabric suspended from ceiling-high spokes, among all the neatly-stacked Kanjeevarams in Kingsley. The fabric is one of many brightly-hued pieces with abundant and unusual motifs that remain as centerpieces in the building known for its arched windows, checkered floors and colonial character. Chennai is perhaps unfamiliar with the stories behind the pieces, for they come all the way from the First Nations cultures of Australia: the first peoples of Australia, who have existed for thousands of years prior to colonisation.
The magpie geese or murnubbarr karrolka as they call it, fly long distances in the wet seasons, and are characteristic of the Kakadu and Western Arnhem Land where they are often found. For Dora Daiguma, an aboriginal artist hailing from Arnhem, they signify her land, surroundings and childhood memories. Suspended adjacently is another piece that carries an earthy red hue, dotted by amorphous, rather fibrous shapes — Bah-je by Linda Guruwana. Bah-je translates to hunting bag in Djinang, one of more than 250 indigenous languages in Australia.
The well-displayed installation titled Jarrachara is an invitation to simply absorb the stories of First Nations’ cultures as told through a medium as intimate as textile. Jarrachara is a distinctive cool wind that blows across Arnhem Land in Australia’s far north in the dry season. It signifies ‘ceremonial coming together’. The installation has 24 screen-printed textiles created by 15 female First Nations artists, all part of Babbara Women’s Centre (set up in 1987) based in Maningrida — a regional community in the Northern territory of Australia. They are punctuated by a few framed, wood-cut prints done in collaboration with Tharangini Studio in Bengaluru.
The earliest forms of Aboriginal art were rock carvings and paintings, body painting and ground designs. Sarah Kirlew, Australian Consul-General for South India says, “There are engravings on cave walls in Arnhem Land dating back 60,000 years. Placing the art on canvas and board began about 50 years ago. Today Aboriginal art is done in an expanding range of mediums, including, as in this exhibition, textiles.”
Most of the artworks and allied motifs share knowledge about, simply, their life: traditional bush foods, and harvest such as cheeky yam, long yam, dugong (marine mammal), barramundi (Asian sea bass) and long-necked turtles make appearances. Jessica continues, “Traditional life in saltwater and freshwater country is explored in the medium. Dilly bags and woven fish traps and other objects traditionally made by women to collect food and carry children are depicted. The stories also include creation spirits — [that appear in creation stories] such as mimihs, yawkyawk (mermaid spirits), djomi (mermaid) and other women’s creation stories specific to this region in Arnhem Land. The designs share the plants and animals unique to this region.”
Q. According to the passage, what does the term "Jarrachara" signify in Aboriginal culture?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
A gaggle of magpie geese float across a bright, almost blinding yellow fabric suspended from ceiling-high spokes, among all the neatly-stacked Kanjeevarams in Kingsley. The fabric is one of many brightly-hued pieces with abundant and unusual motifs that remain as centerpieces in the building known for its arched windows, checkered floors and colonial character. Chennai is perhaps unfamiliar with the stories behind the pieces, for they come all the way from the First Nations cultures of Australia: the first peoples of Australia, who have existed for thousands of years prior to colonisation.
The magpie geese or murnubbarr karrolka as they call it, fly long distances in the wet seasons, and are characteristic of the Kakadu and Western Arnhem Land where they are often found. For Dora Daiguma, an aboriginal artist hailing from Arnhem, they signify her land, surroundings and childhood memories. Suspended adjacently is another piece that carries an earthy red hue, dotted by amorphous, rather fibrous shapes — Bah-je by Linda Guruwana. Bah-je translates to hunting bag in Djinang, one of more than 250 indigenous languages in Australia.
The well-displayed installation titled Jarrachara is an invitation to simply absorb the stories of First Nations’ cultures as told through a medium as intimate as textile. Jarrachara is a distinctive cool wind that blows across Arnhem Land in Australia’s far north in the dry season. It signifies ‘ceremonial coming together’. The installation has 24 screen-printed textiles created by 15 female First Nations artists, all part of Babbara Women’s Centre (set up in 1987) based in Maningrida — a regional community in the Northern territory of Australia. They are punctuated by a few framed, wood-cut prints done in collaboration with Tharangini Studio in Bengaluru.
The earliest forms of Aboriginal art were rock carvings and paintings, body painting and ground designs. Sarah Kirlew, Australian Consul-General for South India says, “There are engravings on cave walls in Arnhem Land dating back 60,000 years. Placing the art on canvas and board began about 50 years ago. Today Aboriginal art is done in an expanding range of mediums, including, as in this exhibition, textiles.”
Most of the artworks and allied motifs share knowledge about, simply, their life: traditional bush foods, and harvest such as cheeky yam, long yam, dugong (marine mammal), barramundi (Asian sea bass) and long-necked turtles make appearances. Jessica continues, “Traditional life in saltwater and freshwater country is explored in the medium. Dilly bags and woven fish traps and other objects traditionally made by women to collect food and carry children are depicted. The stories also include creation spirits — [that appear in creation stories] such as mimihs, yawkyawk (mermaid spirits), djomi (mermaid) and other women’s creation stories specific to this region in Arnhem Land. The designs share the plants and animals unique to this region.”
Q. What does the expression "bright, almost blinding yellow fabric" in the passage suggest?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
A gaggle of magpie geese float across a bright, almost blinding yellow fabric suspended from ceiling-high spokes, among all the neatly-stacked Kanjeevarams in Kingsley. The fabric is one of many brightly-hued pieces with abundant and unusual motifs that remain as centerpieces in the building known for its arched windows, checkered floors and colonial character. Chennai is perhaps unfamiliar with the stories behind the pieces, for they come all the way from the First Nations cultures of Australia: the first peoples of Australia, who have existed for thousands of years prior to colonisation.
The magpie geese or murnubbarr karrolka as they call it, fly long distances in the wet seasons, and are characteristic of the Kakadu and Western Arnhem Land where they are often found. For Dora Daiguma, an aboriginal artist hailing from Arnhem, they signify her land, surroundings and childhood memories. Suspended adjacently is another piece that carries an earthy red hue, dotted by amorphous, rather fibrous shapes — Bah-je by Linda Guruwana. Bah-je translates to hunting bag in Djinang, one of more than 250 indigenous languages in Australia.
The well-displayed installation titled Jarrachara is an invitation to simply absorb the stories of First Nations’ cultures as told through a medium as intimate as textile. Jarrachara is a distinctive cool wind that blows across Arnhem Land in Australia’s far north in the dry season. It signifies ‘ceremonial coming together’. The installation has 24 screen-printed textiles created by 15 female First Nations artists, all part of Babbara Women’s Centre (set up in 1987) based in Maningrida — a regional community in the Northern territory of Australia. They are punctuated by a few framed, wood-cut prints done in collaboration with Tharangini Studio in Bengaluru.
The earliest forms of Aboriginal art were rock carvings and paintings, body painting and ground designs. Sarah Kirlew, Australian Consul-General for South India says, “There are engravings on cave walls in Arnhem Land dating back 60,000 years. Placing the art on canvas and board began about 50 years ago. Today Aboriginal art is done in an expanding range of mediums, including, as in this exhibition, textiles.”
Most of the artworks and allied motifs share knowledge about, simply, their life: traditional bush foods, and harvest such as cheeky yam, long yam, dugong (marine mammal), barramundi (Asian sea bass) and long-necked turtles make appearances. Jessica continues, “Traditional life in saltwater and freshwater country is explored in the medium. Dilly bags and woven fish traps and other objects traditionally made by women to collect food and carry children are depicted. The stories also include creation spirits — [that appear in creation stories] such as mimihs, yawkyawk (mermaid spirits), djomi (mermaid) and other women’s creation stories specific to this region in Arnhem Land. The designs share the plants and animals unique to this region.”
Q. According to the passage, what types of subjects are depicted in Aboriginal art?
Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.
A gaggle of magpie geese float across a bright, almost blinding yellow fabric suspended from ceiling-high spokes, among all the neatly-stacked Kanjeevarams in Kingsley. The fabric is one of many brightly-hued pieces with abundant and unusual motifs that remain as centerpieces in the building known for its arched windows, checkered floors and colonial character. Chennai is perhaps unfamiliar with the stories behind the pieces, for they come all the way from the First Nations cultures of Australia: the first peoples of Australia, who have existed for thousands of years prior to colonisation.
The magpie geese or murnubbarr karrolka as they call it, fly long distances in the wet seasons, and are characteristic of the Kakadu and Western Arnhem Land where they are often found. For Dora Daiguma, an aboriginal artist hailing from Arnhem, they signify her land, surroundings and childhood memories. Suspended adjacently is another piece that carries an earthy red hue, dotted by amorphous, rather fibrous shapes — Bah-je by Linda Guruwana. Bah-je translates to hunting bag in Djinang, one of more than 250 indigenous languages in Australia.
The well-displayed installation titled Jarrachara is an invitation to simply absorb the stories of First Nations’ cultures as told through a medium as intimate as textile. Jarrachara is a distinctive cool wind that blows across Arnhem Land in Australia’s far north in the dry season. It signifies ‘ceremonial coming together’. The installation has 24 screen-printed textiles created by 15 female First Nations artists, all part of Babbara Women’s Centre (set up in 1987) based in Maningrida — a regional community in the Northern territory of Australia. They are punctuated by a few framed, wood-cut prints done in collaboration with Tharangini Studio in Bengaluru.
The earliest forms of Aboriginal art were rock carvings and paintings, body painting and ground designs. Sarah Kirlew, Australian Consul-General for South India says, “There are engravings on cave walls in Arnhem Land dating back 60,000 years. Placing the art on canvas and board began about 50 years ago. Today Aboriginal art is done in an expanding range of mediums, including, as in this exhibition, textiles.”
Most of the artworks and allied motifs share knowledge about, simply, their life: traditional bush foods, and harvest such as cheeky yam, long yam, dugong (marine mammal), barramundi (Asian sea bass) and long-necked turtles make appearances. Jessica continues, “Traditional life in saltwater and freshwater country is explored in the medium. Dilly bags and woven fish traps and other objects traditionally made by women to collect food and carry children are depicted. The stories also include creation spirits — [that appear in creation stories] such as mimihs, yawkyawk (mermaid spirits), djomi (mermaid) and other women’s creation stories specific to this region in Arnhem Land. The designs share the plants and animals unique to this region.”
Q. When did the practice of placing Aboriginal art on canvas and board begin?
Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follows.
It was the biggest decision of her life, the one for which she is most remembered, but Freda Bedi didn't tell her children that she was being ordained as a Buddhist nun. There was no family council, no private conversation, not even, it seems, a letter to announce her intention.
"There was this terrible feeling of betrayal," Kabir Bedi recalls. It was 1966 and the height of the Delhi summer. Kabir was 20, a student at one of India's most prestigious university colleges, St Stephen's, and still recovering from a broken back. He understood that Buddhism loomed increasingly large in his mother's life, but hadn't been prepared for her ordination as a nun.
He was angry and said so. Why? he demanded of his mother; why now? He still remembers her response. "It is something I felt I had to do and I knew if I started discussing it with everybody, God knows what might have happened." Kabir was seven when his mother found Buddhism while on a United Nations mission to Burma (now Myanmar). He had accompanied her back there when she studied meditation, and had himself enrolled briefly as a novitiate. He had worn the robes and shaved off his hair—in much the same manner as his mother had now done. He had spent time with his mother at the camps in Assam set up for the Tibetans who fled across the mountains to escape Chinese rule—that's where she first became immersed in Tibetan belief and culture. He had taught at the Young Lamas' Home School she established. It had felt like a shared journey. Now Freda, Sister Palmo as she became known, had decided to press on alone. "I raised all the silly arguments I could think of: Your daughter's still in college, she's not married, how's she going to manage? All silly things. But basically, I was angry because I felt betrayed. There was a terrible sense of loss. It's like, you've lost your mother."
A few days after the ceremony, still at Rumtek, Freda received what was clearly an anguished letter from Kabir. Manorma Dewan was part of the extended family—her husband's flat was the venue of Kabir's meeting with his newly-robed mother—and remembers the central message of that letter: "You have become very selfish." Manorma agreed with that view. Freda replied immediately by telegram, and followed that up with a three-page handwritten missive to her 'darling son'. Kabir still has that letter. "I have been in a maze of pain, feeling your and Guli's," she wrote. "You all knew one day this step would be taken; we even joked about my losing my hair! Somehow, now had to be the time."
[Extracted with edits and revisions from The Lives Of Freda: The Political, Spiritual and Personal Journeys by Andrew Whitehead from Speaking Tiger]
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