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CAT Exam  >  CAT Questions  >  I _____________ (not see) him for three years... Start Learning for Free
I _____________ (not see) him for three years. I wonder where he is.
Correct answer is 'have not seen'. Can you explain this answer?
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Most Upvoted Answer
I _____________ (not see) him for three years. I wonder where he is.Co...
Explanation:

The correct answer to the given sentence is "have not seen" because it is in the present perfect tense, which refers to an action that started in the past and is still ongoing or has just been completed.

Here is a breakdown of the sentence and why the correct answer is "have not seen":

- "I" is the subject of the sentence, indicating that the speaker is talking about themselves.
- "not see" is the verb phrase, indicating that the speaker has not seen someone.
- "for three years" is a prepositional phrase that describes how long it has been since the speaker last saw this person.
- "have" is the auxiliary verb for the present perfect tense, indicating that the action (not seeing the person) started in the past and is still ongoing.
- "not seen" is the past participle of the verb "see," indicating that the action has not been completed.

Conclusion:

In conclusion, the correct answer to the given sentence is "have not seen" because it correctly uses the present perfect tense to indicate an action that started in the past and is still ongoing or has just been completed. The use of the auxiliary verb "have" and the past participle "not seen" indicate that the speaker has not seen this person for three years and is still waiting to see them again.
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Community Answer
I _____________ (not see) him for three years. I wonder where he is.Co...
"have not seen" is the present perfect of "to see". Present Perfect tense is used to express a past event that has present consequences. Eg- "I have finished".
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Read the following passage carefully and answer the questions given at the end.Just at that turning between Market Road and the lane leading to the chemists shop he had his establishment. If anyone doesnt like theword establishment, he is welcome to say so, because it was actually something of a vision spun out of air. At eight you would not see him, and again at ten you would see nothing, but between eight and ten he arrived, sold his goods and departed. Those who saw him remarked thus, Lucky fellow! He has hardly an hours work a day and he pockets ten rupeeswhat graduates are unable to earn! Three hundred rupees a month! He felt irritated when he heard such glib remarks and said, What these folk do not see is that I sit before the oven practically all day frying all this stuff...He got up when the cock in the next house crowed; sometimes it had a habit of waking up at three in the morning and letting out a shriek. Why has the cock lost its normal sleep? Rama wondered as he awoke, but it was a signal he could not miss. Whether it was three oclock or four, it was all the same to him. He had to get up and start his day.At about 8:15 in the evening he arrived with a load of stuff. He looked as if he had four arms, so many things he carried about him. His equipment was the big tray balanced on his head, with its assortment of edibles, a stool stuck in the crook of his arm, a lamp in another hand, a couple of portable legs for mounting his tray. He lit the lamp, a lantern which consumed six pies worth of kerosene every day, and kept it near at hand, since he did not like to depend only upon electricity, having to guard a lot of loose cash and a variety of miscellaneous articles.When he set up his tray with the little lamp illuminating his display, even a confirmed dyspeptic could not pass by without throwing a look at it. A heap of bondas, which seemed puffed and big but melted in ones mouth; dosais, white, round and limp, looking like layers of muslin; chappatis so thin that you could lift fifty of them on a little finger; ducks eggs, hard-boiled, resembling a heap of ivory balls; and perpetually boiling coffee on a stove. He had a separate aluminium pot in which he kept chutney, which went gratis with almost every item.He always arrived in time to catch the cinema crowd coming out after the evening show. A pretender to the throne, a young scraggy fellow, sat on his spot until he arrived and did business, but our friend did not let that bother him unduly. In fact, he felt generous enough to say, Let the poor rat do his business when I am not there.This sentiment was amply respected, and the pretender moved off a minute before the arrival of the prince among caterers. His customers liked him. They said in admiration,Is there another place where you can get coffee for six pies and four chappatis for an anna? They sat around his tray, taking what they wanted. A dozen hands hovered about it every minute, because his customers were entitled to pick up, examine and accept their stuff after proper scrutiny.Though so many hands were probing the lot, he knew exactly who was taking what: he knew by an extraordinary sense which of the jutka-drivers was picking up chappatis at a given moment; he could even mention his license number; he knew that the stained hand nervously coming up was that of the youngster who polished the shoes of passers-by; and he knew exactly at what hour he would see the wrestlers arm searching for the perfect ducks egg, which would be knocked against the tray corner before consumption.His custom was drawn from the population swarming the pavement: the bootpolish boys, for instance, who wandered to and fro with brush and polish in a bag, endlessly soliciting, Polish, sir, polish! Rama had a soft corner in his heart for the waifs. When he saw some fat customer haggling over the payment to one of these youngsters he felt like shouting, Give the poor fellow a little more. Dont grudge it. If you pay an anna more he can have a dosai and a chappati. As it is, the poor fellow is on half-rations and remains half- starved all day.It rent his heart to see their hungry, hollow eyes; it pained him to note the rags they wore; and it made him very unhappy to see the tremendous eagerness with which they came to him, laying aside their brown bags. But what could he do? He could not run a charity show; that was impossible. He measured out their half-glass of coffee correct to the fraction of an inch, but they could cling to the glass as long as they liked.The blind beggar, who whined for alms all day in front of the big hotel, brought him part of his collection at the end of the day and demanded refreshment.. . and the grass-selling women. He disliked serving women; their shrill, loud voices got on his nerves. These came to him after disposing of head-loads of grass satisfactorily. And that sly fellow with a limp who bought a packet ofmixed fare every evening and carried it to a man standing under a tree on the pavement opposite.All the coppers that men and women of this part of the universe earned through their miscellaneous jobs ultimately came to him at the end of the day. He put all this money into a little cloth bag dangling from his neck under his shirt, and carried it home, soon after the night show had started at the theatre.He lived in the second lane behind the market. His wife opened the door, throwing into the night air the scent of burnt oil which perpetually hung about their home. She snatched from his hands all his encumbrances, put her hand under his shirt to pull out his cloth bag and counted the cash immediately. They gloated over it. Five rupees invested in the morning has brought us another five ...They ruminated on the exquisite mystery of this multiplication. She put back into his cloth bag the capital for further investment on the morrow, and carefully separated the gains and put them away in a little wooden box that she had brought from her parents house years before.After dinner, he tucked a betel leaf and tobacco in his cheek and slept on the pyol of his house, and had dreams of traffic constables bullying him to move on and health inspectors saying that he was spreading all kinds of disease and depopulating the city. But fortunately in actual life no one bothered him very seriously. He gave an occasional packet of his stuff to the traffic constable going off duty or to the health department menial who might pass that way. The health officer no doubt came and said, You must put all this under a glass lid, otherwise I shall destroy it all someday ... Take care! But he was a kindly man who did not pursue any matter but wondered in private, How his customers survive his food, I cant understand! I suppose people build up a sort of immunity to such poisons, with all that dust blowing on it and the gutter behind ... Rama no doubt violated all the well-accepted canons of cleanliness and sanitation, but still his customers not only survived his fare but seemed actually to flourish on it, having consumed it for years without showing signs of being any the worse for it.Q.What was the health officers take on Ramas food?

Read the following passage carefully and answer the questions given at the end.Just at that turning between Market Road and the lane leading to the chemists shop he had his establishment. If anyone doesnt like theword establishment, he is welcome to say so, because it was actually something of a vision spun out of air. At eight you would not see him, and again at ten you would see nothing, but between eight and ten he arrived, sold his goods and departed. Those who saw him remarked thus, Lucky fellow! He has hardly an hours work a day and he pockets ten rupeeswhat graduates are unable to earn! Three hundred rupees a month! He felt irritated when he heard such glib remarks and said, What these folk do not see is that I sit before the oven practically all day frying all this stuff...He got up when the cock in the next house crowed; sometimes it had a habit of waking up at three in the morning and letting out a shriek. Why has the cock lost its normal sleep? Rama wondered as he awoke, but it was a signal he could not miss. Whether it was three oclock or four, it was all the same to him. He had to get up and start his day.At about 8:15 in the evening he arrived with a load of stuff. He looked as if he had four arms, so many things he carried about him. His equipment was the big tray balanced on his head, with its assortment of edibles, a stool stuck in the crook of his arm, a lamp in another hand, a couple of portable legs for mounting his tray. He lit the lamp, a lantern which consumed six pies worth of kerosene every day, and kept it near at hand, since he did not like to depend only upon electricity, having to guard a lot of loose cash and a variety of miscellaneous articles.When he set up his tray with the little lamp illuminating his display, even a confirmed dyspeptic could not pass by without throwing a look at it. A heap of bondas, which seemed puffed and big but melted in ones mouth; dosais, white, round and limp, looking like layers of muslin; chappatis so thin that you could lift fifty of them on a little finger; ducks eggs, hard-boiled, resembling a heap of ivory balls; and perpetually boiling coffee on a stove. He had a separate aluminium pot in which he kept chutney, which went gratis with almost every item.He always arrived in time to catch the cinema crowd coming out after the evening show. A pretender to the throne, a young scraggy fellow, sat on his spot until he arrived and did business, but our friend did not let that bother him unduly. In fact, he felt generous enough to say, Let the poor rat do his business when I am not there.This sentiment was amply respected, and the pretender moved off a minute before the arrival of the prince among caterers. His customers liked him. They said in admiration,Is there another place where you can get coffee for six pies and four chappatis for an anna? They sat around his tray, taking what they wanted. A dozen hands hovered about it every minute, because his customers were entitled to pick up, examine and accept their stuff after proper scrutiny.Though so many hands were probing the lot, he knew exactly who was taking what: he knew by an extraordinary sense which of the jutka-drivers was picking up chappatis at a given moment; he could even mention his license number; he knew that the stained hand nervously coming up was that of the youngster who polished the shoes of passers-by; and he knew exactly at what hour he would see the wrestlers arm searching for the perfect ducks egg, which would be knocked against the tray corner before consumption.His custom was drawn from the population swarming the pavement: the bootpolish boys, for instance, who wandered to and fro with brush and polish in a bag, endlessly soliciting, Polish, sir, polish! Rama had a soft corner in his heart for the waifs. When he saw some fat customer haggling over the payment to one of these youngsters he felt like shouting, Give the poor fellow a little more. Dont grudge it. If you pay an anna more he can have a dosai and a chappati. As it is, the poor fellow is on half-rations and remains half- starved all day.It rent his heart to see their hungry, hollow eyes; it pained him to note the rags they wore; and it made him very unhappy to see the tremendous eagerness with which they came to him, laying aside their brown bags. But what could he do? He could not run a charity show; that was impossible. He measured out their half-glass of coffee correct to the fraction of an inch, but they could cling to the glass as long as they liked.The blind beggar, who whined for alms all day in front of the big hotel, brought him part of his collection at the end of the day and demanded refreshment.. . and the grass-selling women. He disliked serving women; their shrill, loud voices got on his nerves. These came to him after disposing of head-loads of grass satisfactorily. And that sly fellow with a limp who bought a packet ofmixed fare every evening and carried it to a man standing under a tree on the pavement opposite.All the coppers that men and women of this part of the universe earned through their miscellaneous jobs ultimately came to him at the end of the day. He put all this money into a little cloth bag dangling from his neck under his shirt, and carried it home, soon after the night show had started at the theatre.He lived in the second lane behind the market. His wife opened the door, throwing into the night air the scent of burnt oil which perpetually hung about their home. She snatched from his hands all his encumbrances, put her hand under his shirt to pull out his cloth bag and counted the cash immediately. They gloated over it. Five rupees invested in the morning has brought us another five ...They ruminated on the exquisite mystery of this multiplication. She put back into his cloth bag the capital for further investment on the morrow, and carefully separated the gains and put them away in a little wooden box that she had brought from her parents house years before.After dinner, he tucked a betel leaf and tobacco in his cheek and slept on the pyol of his house, and had dreams of traffic constables bullying him to move on and health inspectors saying that he was spreading all kinds of disease and depopulating the city. But fortunately in actual life no one bothered him very seriously. He gave an occasional packet of his stuff to the traffic constable going off duty or to the health department menial who might pass that way. The health officer no doubt came and said, You must put all this under a glass lid, otherwise I shall destroy it all someday ... Take care! But he was a kindly man who did not pursue any matter but wondered in private, How his customers survive his food, I cant understand! I suppose people build up a sort of immunity to such poisons, with all that dust blowing on it and the gutter behind ... Rama no doubt violated all the well-accepted canons of cleanliness and sanitation, but still his customers not only survived his fare but seemed actually to flourish on it, having consumed it for years without showing signs of being any the worse for it.Q.Which is the odd one out

Directions: Read the following passage carefully and answer the questions given below it.When Chesterton wrote his introductions to the Everyman Edition of Dickens's works, it seemed quite natural to him to credit Dickens with his own highly individual brand of medievalism, and more recently a Marxist writer, Mr. T. A. Jackson, has made spirited efforts to turn Dickens into a blood-thirsty revolutionary. The Marxist claims him as 'almost' a Marxist, the Catholic claims him as 'almost' a Catholic, and both claim him as a champion of the proletariat (or 'the poor', as Chesterton would have put it). On the other hand, Nadezhda Krupskaya, in her little book on Lenin, relates that towards the end of his life Lenin went to see a dramatized version of The Cricket on the Hearth, and found Dickens's 'middle-class sentimentality' so intolerable that he walked out in the middle of a scene.Taking 'middle-class' to mean what Krupskaya might be expected to mean by it, this was probably a truer judgement than those of Chesterton and Jackson. But it is worth noticing that the dislike of Dickens implied in this remark is something unusual. Plenty of people have found him unreadable, but very few seem to have felt any hostility towards the general spirit of his work.Some years later Mr. Bechhofer Roberts published a full-length attack on Dickens in the form of a novel (This Side Idolatry), but it was a merely personal attack, concerned for the most part with Dickens's treatment of his wife. It dealt with incidents which not one in a thousand of Dickens's readers would ever hear about, and which no more invalidates his work than the second-best bed invalidates Hamlet. All that the book really demonstrated was that a writer's literary personality has little or nothing to do with his private character. It is quite possible that in private life Dickens was just the kind of insensitive egoist that Mr. Bechhofer Roberts makes him appear. But in his published work there is implied a personality quite different from this, a personality which has won him far more friends than enemies.In Oliver Twist, Hard Times, Bleak House, Little Dorrit, Dickens attacked English institutions with a ferocity that has never since been approached. Yet he managed to do it without making himself hated, and, more than this, the very people he attacked have swallowed him so completely that he has become a national institution himself. In its attitude towards Dickens the English public has always been a little like the elephant which feels a blow with a walking-stick as a delightful tickling.Before I was ten years old I was having Dickens ladled down my throat by schoolmasters in whom even at that age I could see a strong resemblance to Mr. Creakle, and one knows without needing to be told that lawyers delight in Sergeant Buzfuz and that Little Dorrit is a favourite in the Home Office. Dickens seems to have succeeded in attacking everybody and antagonizing nobody. Naturally this makes one wonder whether after all there was something unreal in his attack upon society. Where exactly does he stand, socially, morally, and politically? As usual, one can define his position more easily if one starts by deciding what he was not.It can be inferred from the passage that the author

Directions: Read the following passage carefully and answer the questions given below it.When Chesterton wrote his introductions to the Everyman Edition of Dickens's works, it seemed quite natural to him to credit Dickens with his own highly individual brand of medievalism, and more recently a Marxist writer, Mr. T. A. Jackson, has made spirited efforts to turn Dickens into a blood-thirsty revolutionary. The Marxist claims him as 'almost' a Marxist, the Catholic claims him as 'almost' a Catholic, and both claim him as a champion of the proletariat (or 'the poor', as Chesterton would have put it). On the other hand, Nadezhda Krupskaya, in her little book on Lenin, relates that towards the end of his life Lenin went to see a dramatized version of The Cricket on the Hearth, and found Dickens's 'middle-class sentimentality' so intolerable that he walked out in the middle of a scene.Taking 'middle-class' to mean what Krupskaya might be expected to mean by it, this was probably a truer judgement than those of Chesterton and Jackson. But it is worth noticing that the dislike of Dickens implied in this remark is something unusual. Plenty of people have found him unreadable, but very few seem to have felt any hostility towards the general spirit of his work.Some years later Mr. Bechhofer Roberts published a full-length attack on Dickens in the form of a novel (This Side Idolatry), but it was a merely personal attack, concerned for the most part with Dickens's treatment of his wife. It dealt with incidents which not one in a thousand of Dickens's readers would ever hear about, and which no more invalidates his work than the second-best bed invalidates Hamlet. All that the book really demonstrated was that a writer's literary personality has little or nothing to do with his private character. It is quite possible that in private life Dickens was just the kind of insensitive egoist that Mr. Bechhofer Roberts makes him appear. But in his published work there is implied a personality quite different from this, a personality which has won him far more friends than enemies.In Oliver Twist, Hard Times, Bleak House, Little Dorrit, Dickens attacked English institutions with a ferocity that has never since been approached. Yet he managed to do it without making himself hated, and, more than this, the very people he attacked have swallowed him so completely that he has become a national institution himself. In its attitude towards Dickens the English public has always been a little like the elephant which feels a blow with a walking-stick as a delightful tickling.Before I was ten years old I was having Dickens ladled down my throat by schoolmasters in whom even at that age I could see a strong resemblance to Mr. Creakle, and one knows without needing to be told that lawyers delight in Sergeant Buzfuz and that Little Dorrit is a favourite in the Home Office. Dickens seems to have succeeded in attacking everybody and antagonizing nobody. Naturally this makes one wonder whether after all there was something unreal in his attack upon society. Where exactly does he stand, socially, morally, and politically? As usual, one can define his position more easily if one starts by deciding what he was not.The primary purpose of the third paragraph is

Read the following passage carefully and answer the questions given at the end.Just at that turning between Market Road and the lane leading to the chemists shop he had his establishment. If anyone doesnt like theword establishment, he is welcome to say so, because it was actually something of a vision spun out of air. At eight you would not see him, and again at ten you would see nothing, but between eight and ten he arrived, sold his goods and departed. Those who saw him remarked thus, Lucky fellow! He has hardly an hours work a day and he pockets ten rupeeswhat graduates are unable to earn! Three hundred rupees a month! He felt irritated when he heard such glib remarks and said, What these folk do not see is that I sit before the oven practically all day frying all this stuff...He got up when the cock in the next house crowed; sometimes it had a habit of waking up at three in the morning and letting out a shriek. Why has the cock lost its normal sleep? Rama wondered as he awoke, but it was a signal he could not miss. Whether it was three oclock or four, it was all the same to him. He had to get up and start his day.At about 8:15 in the evening he arrived with a load of stuff. He looked as if he had four arms, so many things he carried about him. His equipment was the big tray balanced on his head, with its assortment of edibles, a stool stuck in the crook of his arm, a lamp in another hand, a couple of portable legs for mounting his tray. He lit the lamp, a lantern which consumed six pies worth of kerosene every day, and kept it near at hand, since he did not like to depend only upon electricity, having to guard a lot of loose cash and a variety of miscellaneous articles.When he set up his tray with the little lamp illuminating his display, even a confirmed dyspeptic could not pass by without throwing a look at it. A heap of bondas, which seemed puffed and big but melted in ones mouth; dosais, white, round and limp, looking like layers of muslin; chappatis so thin that you could lift fifty of them on a little finger; ducks eggs, hard-boiled, resembling a heap of ivory balls; and perpetually boiling coffee on a stove. He had a separate aluminium pot in which he kept chutney, which went gratis with almost every item.He always arrived in time to catch the cinema crowd coming out after the evening show. A pretender to the throne, a young scraggy fellow, sat on his spot until he arrived and did business, but our friend did not let that bother him unduly. In fact, he felt generous enough to say, Let the poor rat do his business when I am not there.This sentiment was amply respected, and the pretender moved off a minute before the arrival of the prince among caterers. His customers liked him. They said in admiration,Is there another place where you can get coffee for six pies and four chappatis for an anna? They sat around his tray, taking what they wanted. A dozen hands hovered about it every minute, because his customers were entitled to pick up, examine and accept their stuff after proper scrutiny.Though so many hands were probing the lot, he knew exactly who was taking what: he knew by an extraordinary sense which of the jutka-drivers was picking up chappatis at a given moment; he could even mention his license number; he knew that the stained hand nervously coming up was that of the youngster who polished the shoes of passers-by; and he knew exactly at what hour he would see the wrestlers arm searching for the perfect ducks egg, which would be knocked against the tray corner before consumption.His custom was drawn from the population swarming the pavement: the bootpolish boys, for instance, who wandered to and fro with brush and polish in a bag, endlessly soliciting, Polish, sir, polish! Rama had a soft corner in his heart for the waifs. When he saw some fat customer haggling over the payment to one of these youngsters he felt like shouting, Give the poor fellow a little more. Dont grudge it. If you pay an anna more he can have a dosai and a chappati. As it is, the poor fellow is on half-rations and remains half- starved all day.It rent his heart to see their hungry, hollow eyes; it pained him to note the rags they wore; and it made him very unhappy to see the tremendous eagerness with which they came to him, laying aside their brown bags. But what could he do? He could not run a charity show; that was impossible. He measured out their half-glass of coffee correct to the fraction of an inch, but they could cling to the glass as long as they liked.The blind beggar, who whined for alms all day in front of the big hotel, brought him part of his collection at the end of the day and demanded refreshment.. . and the grass-selling women. He disliked serving women; their shrill, loud voices got on his nerves. These came to him after disposing of head-loads of grass satisfactorily. And that sly fellow with a limp who bought a packet ofmixed fare every evening and carried it to a man standing under a tree on the pavement opposite.All the coppers that men and women of this part of the universe earned through their miscellaneous jobs ultimately came to him at the end of the day. He put all this money into a little cloth bag dangling from his neck under his shirt, and carried it home, soon after the night show had started at the theatre.He lived in the second lane behind the market. His wife opened the door, throwing into the night air the scent of burnt oil which perpetually hung about their home. She snatched from his hands all his encumbrances, put her hand under his shirt to pull out his cloth bag and counted the cash immediately. They gloated over it. Five rupees invested in the morning has brought us another five ...They ruminated on the exquisite mystery of this multiplication. She put back into his cloth bag the capital for further investment on the morrow, and carefully separated the gains and put them away in a little wooden box that she had brought from her parents house years before.After dinner, he tucked a betel leaf and tobacco in his cheek and slept on the pyol of his house, and had dreams of traffic constables bullying him to move on and health inspectors saying that he was spreading all kinds of disease and depopulating the city. But fortunately in actual life no one bothered him very seriously. He gave an occasional packet of his stuff to the traffic constable going off duty or to the health department menial who might pass that way. The health officer no doubt came and said, You must put all this under a glass lid, otherwise I shall destroy it all someday ... Take care! But he was a kindly man who did not pursue any matter but wondered in private, How his customers survive his food, I cant understand! I suppose people build up a sort of immunity to such poisons, with all that dust blowing on it and the gutter behind ... Rama no doubt violated all the well-accepted canons of cleanliness and sanitation, but still his customers not only survived his fare but seemed actually to flourish on it, having consumed it for years without showing signs of being any the worse for it.Q.Ramas shop cannot be associated with the word establishment because

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I _____________ (not see) him for three years. I wonder where he is.Correct answer is 'have not seen'. Can you explain this answer?
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I _____________ (not see) him for three years. I wonder where he is.Correct answer is 'have not seen'. Can you explain this answer? for CAT 2025 is part of CAT preparation. The Question and answers have been prepared according to the CAT exam syllabus. Information about I _____________ (not see) him for three years. I wonder where he is.Correct answer is 'have not seen'. Can you explain this answer? covers all topics & solutions for CAT 2025 Exam. Find important definitions, questions, meanings, examples, exercises and tests below for I _____________ (not see) him for three years. I wonder where he is.Correct answer is 'have not seen'. Can you explain this answer?.
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