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Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follows.
To see the possibility, the certainty, of ruin, even at the moment of creation: it was my temperament. Those nerves had been given to me as a child in Trinidad partly by our family circumstances: the half-ruined or broken-down houses we lived in, our many moves, our general uncertainty. Possibly, too, this mode of feeling went deeper, and was an ancestral inheritance, something that came with the history that had made me: not only India, with its ideas of a world outside men's control, but also the colonial plantations or estates of Trinidad, to which my impoverished Indian ancestors had been transported in the last century – estates of which this Wiltshire estate, where I now lived, had been the apotheosis.
Fifty years ago there would have been no room for me on the estate; even now my presence was a little unlikely. But more than accident had brought me here. Or rather, in the series of accidents that had brought me to the manor cottage, with a view of the restored church, there was a clear historical line. The migration, within the British Empire, from India to Trinidad had given me the English language as my own, and a particular kind of education. This had partly seeded my wish to be a writer which I had been doing in England for twenty years.
The history I carried with me, together with the self-awareness that had come with my education and ambition, had sent me into the world with a sense of glory dead; and in England had given me the rawest stranger's nerves. Now ironically – or aptly – living in the grounds of this shrunken estate, going out for my walks, those nerves were soothed, and in the wild garden and orchard beside the water meadows I found a physical beauty perfectly suited to my temperament and answering, besides, every good idea I could have had, as a child in Trinidad, of the physical aspect of England.
The estate had been enormous, I was told. It had been created in part by the wealth of empire. But then bit by bit it had been alienated. The family in its many branches flourished in other places. Here in the valley there now lived only my landlord, elderly, a bachelor, with people to look after him. Certain physical disabilities had now been added to the malaise which had befallen him years before, a malaise of which I had no precise knowledge, but interpreted as something like acedia, a deep disregard for himself and everything around him – which was how his great security, his excessive worldly blessings, had taken him. The acedia had turned him into a recluse, accessible only to his intimate friends.
[Extracted with edits and revisions from The Enigma of Arrival (New York: Vintage Books, 1988)]
Q. Which of the following CANNOT be inferred from the passage?
  • a)
    The author's ancestral history included Indian ancestors transported to Trinidad.
  • b)
    The author had a difficult childhood marked by uncertain circumstances.
  • c)
    The author's presence on the estate was purely accidental.
  • d)
    The author's education and ambition influenced their perception of the world.
Correct answer is option 'C'. Can you explain this answer?
Most Upvoted Answer
Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follow...
The passage does not explicitly state that the author's presence on the estate was purely accidental. Instead, it suggests that a series of events and circumstances led the author to the estate, indicating a deliberate path rather than randomness. However, the passage does provide information about the author's ancestral history in Trinidad, their challenging childhood marked by uncertainty, and the influence of education and ambition on their perception of the world. These details can be inferred from the passage, making option (c) the one that cannot be inferred.
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Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follows.To see the possibility, the certainty, of ruin, even at the moment of creation: it was my temperament. Those nerves had been given to me as a child in Trinidad partly by our family circumstances: the half-ruined or broken-down houses we lived in, our many moves, our general uncertainty. Possibly, too, this mode of feeling went deeper, and was an ancestral inheritance, something that came with the history that had made me: not only India, with its ideas of a world outside mens control, but also the colonial plantations or estates of Trinidad, to which my impoverished Indian ancestors had been transported in the last century – estates of which this Wiltshire estate, where I now lived, had been the apotheosis.Fifty years ago there would have been no room for me on the estate; even now my presence was a little unlikely. But more than accident had brought me here. Or rather, in the series of accidents that had brought me to the manor cottage, with a view of the restored church, there was a clear historical line. The migration, within the British Empire, from India to Trinidad had given me the English language as my own, and a particular kind of education. This had partly seeded my wish to be a writer which I had been doing in England for twenty years.The history I carried with me, together with the self-awareness that had come with my education and ambition, had sent me into the world with a sense of glory dead; and in England had given me the rawest strangers nerves. Now ironically – or aptly – living in the grounds of this shrunken estate, going out for my walks, those nerves were soothed, and in the wild garden and orchard beside the water meadows I found a physical beauty perfectly suited to my temperament and answering, besides, every good idea I could have had, as a child in Trinidad, of the physical aspect of England.The estate had been enormous, I was told. It had been created in part by the wealth of empire. But then bit by bit it had been alienated. The family in its many branches flourished in other places. Here in the valley there now lived only my landlord, elderly, a bachelor, with people to look after him. Certain physical disabilities had now been added to the malaise which had befallen him years before, a malaise of which I had no precise knowledge, but interpreted as something like acedia, a deep disregard for himself and everything around him – which was how his great security, his excessive worldly blessings, had taken him. The acedia had turned him into a recluse, accessible only to his intimate friends.[Extracted with edits and revisions from The Enigma of Arrival (New York: Vintage Books, 1988)]Q.What is the significance of the author living on the estate in Wiltshire?

Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follows.To see the possibility, the certainty, of ruin, even at the moment of creation: it was my temperament. Those nerves had been given to me as a child in Trinidad partly by our family circumstances: the half-ruined or broken-down houses we lived in, our many moves, our general uncertainty. Possibly, too, this mode of feeling went deeper, and was an ancestral inheritance, something that came with the history that had made me: not only India, with its ideas of a world outside mens control, but also the colonial plantations or estates of Trinidad, to which my impoverished Indian ancestors had been transported in the last century – estates of which this Wiltshire estate, where I now lived, had been the apotheosis.Fifty years ago there would have been no room for me on the estate; even now my presence was a little unlikely. But more than accident had brought me here. Or rather, in the series of accidents that had brought me to the manor cottage, with a view of the restored church, there was a clear historical line. The migration, within the British Empire, from India to Trinidad had given me the English language as my own, and a particular kind of education. This had partly seeded my wish to be a writer which I had been doing in England for twenty years.The history I carried with me, together with the self-awareness that had come with my education and ambition, had sent me into the world with a sense of glory dead; and in England had given me the rawest strangers nerves. Now ironically – or aptly – living in the grounds of this shrunken estate, going out for my walks, those nerves were soothed, and in the wild garden and orchard beside the water meadows I found a physical beauty perfectly suited to my temperament and answering, besides, every good idea I could have had, as a child in Trinidad, of the physical aspect of England.The estate had been enormous, I was told. It had been created in part by the wealth of empire. But then bit by bit it had been alienated. The family in its many branches flourished in other places. Here in the valley there now lived only my landlord, elderly, a bachelor, with people to look after him. Certain physical disabilities had now been added to the malaise which had befallen him years before, a malaise of which I had no precise knowledge, but interpreted as something like acedia, a deep disregard for himself and everything around him – which was how his great security, his excessive worldly blessings, had taken him. The acedia had turned him into a recluse, accessible only to his intimate friends.[Extracted with edits and revisions from The Enigma of Arrival (New York: Vintage Books, 1988)]Q.Why does the author mention the migration from India to Trinidad?

Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follows.To see the possibility, the certainty, of ruin, even at the moment of creation: it was my temperament. Those nerves had been given to me as a child in Trinidad partly by our family circumstances: the half-ruined or broken-down houses we lived in, our many moves, our general uncertainty. Possibly, too, this mode of feeling went deeper, and was an ancestral inheritance, something that came with the history that had made me: not only India, with its ideas of a world outside mens control, but also the colonial plantations or estates of Trinidad, to which my impoverished Indian ancestors had been transported in the last century – estates of which this Wiltshire estate, where I now lived, had been the apotheosis.Fifty years ago there would have been no room for me on the estate; even now my presence was a little unlikely. But more than accident had brought me here. Or rather, in the series of accidents that had brought me to the manor cottage, with a view of the restored church, there was a clear historical line. The migration, within the British Empire, from India to Trinidad had given me the English language as my own, and a particular kind of education. This had partly seeded my wish to be a writer which I had been doing in England for twenty years.The history I carried with me, together with the self-awareness that had come with my education and ambition, had sent me into the world with a sense of glory dead; and in England had given me the rawest strangers nerves. Now ironically – or aptly – living in the grounds of this shrunken estate, going out for my walks, those nerves were soothed, and in the wild garden and orchard beside the water meadows I found a physical beauty perfectly suited to my temperament and answering, besides, every good idea I could have had, as a child in Trinidad, of the physical aspect of England.The estate had been enormous, I was told. It had been created in part by the wealth of empire. But then bit by bit it had been alienated. The family in its many branches flourished in other places. Here in the valley there now lived only my landlord, elderly, a bachelor, with people to look after him. Certain physical disabilities had now been added to the malaise which had befallen him years before, a malaise of which I had no precise knowledge, but interpreted as something like acedia, a deep disregard for himself and everything around him – which was how his great security, his excessive worldly blessings, had taken him. The acedia had turned him into a recluse, accessible only to his intimate friends.[Extracted with edits and revisions from The Enigma of Arrival (New York: Vintage Books, 1988)]Q.What influenced the authors temperament and sense of uncertainty in life?

Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follows.To see the possibility, the certainty, of ruin, even at the moment of creation: it was my temperament. Those nerves had been given to me as a child in Trinidad partly by our family circumstances: the half-ruined or broken-down houses we lived in, our many moves, our general uncertainty. Possibly, too, this mode of feeling went deeper, and was an ancestral inheritance, something that came with the history that had made me: not only India, with its ideas of a world outside mens control, but also the colonial plantations or estates of Trinidad, to which my impoverished Indian ancestors had been transported in the last century – estates of which this Wiltshire estate, where I now lived, had been the apotheosis.Fifty years ago there would have been no room for me on the estate; even now my presence was a little unlikely. But more than accident had brought me here. Or rather, in the series of accidents that had brought me to the manor cottage, with a view of the restored church, there was a clear historical line. The migration, within the British Empire, from India to Trinidad had given me the English language as my own, and a particular kind of education. This had partly seeded my wish to be a writer which I had been doing in England for twenty years.The history I carried with me, together with the self-awareness that had come with my education and ambition, had sent me into the world with a sense of glory dead; and in England had given me the rawest strangers nerves. Now ironically – or aptly – living in the grounds of this shrunken estate, going out for my walks, those nerves were soothed, and in the wild garden and orchard beside the water meadows I found a physical beauty perfectly suited to my temperament and answering, besides, every good idea I could have had, as a child in Trinidad, of the physical aspect of England.The estate had been enormous, I was told. It had been created in part by the wealth of empire. But then bit by bit it had been alienated. The family in its many branches flourished in other places. Here in the valley there now lived only my landlord, elderly, a bachelor, with people to look after him. Certain physical disabilities had now been added to the malaise which had befallen him years before, a malaise of which I had no precise knowledge, but interpreted as something like acedia, a deep disregard for himself and everything around him – which was how his great security, his excessive worldly blessings, had taken him. The acedia had turned him into a recluse, accessible only to his intimate friends.[Extracted with edits and revisions from The Enigma of Arrival (New York: Vintage Books, 1988)]Q.What is the meaning of the term acedia as it is employed in the passage?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows.Sir William Anson defines wager as a promise to give money or moneys worth upon the determination or ascertainment of an uncertain event. The word wager means a bet something stated to be lost or won on the result of an uncertain issue; hence, wagering agreements are ordinary betting agreements. The Indian Contract Act, 1872 does not define wager or a wagering agreement. It only states that agreements by way of the wager will be void and no action can lie to contracting parties to recover anything or claim performance of the wagering agreements. A wagering agreement has the characteristic of a contingent contract but is not enforceable by Section 30. A wagering agreement depends upon an uncertain event. The parties to the agreement have uncertainty in the minds about the determination of the event in one way or another. A wager may be based on a future event or even relate to a past event and the parties are not aware of the outcome of its happening. In a wagering agreement, two parties must have mutual chances of gain and loss, i.e. one party will win and the other will lose depending on the outcome of the event. Each party should stand to win or lose upon the determination of the contemplated event in reference to which the chance or risk is taken. It is not a wager where one party may win but cannot lose, or it may lose but cannot win, or if it can neither win nor lose. If one of the parties has the event in his own hands, the transaction lacks an essential ingredient of a wager. Neither party should have any interest in happening or non-happening of the event other than the sum he will win or lose. If either party has some other interest other than the sum he will win or lose, it will not be a wager. The parties to the contract should not have any control over the happening of the event one way or the other. The wagering agreement must contain a promise to pay money or moneys worth. Insurance contracts are contracts of indemnity. They are entered into, to safeguard the interest of one party to the contract. In this contract, the insured has insurable interest in the property or life. Hence, it is not a wager. Skill competitions are not said to be wagers since the winning of such events requires a substantial amount of skill and is not dependent on the probability of an uncertain event.(Extracted with edits and revisions from Agreements by way of wager from lawtimesjournal)Q. St. Martins College and St. Jones College were scheduled to play in an intercollegiate football game in Indore. Jo pledges to pay Rs. 5,000 if St. Martins wins the match, while Nia will pay Jo Rs. 5,000 if St. Jones triumphs. Decide.

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Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follows.To see the possibility, the certainty, of ruin, even at the moment of creation: it was my temperament. Those nerves had been given to me as a child in Trinidad partly by our family circumstances: the half-ruined or broken-down houses we lived in, our many moves, our general uncertainty. Possibly, too, this mode of feeling went deeper, and was an ancestral inheritance, something that came with the history that had made me: not only India, with its ideas of a world outside mens control, but also the colonial plantations or estates of Trinidad, to which my impoverished Indian ancestors had been transported in the last century – estates of which this Wiltshire estate, where I now lived, had been the apotheosis.Fifty years ago there would have been no room for me on the estate; even now my presence was a little unlikely. But more than accident had brought me here. Or rather, in the series of accidents that had brought me to the manor cottage, with a view of the restored church, there was a clear historical line. The migration, within the British Empire, from India to Trinidad had given me the English language as my own, and a particular kind of education. This had partly seeded my wish to be a writer which I had been doing in England for twenty years.The history I carried with me, together with the self-awareness that had come with my education and ambition, had sent me into the world with a sense of glory dead; and in England had given me the rawest strangers nerves. Now ironically – or aptly – living in the grounds of this shrunken estate, going out for my walks, those nerves were soothed, and in the wild garden and orchard beside the water meadows I found a physical beauty perfectly suited to my temperament and answering, besides, every good idea I could have had, as a child in Trinidad, of the physical aspect of England.The estate had been enormous, I was told. It had been created in part by the wealth of empire. But then bit by bit it had been alienated. The family in its many branches flourished in other places. Here in the valley there now lived only my landlord, elderly, a bachelor, with people to look after him. Certain physical disabilities had now been added to the malaise which had befallen him years before, a malaise of which I had no precise knowledge, but interpreted as something like acedia, a deep disregard for himself and everything around him – which was how his great security, his excessive worldly blessings, had taken him. The acedia had turned him into a recluse, accessible only to his intimate friends.[Extracted with edits and revisions from The Enigma of Arrival (New York: Vintage Books, 1988)]Q.Which of the following CANNOT be inferred from the passage?a)The authors ancestral history included Indian ancestors transported to Trinidad.b)The author had a difficult childhood marked by uncertain circumstances.c)The authors presence on the estate was purely accidental.d)The authors education and ambition influenced their perception of the world.Correct answer is option 'C'. Can you explain this answer?
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Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follows.To see the possibility, the certainty, of ruin, even at the moment of creation: it was my temperament. Those nerves had been given to me as a child in Trinidad partly by our family circumstances: the half-ruined or broken-down houses we lived in, our many moves, our general uncertainty. Possibly, too, this mode of feeling went deeper, and was an ancestral inheritance, something that came with the history that had made me: not only India, with its ideas of a world outside mens control, but also the colonial plantations or estates of Trinidad, to which my impoverished Indian ancestors had been transported in the last century – estates of which this Wiltshire estate, where I now lived, had been the apotheosis.Fifty years ago there would have been no room for me on the estate; even now my presence was a little unlikely. But more than accident had brought me here. Or rather, in the series of accidents that had brought me to the manor cottage, with a view of the restored church, there was a clear historical line. The migration, within the British Empire, from India to Trinidad had given me the English language as my own, and a particular kind of education. This had partly seeded my wish to be a writer which I had been doing in England for twenty years.The history I carried with me, together with the self-awareness that had come with my education and ambition, had sent me into the world with a sense of glory dead; and in England had given me the rawest strangers nerves. Now ironically – or aptly – living in the grounds of this shrunken estate, going out for my walks, those nerves were soothed, and in the wild garden and orchard beside the water meadows I found a physical beauty perfectly suited to my temperament and answering, besides, every good idea I could have had, as a child in Trinidad, of the physical aspect of England.The estate had been enormous, I was told. It had been created in part by the wealth of empire. But then bit by bit it had been alienated. The family in its many branches flourished in other places. Here in the valley there now lived only my landlord, elderly, a bachelor, with people to look after him. Certain physical disabilities had now been added to the malaise which had befallen him years before, a malaise of which I had no precise knowledge, but interpreted as something like acedia, a deep disregard for himself and everything around him – which was how his great security, his excessive worldly blessings, had taken him. The acedia had turned him into a recluse, accessible only to his intimate friends.[Extracted with edits and revisions from The Enigma of Arrival (New York: Vintage Books, 1988)]Q.Which of the following CANNOT be inferred from the passage?a)The authors ancestral history included Indian ancestors transported to Trinidad.b)The author had a difficult childhood marked by uncertain circumstances.c)The authors presence on the estate was purely accidental.d)The authors education and ambition influenced their perception of the world.Correct answer is option 'C'. Can you explain this answer? for CLAT 2025 is part of CLAT preparation. The Question and answers have been prepared according to the CLAT exam syllabus. Information about Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follows.To see the possibility, the certainty, of ruin, even at the moment of creation: it was my temperament. Those nerves had been given to me as a child in Trinidad partly by our family circumstances: the half-ruined or broken-down houses we lived in, our many moves, our general uncertainty. Possibly, too, this mode of feeling went deeper, and was an ancestral inheritance, something that came with the history that had made me: not only India, with its ideas of a world outside mens control, but also the colonial plantations or estates of Trinidad, to which my impoverished Indian ancestors had been transported in the last century – estates of which this Wiltshire estate, where I now lived, had been the apotheosis.Fifty years ago there would have been no room for me on the estate; even now my presence was a little unlikely. But more than accident had brought me here. Or rather, in the series of accidents that had brought me to the manor cottage, with a view of the restored church, there was a clear historical line. The migration, within the British Empire, from India to Trinidad had given me the English language as my own, and a particular kind of education. This had partly seeded my wish to be a writer which I had been doing in England for twenty years.The history I carried with me, together with the self-awareness that had come with my education and ambition, had sent me into the world with a sense of glory dead; and in England had given me the rawest strangers nerves. Now ironically – or aptly – living in the grounds of this shrunken estate, going out for my walks, those nerves were soothed, and in the wild garden and orchard beside the water meadows I found a physical beauty perfectly suited to my temperament and answering, besides, every good idea I could have had, as a child in Trinidad, of the physical aspect of England.The estate had been enormous, I was told. It had been created in part by the wealth of empire. But then bit by bit it had been alienated. The family in its many branches flourished in other places. Here in the valley there now lived only my landlord, elderly, a bachelor, with people to look after him. Certain physical disabilities had now been added to the malaise which had befallen him years before, a malaise of which I had no precise knowledge, but interpreted as something like acedia, a deep disregard for himself and everything around him – which was how his great security, his excessive worldly blessings, had taken him. The acedia had turned him into a recluse, accessible only to his intimate friends.[Extracted with edits and revisions from The Enigma of Arrival (New York: Vintage Books, 1988)]Q.Which of the following CANNOT be inferred from the passage?a)The authors ancestral history included Indian ancestors transported to Trinidad.b)The author had a difficult childhood marked by uncertain circumstances.c)The authors presence on the estate was purely accidental.d)The authors education and ambition influenced their perception of the world.Correct answer is option 'C'. Can you explain this answer? covers all topics & solutions for CLAT 2025 Exam. Find important definitions, questions, meanings, examples, exercises and tests below for Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follows.To see the possibility, the certainty, of ruin, even at the moment of creation: it was my temperament. Those nerves had been given to me as a child in Trinidad partly by our family circumstances: the half-ruined or broken-down houses we lived in, our many moves, our general uncertainty. Possibly, too, this mode of feeling went deeper, and was an ancestral inheritance, something that came with the history that had made me: not only India, with its ideas of a world outside mens control, but also the colonial plantations or estates of Trinidad, to which my impoverished Indian ancestors had been transported in the last century – estates of which this Wiltshire estate, where I now lived, had been the apotheosis.Fifty years ago there would have been no room for me on the estate; even now my presence was a little unlikely. But more than accident had brought me here. Or rather, in the series of accidents that had brought me to the manor cottage, with a view of the restored church, there was a clear historical line. The migration, within the British Empire, from India to Trinidad had given me the English language as my own, and a particular kind of education. This had partly seeded my wish to be a writer which I had been doing in England for twenty years.The history I carried with me, together with the self-awareness that had come with my education and ambition, had sent me into the world with a sense of glory dead; and in England had given me the rawest strangers nerves. Now ironically – or aptly – living in the grounds of this shrunken estate, going out for my walks, those nerves were soothed, and in the wild garden and orchard beside the water meadows I found a physical beauty perfectly suited to my temperament and answering, besides, every good idea I could have had, as a child in Trinidad, of the physical aspect of England.The estate had been enormous, I was told. It had been created in part by the wealth of empire. But then bit by bit it had been alienated. The family in its many branches flourished in other places. Here in the valley there now lived only my landlord, elderly, a bachelor, with people to look after him. Certain physical disabilities had now been added to the malaise which had befallen him years before, a malaise of which I had no precise knowledge, but interpreted as something like acedia, a deep disregard for himself and everything around him – which was how his great security, his excessive worldly blessings, had taken him. The acedia had turned him into a recluse, accessible only to his intimate friends.[Extracted with edits and revisions from The Enigma of Arrival (New York: Vintage Books, 1988)]Q.Which of the following CANNOT be inferred from the passage?a)The authors ancestral history included Indian ancestors transported to Trinidad.b)The author had a difficult childhood marked by uncertain circumstances.c)The authors presence on the estate was purely accidental.d)The authors education and ambition influenced their perception of the world.Correct answer is option 'C'. Can you explain this answer?.
Solutions for Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follows.To see the possibility, the certainty, of ruin, even at the moment of creation: it was my temperament. Those nerves had been given to me as a child in Trinidad partly by our family circumstances: the half-ruined or broken-down houses we lived in, our many moves, our general uncertainty. Possibly, too, this mode of feeling went deeper, and was an ancestral inheritance, something that came with the history that had made me: not only India, with its ideas of a world outside mens control, but also the colonial plantations or estates of Trinidad, to which my impoverished Indian ancestors had been transported in the last century – estates of which this Wiltshire estate, where I now lived, had been the apotheosis.Fifty years ago there would have been no room for me on the estate; even now my presence was a little unlikely. But more than accident had brought me here. Or rather, in the series of accidents that had brought me to the manor cottage, with a view of the restored church, there was a clear historical line. The migration, within the British Empire, from India to Trinidad had given me the English language as my own, and a particular kind of education. This had partly seeded my wish to be a writer which I had been doing in England for twenty years.The history I carried with me, together with the self-awareness that had come with my education and ambition, had sent me into the world with a sense of glory dead; and in England had given me the rawest strangers nerves. Now ironically – or aptly – living in the grounds of this shrunken estate, going out for my walks, those nerves were soothed, and in the wild garden and orchard beside the water meadows I found a physical beauty perfectly suited to my temperament and answering, besides, every good idea I could have had, as a child in Trinidad, of the physical aspect of England.The estate had been enormous, I was told. It had been created in part by the wealth of empire. But then bit by bit it had been alienated. The family in its many branches flourished in other places. Here in the valley there now lived only my landlord, elderly, a bachelor, with people to look after him. Certain physical disabilities had now been added to the malaise which had befallen him years before, a malaise of which I had no precise knowledge, but interpreted as something like acedia, a deep disregard for himself and everything around him – which was how his great security, his excessive worldly blessings, had taken him. The acedia had turned him into a recluse, accessible only to his intimate friends.[Extracted with edits and revisions from The Enigma of Arrival (New York: Vintage Books, 1988)]Q.Which of the following CANNOT be inferred from the passage?a)The authors ancestral history included Indian ancestors transported to Trinidad.b)The author had a difficult childhood marked by uncertain circumstances.c)The authors presence on the estate was purely accidental.d)The authors education and ambition influenced their perception of the world.Correct answer is option 'C'. Can you explain this answer? in English & in Hindi are available as part of our courses for CLAT. Download more important topics, notes, lectures and mock test series for CLAT Exam by signing up for free.
Here you can find the meaning of Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follows.To see the possibility, the certainty, of ruin, even at the moment of creation: it was my temperament. Those nerves had been given to me as a child in Trinidad partly by our family circumstances: the half-ruined or broken-down houses we lived in, our many moves, our general uncertainty. Possibly, too, this mode of feeling went deeper, and was an ancestral inheritance, something that came with the history that had made me: not only India, with its ideas of a world outside mens control, but also the colonial plantations or estates of Trinidad, to which my impoverished Indian ancestors had been transported in the last century – estates of which this Wiltshire estate, where I now lived, had been the apotheosis.Fifty years ago there would have been no room for me on the estate; even now my presence was a little unlikely. But more than accident had brought me here. Or rather, in the series of accidents that had brought me to the manor cottage, with a view of the restored church, there was a clear historical line. The migration, within the British Empire, from India to Trinidad had given me the English language as my own, and a particular kind of education. This had partly seeded my wish to be a writer which I had been doing in England for twenty years.The history I carried with me, together with the self-awareness that had come with my education and ambition, had sent me into the world with a sense of glory dead; and in England had given me the rawest strangers nerves. Now ironically – or aptly – living in the grounds of this shrunken estate, going out for my walks, those nerves were soothed, and in the wild garden and orchard beside the water meadows I found a physical beauty perfectly suited to my temperament and answering, besides, every good idea I could have had, as a child in Trinidad, of the physical aspect of England.The estate had been enormous, I was told. It had been created in part by the wealth of empire. But then bit by bit it had been alienated. The family in its many branches flourished in other places. Here in the valley there now lived only my landlord, elderly, a bachelor, with people to look after him. Certain physical disabilities had now been added to the malaise which had befallen him years before, a malaise of which I had no precise knowledge, but interpreted as something like acedia, a deep disregard for himself and everything around him – which was how his great security, his excessive worldly blessings, had taken him. The acedia had turned him into a recluse, accessible only to his intimate friends.[Extracted with edits and revisions from The Enigma of Arrival (New York: Vintage Books, 1988)]Q.Which of the following CANNOT be inferred from the passage?a)The authors ancestral history included Indian ancestors transported to Trinidad.b)The author had a difficult childhood marked by uncertain circumstances.c)The authors presence on the estate was purely accidental.d)The authors education and ambition influenced their perception of the world.Correct answer is option 'C'. Can you explain this answer? defined & explained in the simplest way possible. Besides giving the explanation of Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follows.To see the possibility, the certainty, of ruin, even at the moment of creation: it was my temperament. Those nerves had been given to me as a child in Trinidad partly by our family circumstances: the half-ruined or broken-down houses we lived in, our many moves, our general uncertainty. Possibly, too, this mode of feeling went deeper, and was an ancestral inheritance, something that came with the history that had made me: not only India, with its ideas of a world outside mens control, but also the colonial plantations or estates of Trinidad, to which my impoverished Indian ancestors had been transported in the last century – estates of which this Wiltshire estate, where I now lived, had been the apotheosis.Fifty years ago there would have been no room for me on the estate; even now my presence was a little unlikely. But more than accident had brought me here. Or rather, in the series of accidents that had brought me to the manor cottage, with a view of the restored church, there was a clear historical line. The migration, within the British Empire, from India to Trinidad had given me the English language as my own, and a particular kind of education. This had partly seeded my wish to be a writer which I had been doing in England for twenty years.The history I carried with me, together with the self-awareness that had come with my education and ambition, had sent me into the world with a sense of glory dead; and in England had given me the rawest strangers nerves. Now ironically – or aptly – living in the grounds of this shrunken estate, going out for my walks, those nerves were soothed, and in the wild garden and orchard beside the water meadows I found a physical beauty perfectly suited to my temperament and answering, besides, every good idea I could have had, as a child in Trinidad, of the physical aspect of England.The estate had been enormous, I was told. It had been created in part by the wealth of empire. But then bit by bit it had been alienated. The family in its many branches flourished in other places. Here in the valley there now lived only my landlord, elderly, a bachelor, with people to look after him. Certain physical disabilities had now been added to the malaise which had befallen him years before, a malaise of which I had no precise knowledge, but interpreted as something like acedia, a deep disregard for himself and everything around him – which was how his great security, his excessive worldly blessings, had taken him. The acedia had turned him into a recluse, accessible only to his intimate friends.[Extracted with edits and revisions from The Enigma of Arrival (New York: Vintage Books, 1988)]Q.Which of the following CANNOT be inferred from the passage?a)The authors ancestral history included Indian ancestors transported to Trinidad.b)The author had a difficult childhood marked by uncertain circumstances.c)The authors presence on the estate was purely accidental.d)The authors education and ambition influenced their perception of the world.Correct answer is option 'C'. Can you explain this answer?, a detailed solution for Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follows.To see the possibility, the certainty, of ruin, even at the moment of creation: it was my temperament. Those nerves had been given to me as a child in Trinidad partly by our family circumstances: the half-ruined or broken-down houses we lived in, our many moves, our general uncertainty. Possibly, too, this mode of feeling went deeper, and was an ancestral inheritance, something that came with the history that had made me: not only India, with its ideas of a world outside mens control, but also the colonial plantations or estates of Trinidad, to which my impoverished Indian ancestors had been transported in the last century – estates of which this Wiltshire estate, where I now lived, had been the apotheosis.Fifty years ago there would have been no room for me on the estate; even now my presence was a little unlikely. But more than accident had brought me here. Or rather, in the series of accidents that had brought me to the manor cottage, with a view of the restored church, there was a clear historical line. The migration, within the British Empire, from India to Trinidad had given me the English language as my own, and a particular kind of education. This had partly seeded my wish to be a writer which I had been doing in England for twenty years.The history I carried with me, together with the self-awareness that had come with my education and ambition, had sent me into the world with a sense of glory dead; and in England had given me the rawest strangers nerves. Now ironically – or aptly – living in the grounds of this shrunken estate, going out for my walks, those nerves were soothed, and in the wild garden and orchard beside the water meadows I found a physical beauty perfectly suited to my temperament and answering, besides, every good idea I could have had, as a child in Trinidad, of the physical aspect of England.The estate had been enormous, I was told. It had been created in part by the wealth of empire. But then bit by bit it had been alienated. The family in its many branches flourished in other places. Here in the valley there now lived only my landlord, elderly, a bachelor, with people to look after him. Certain physical disabilities had now been added to the malaise which had befallen him years before, a malaise of which I had no precise knowledge, but interpreted as something like acedia, a deep disregard for himself and everything around him – which was how his great security, his excessive worldly blessings, had taken him. The acedia had turned him into a recluse, accessible only to his intimate friends.[Extracted with edits and revisions from The Enigma of Arrival (New York: Vintage Books, 1988)]Q.Which of the following CANNOT be inferred from the passage?a)The authors ancestral history included Indian ancestors transported to Trinidad.b)The author had a difficult childhood marked by uncertain circumstances.c)The authors presence on the estate was purely accidental.d)The authors education and ambition influenced their perception of the world.Correct answer is option 'C'. Can you explain this answer? has been provided alongside types of Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follows.To see the possibility, the certainty, of ruin, even at the moment of creation: it was my temperament. Those nerves had been given to me as a child in Trinidad partly by our family circumstances: the half-ruined or broken-down houses we lived in, our many moves, our general uncertainty. Possibly, too, this mode of feeling went deeper, and was an ancestral inheritance, something that came with the history that had made me: not only India, with its ideas of a world outside mens control, but also the colonial plantations or estates of Trinidad, to which my impoverished Indian ancestors had been transported in the last century – estates of which this Wiltshire estate, where I now lived, had been the apotheosis.Fifty years ago there would have been no room for me on the estate; even now my presence was a little unlikely. But more than accident had brought me here. Or rather, in the series of accidents that had brought me to the manor cottage, with a view of the restored church, there was a clear historical line. The migration, within the British Empire, from India to Trinidad had given me the English language as my own, and a particular kind of education. This had partly seeded my wish to be a writer which I had been doing in England for twenty years.The history I carried with me, together with the self-awareness that had come with my education and ambition, had sent me into the world with a sense of glory dead; and in England had given me the rawest strangers nerves. Now ironically – or aptly – living in the grounds of this shrunken estate, going out for my walks, those nerves were soothed, and in the wild garden and orchard beside the water meadows I found a physical beauty perfectly suited to my temperament and answering, besides, every good idea I could have had, as a child in Trinidad, of the physical aspect of England.The estate had been enormous, I was told. It had been created in part by the wealth of empire. But then bit by bit it had been alienated. The family in its many branches flourished in other places. Here in the valley there now lived only my landlord, elderly, a bachelor, with people to look after him. Certain physical disabilities had now been added to the malaise which had befallen him years before, a malaise of which I had no precise knowledge, but interpreted as something like acedia, a deep disregard for himself and everything around him – which was how his great security, his excessive worldly blessings, had taken him. The acedia had turned him into a recluse, accessible only to his intimate friends.[Extracted with edits and revisions from The Enigma of Arrival (New York: Vintage Books, 1988)]Q.Which of the following CANNOT be inferred from the passage?a)The authors ancestral history included Indian ancestors transported to Trinidad.b)The author had a difficult childhood marked by uncertain circumstances.c)The authors presence on the estate was purely accidental.d)The authors education and ambition influenced their perception of the world.Correct answer is option 'C'. Can you explain this answer? theory, EduRev gives you an ample number of questions to practice Directions: Read the given passage and answer the question that follows.To see the possibility, the certainty, of ruin, even at the moment of creation: it was my temperament. Those nerves had been given to me as a child in Trinidad partly by our family circumstances: the half-ruined or broken-down houses we lived in, our many moves, our general uncertainty. Possibly, too, this mode of feeling went deeper, and was an ancestral inheritance, something that came with the history that had made me: not only India, with its ideas of a world outside mens control, but also the colonial plantations or estates of Trinidad, to which my impoverished Indian ancestors had been transported in the last century – estates of which this Wiltshire estate, where I now lived, had been the apotheosis.Fifty years ago there would have been no room for me on the estate; even now my presence was a little unlikely. But more than accident had brought me here. Or rather, in the series of accidents that had brought me to the manor cottage, with a view of the restored church, there was a clear historical line. The migration, within the British Empire, from India to Trinidad had given me the English language as my own, and a particular kind of education. This had partly seeded my wish to be a writer which I had been doing in England for twenty years.The history I carried with me, together with the self-awareness that had come with my education and ambition, had sent me into the world with a sense of glory dead; and in England had given me the rawest strangers nerves. Now ironically – or aptly – living in the grounds of this shrunken estate, going out for my walks, those nerves were soothed, and in the wild garden and orchard beside the water meadows I found a physical beauty perfectly suited to my temperament and answering, besides, every good idea I could have had, as a child in Trinidad, of the physical aspect of England.The estate had been enormous, I was told. It had been created in part by the wealth of empire. But then bit by bit it had been alienated. The family in its many branches flourished in other places. Here in the valley there now lived only my landlord, elderly, a bachelor, with people to look after him. Certain physical disabilities had now been added to the malaise which had befallen him years before, a malaise of which I had no precise knowledge, but interpreted as something like acedia, a deep disregard for himself and everything around him – which was how his great security, his excessive worldly blessings, had taken him. The acedia had turned him into a recluse, accessible only to his intimate friends.[Extracted with edits and revisions from The Enigma of Arrival (New York: Vintage Books, 1988)]Q.Which of the following CANNOT be inferred from the passage?a)The authors ancestral history included Indian ancestors transported to Trinidad.b)The author had a difficult childhood marked by uncertain circumstances.c)The authors presence on the estate was purely accidental.d)The authors education and ambition influenced their perception of the world.Correct answer is option 'C'. Can you explain this answer? tests, examples and also practice CLAT tests.
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