CLAT Practice Test- 39 - CLAT MCQ

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

I was eleven when the Taliban started bombing girls' schools throughout the Swat Valley. The attacks happened at night, so at least no one was hurt, but imagine arriving at school in the morning to find it a pile of rubble. It felt beyond cruel. They had begun cutting our electricity and targeting local politicians. They even banned children's games. We had been told stories of Taliban fighters who heard children laughing in their homes and burst in to destroy the game. They also bombed police stations and attacked individuals.

If the Taliban heard that someone had spoken out against them, they would announce those names on their radio station. And then the next morning, those people might be found dead in Green Square, our city centre, often with notes pinned to the bodies explaining their so-called sins. It got so bad that each morning, several bodies would be lined up in the town centre, which people started calling Bloody Square.

This was all part of their extremist propaganda. It was working: they were asserting control over the Swat Valley.

My father had been cautioned to stop speaking out on behalf of girls' education and peace. He didn't. But he did start varying his routes home in case he was being followed. And I started a new habit: I would check the locks on the doors and windows before I went to sleep each night.

We felt hopeful when the army sent troops to Swat to protect us. But it meant the fighting had come closer. They had a base in Mingora near our home, so I would hear the whirring of helicopter blades cutting the thick air and then look up to see metal hunks filled with soldiers in uniform. Those images, just like Taliban fighters holding machine guns in the streets, became such a big part of our daily lives that my brothers and their friends started playing Taliban versus army instead of hide-and-seek. They would make guns from paper and stage battles and 'shoot' at one another. Rather than share idle gossip and talk about our favourite movie stars, my friends and I shared information about death threats and wondered if we'd ever feel safe again.

This was our life now. It was nothing any of us could have ever imagined.

Scary things became normal. We'd hear the big, booming sounds of bombs and feel the ground tremble. The stronger the tremor, the closer the bomb. If we didn't hear a bomb blast for an entire day, we'd say, 'Today was a good day.' If we didn't hear firearms being shot at night, like firecrackers, then we might even get a good night's sleep.

Q. What, according to the author, would the Taliban do if they heard someone had spoken against them?

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

I was eleven when the Taliban started bombing girls' schools throughout the Swat Valley. The attacks happened at night, so at least no one was hurt, but imagine arriving at school in the morning to find it a pile of rubble. It felt beyond cruel. They had begun cutting our electricity and targeting local politicians. They even banned children's games. We had been told stories of Taliban fighters who heard children laughing in their homes and burst in to destroy the game. They also bombed police stations and attacked individuals.

If the Taliban heard that someone had spoken out against them, they would announce those names on their radio station. And then the next morning, those people might be found dead in Green Square, our city centre, often with notes pinned to the bodies explaining their so-called sins. It got so bad that each morning, several bodies would be lined up in the town centre, which people started calling Bloody Square.

This was all part of their extremist propaganda. It was working: they were asserting control over the Swat Valley.

My father had been cautioned to stop speaking out on behalf of girls' education and peace. He didn't. But he did start varying his routes home in case he was being followed. And I started a new habit: I would check the locks on the doors and windows before I went to sleep each night.

We felt hopeful when the army sent troops to Swat to protect us. But it meant the fighting had come closer. They had a base in Mingora near our home, so I would hear the whirring of helicopter blades cutting the thick air and then look up to see metal hunks filled with soldiers in uniform. Those images, just like Taliban fighters holding machine guns in the streets, became such a big part of our daily lives that my brothers and their friends started playing Taliban versus army instead of hide-and-seek. They would make guns from paper and stage battles and 'shoot' at one another. Rather than share idle gossip and talk about our favourite movie stars, my friends and I shared information about death threats and wondered if we'd ever feel safe again.

This was our life now. It was nothing any of us could have ever imagined.

Scary things became normal. We'd hear the big, booming sounds of bombs and feel the ground tremble. The stronger the tremor, the closer the bomb. If we didn't hear a bomb blast for an entire day, we'd say, 'Today was a good day.' If we didn't hear firearms being shot at night, like firecrackers, then we might even get a good night's sleep.

Q. What, according to the passage, is suggested by the author's statement that children "started playing Taliban versus army instead of hide-and-seek"?

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

When her grandmother learned of Ashima's pregnancy, she was particularly thrilled at the prospect of naming the family's first sahib. And so Ashima and Ashoke have agreed to put off the decision of what to name the baby until a letter comes, ignoring the forms from the hospital about filing for a birth certificate. Ashima's grandmother has mailed the letter herself, walking with her cane to the post office, her first trip out of the house in a decade. The letter contains one name for a girl, one for a boy. Ashima's grandmother has revealed them to no one.

Though the letter was sent a month ago, in July, it has yet to arrive. Ashima and Ashoke are not terribly concerned. After all, they both know, an infant doesn't really need a name. He needs to be fed and blessed, to be given some gold and silver, to be patted on the back after feedings and held carefully behind the neck. Names can wait. In India parents take their time. It wasn't unusual for years to pass before the right name, the best possible name, was determined. Ashima and Ashoke can both cite examples of cousins who were not officially named until they were registered, at six or seven, in school. The Nandis and Dr. Gupta understand perfectly. Of course you must wait, they agree, wait for the name in his great-grandmother's letter.

Besides, there are always pet names to tide one over: a practice of Bengali nomenclature grants, to every single person, two names. In Bengali the word for pet name is daknam, meaning, literally, the name by which one is called, by friends, family, and other intimates, at home and in other private, unguarded moments. Pet names are a persistent remnant of childhood, a reminder that life is not always so serious, so formal, so complicated. They are a reminder, too, that one is not all things to all people. They all have pet names. Ashima's pet name is Monu, Ashoke's is Mithu, and even as adults, these are the names by which they are known in their respective families, the names by which they are adored and scolded and missed and loved.

Every pet name is paired with a good name, a bhalonam, for identification in the outside world. Consequently, good names appear on envelopes, on diplomas, in telephone directories, and in all other public places. (For this reason, letters from Ashima's mother say "Ashima" on the outside, "Monu" on the inside.) Good names tend to represent dignified and enlightened qualities. Ashima means "she who is limitless, without borders." Ashoke, the name of an emperor, means "he who transcends grief." Pet names have no such aspirations. Pet names are never recorded officially, only uttered and remembered. Unlike good names, pet names are frequently meaningless, deliberately silly, ironic, even onomatopoetic. Often in one's infancy, one answers unwittingly to dozens of pet names, until one eventually sticks.

Q. Why, according the passage, does Ashima's grandmother leave the house after 10 years?

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

When her grandmother learned of Ashima's pregnancy, she was particularly thrilled at the prospect of naming the family's first sahib. And so Ashima and Ashoke have agreed to put off the decision of what to name the baby until a letter comes, ignoring the forms from the hospital about filing for a birth certificate. Ashima's grandmother has mailed the letter herself, walking with her cane to the post office, her first trip out of the house in a decade. The letter contains one name for a girl, one for a boy. Ashima's grandmother has revealed them to no one.

Though the letter was sent a month ago, in July, it has yet to arrive. Ashima and Ashoke are not terribly concerned. After all, they both know, an infant doesn't really need a name. He needs to be fed and blessed, to be given some gold and silver, to be patted on the back after feedings and held carefully behind the neck. Names can wait. In India parents take their time. It wasn't unusual for years to pass before the right name, the best possible name, was determined. Ashima and Ashoke can both cite examples of cousins who were not officially named until they were registered, at six or seven, in school. The Nandis and Dr. Gupta understand perfectly. Of course you must wait, they agree, wait for the name in his great-grandmother's letter.

Besides, there are always pet names to tide one over: a practice of Bengali nomenclature grants, to every single person, two names. In Bengali the word for pet name is daknam, meaning, literally, the name by which one is called, by friends, family, and other intimates, at home and in other private, unguarded moments. Pet names are a persistent remnant of childhood, a reminder that life is not always so serious, so formal, so complicated. They are a reminder, too, that one is not all things to all people. They all have pet names. Ashima's pet name is Monu, Ashoke's is Mithu, and even as adults, these are the names by which they are known in their respective families, the names by which they are adored and scolded and missed and loved.

Every pet name is paired with a good name, a bhalonam, for identification in the outside world. Consequently, good names appear on envelopes, on diplomas, in telephone directories, and in all other public places. (For this reason, letters from Ashima's mother say "Ashima" on the outside, "Monu" on the inside.) Good names tend to represent dignified and enlightened qualities. Ashima means "she who is limitless, without borders." Ashoke, the name of an emperor, means "he who transcends grief." Pet names have no such aspirations. Pet names are never recorded officially, only uttered and remembered. Unlike good names, pet names are frequently meaningless, deliberately silly, ironic, even onomatopoetic. Often in one's infancy, one answers unwittingly to dozens of pet names, until one eventually sticks.

Q. Which of the following is not a reason for the significance of a pet name that the author states in the passage?

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

When her grandmother learned of Ashima's pregnancy, she was particularly thrilled at the prospect of naming the family's first sahib. And so Ashima and Ashoke have agreed to put off the decision of what to name the baby until a letter comes, ignoring the forms from the hospital about filing for a birth certificate. Ashima's grandmother has mailed the letter herself, walking with her cane to the post office, her first trip out of the house in a decade. The letter contains one name for a girl, one for a boy. Ashima's grandmother has revealed them to no one.

Though the letter was sent a month ago, in July, it has yet to arrive. Ashima and Ashoke are not terribly concerned. After all, they both know, an infant doesn't really need a name. He needs to be fed and blessed, to be given some gold and silver, to be patted on the back after feedings and held carefully behind the neck. Names can wait. In India parents take their time. It wasn't unusual for years to pass before the right name, the best possible name, was determined. Ashima and Ashoke can both cite examples of cousins who were not officially named until they were registered, at six or seven, in school. The Nandis and Dr. Gupta understand perfectly. Of course you must wait, they agree, wait for the name in his great-grandmother's letter.

Besides, there are always pet names to tide one over: a practice of Bengali nomenclature grants, to every single person, two names. In Bengali the word for pet name is daknam, meaning, literally, the name by which one is called, by friends, family, and other intimates, at home and in other private, unguarded moments. Pet names are a persistent remnant of childhood, a reminder that life is not always so serious, so formal, so complicated. They are a reminder, too, that one is not all things to all people. They all have pet names. Ashima's pet name is Monu, Ashoke's is Mithu, and even as adults, these are the names by which they are known in their respective families, the names by which they are adored and scolded and missed and loved.

Every pet name is paired with a good name, a bhalonam, for identification in the outside world. Consequently, good names appear on envelopes, on diplomas, in telephone directories, and in all other public places. (For this reason, letters from Ashima's mother say "Ashima" on the outside, "Monu" on the inside.) Good names tend to represent dignified and enlightened qualities. Ashima means "she who is limitless, without borders." Ashoke, the name of an emperor, means "he who transcends grief." Pet names have no such aspirations. Pet names are never recorded officially, only uttered and remembered. Unlike good names, pet names are frequently meaningless, deliberately silly, ironic, even onomatopoetic. Often in one's infancy, one answers unwittingly to dozens of pet names, until one eventually sticks.

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

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

When her grandmother learned of Ashima's pregnancy, she was particularly thrilled at the prospect of naming the family's first sahib. And so Ashima and Ashoke have agreed to put off the decision of what to name the baby until a letter comes, ignoring the forms from the hospital about filing for a birth certificate. Ashima's grandmother has mailed the letter herself, walking with her cane to the post office, her first trip out of the house in a decade. The letter contains one name for a girl, one for a boy. Ashima's grandmother has revealed them to no one.

Though the letter was sent a month ago, in July, it has yet to arrive. Ashima and Ashoke are not terribly concerned. After all, they both know, an infant doesn't really need a name. He needs to be fed and blessed, to be given some gold and silver, to be patted on the back after feedings and held carefully behind the neck. Names can wait. In India parents take their time. It wasn't unusual for years to pass before the right name, the best possible name, was determined. Ashima and Ashoke can both cite examples of cousins who were not officially named until they were registered, at six or seven, in school. The Nandis and Dr. Gupta understand perfectly. Of course you must wait, they agree, wait for the name in his great-grandmother's letter.

Besides, there are always pet names to tide one over: a practice of Bengali nomenclature grants, to every single person, two names. In Bengali the word for pet name is daknam, meaning, literally, the name by which one is called, by friends, family, and other intimates, at home and in other private, unguarded moments. Pet names are a persistent remnant of childhood, a reminder that life is not always so serious, so formal, so complicated. They are a reminder, too, that one is not all things to all people. They all have pet names. Ashima's pet name is Monu, Ashoke's is Mithu, and even as adults, these are the names by which they are known in their respective families, the names by which they are adored and scolded and missed and loved.

Every pet name is paired with a good name, a bhalonam, for identification in the outside world. Consequently, good names appear on envelopes, on diplomas, in telephone directories, and in all other public places. (For this reason, letters from Ashima's mother say "Ashima" on the outside, "Monu" on the inside.) Good names tend to represent dignified and enlightened qualities. Ashima means "she who is limitless, without borders." Ashoke, the name of an emperor, means "he who transcends grief." Pet names have no such aspirations. Pet names are never recorded officially, only uttered and remembered. Unlike good names, pet names are frequently meaningless, deliberately silly, ironic, even onomatopoetic. Often in one's infancy, one answers unwittingly to dozens of pet names, until one eventually sticks.

Q. Why, according to the passage, does Ashima and Ashoke believe an infant doesn't need a name immediately?

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

When her grandmother learned of Ashima's pregnancy, she was particularly thrilled at the prospect of naming the family's first sahib. And so Ashima and Ashoke have agreed to put off the decision of what to name the baby until a letter comes, ignoring the forms from the hospital about filing for a birth certificate. Ashima's grandmother has mailed the letter herself, walking with her cane to the post office, her first trip out of the house in a decade. The letter contains one name for a girl, one for a boy. Ashima's grandmother has revealed them to no one.

Though the letter was sent a month ago, in July, it has yet to arrive. Ashima and Ashoke are not terribly concerned. After all, they both know, an infant doesn't really need a name. He needs to be fed and blessed, to be given some gold and silver, to be patted on the back after feedings and held carefully behind the neck. Names can wait. In India parents take their time. It wasn't unusual for years to pass before the right name, the best possible name, was determined. Ashima and Ashoke can both cite examples of cousins who were not officially named until they were registered, at six or seven, in school. The Nandis and Dr. Gupta understand perfectly. Of course you must wait, they agree, wait for the name in his great-grandmother's letter.

Besides, there are always pet names to tide one over: a practice of Bengali nomenclature grants, to every single person, two names. In Bengali the word for pet name is daknam, meaning, literally, the name by which one is called, by friends, family, and other intimates, at home and in other private, unguarded moments. Pet names are a persistent remnant of childhood, a reminder that life is not always so serious, so formal, so complicated. They are a reminder, too, that one is not all things to all people. They all have pet names. Ashima's pet name is Monu, Ashoke's is Mithu, and even as adults, these are the names by which they are known in their respective families, the names by which they are adored and scolded and missed and loved.

Every pet name is paired with a good name, a bhalonam, for identification in the outside world. Consequently, good names appear on envelopes, on diplomas, in telephone directories, and in all other public places. (For this reason, letters from Ashima's mother say "Ashima" on the outside, "Monu" on the inside.) Good names tend to represent dignified and enlightened qualities. Ashima means "she who is limitless, without borders." Ashoke, the name of an emperor, means "he who transcends grief." Pet names have no such aspirations. Pet names are never recorded officially, only uttered and remembered. Unlike good names, pet names are frequently meaningless, deliberately silly, ironic, even onomatopoetic. Often in one's infancy, one answers unwittingly to dozens of pet names, until one eventually sticks.

Q. What does the phrase 'unguarded moments' as used in the passage mean?

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

While packing my luggage for the boarding school at Sophia, Mum had slipped in a bag of the dry powder I was supposed to mix with milk or water and use during my bath. Before leaving me at the dormitory, she also left unnecessarily detailed instructions on how that was to be done with the seventeen-year-old caretaker who managed the "junior girls" in that wing. I knew the caretaker did not appreciate Mum's directive because she repeatedly reminded me of it for the two years I lived there, often humiliating me in front of my hostel mates. During the common bath time, she would loudly enquire about that powder my mum left for me to become fair. Of all the times my ubtan embarrassed me, those were the worst.

My seven years so far had taught me nothing about standing up for myself, or defending what I thought was right. I also lacked the entitlement that a combination of wealth and caste pride allow many, even at that young age, to take on much older, more influential bullies with fortitude. I was poor and pretending to be upper caste in a hostel filled with mostly older girls; I had to fit in.

So I joined the raucous laughter in the room or smiled like I was in on the joke she was making at my expense and about Mum, even as a part of me cringed. The caretaker must have sensed that I was hiding something, for she soon added a new element to her weekly routine: asking me if I thought my mother was a bad person. She wasn't content with just mocking me, she also needed me to assure her that she was right.

I didn't tell Mum about this. I knew she would want to intervene or report it to the administration. And I thought that would only make things worse for me. The caretaker might be reprimanded. But after that, living at the hostel could get a lot worse. Pretending to dislike my own mother while blaming myself for not defending her didn't take long to turn into deep self-disgust. That plastic bag of ubtan became its centre and source. I would shove it deep into the belly of my locker so no one, not even I, could see it.

The bag would sit there unopened during the semester and I would bring it home with me during the break. Even though Mum had half-expected that I wouldn't actually use it, she would still be disappointed. During the weeks I spent at home, she would go through old magazines looking for the least messy ubtan recipes. She'd spend hours searching for the ingredients, and painstakingly blend them either by hand or in an old mixer.

Q. Which of the following can be rightly inferred about the author?

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

While packing my luggage for the boarding school at Sophia, Mum had slipped in a bag of the dry powder I was supposed to mix with milk or water and use during my bath. Before leaving me at the dormitory, she also left unnecessarily detailed instructions on how that was to be done with the seventeen-year-old caretaker who managed the "junior girls" in that wing. I knew the caretaker did not appreciate Mum's directive because she repeatedly reminded me of it for the two years I lived there, often humiliating me in front of my hostel mates. During the common bath time, she would loudly enquire about that powder my mum left for me to become fair. Of all the times my ubtan embarrassed me, those were the worst.

My seven years so far had taught me nothing about standing up for myself, or defending what I thought was right. I also lacked the entitlement that a combination of wealth and caste pride allow many, even at that young age, to take on much older, more influential bullies with fortitude. I was poor and pretending to be upper caste in a hostel filled with mostly older girls; I had to fit in.

So I joined the raucous laughter in the room or smiled like I was in on the joke she was making at my expense and about Mum, even as a part of me cringed. The caretaker must have sensed that I was hiding something, for she soon added a new element to her weekly routine: asking me if I thought my mother was a bad person. She wasn't content with just mocking me, she also needed me to assure her that she was right.

I didn't tell Mum about this. I knew she would want to intervene or report it to the administration. And I thought that would only make things worse for me. The caretaker might be reprimanded. But after that, living at the hostel could get a lot worse. Pretending to dislike my own mother while blaming myself for not defending her didn't take long to turn into deep self-disgust. That plastic bag of ubtan became its centre and source. I would shove it deep into the belly of my locker so no one, not even I, could see it.

The bag would sit there unopened during the semester and I would bring it home with me during the break. Even though Mum had half-expected that I wouldn't actually use it, she would still be disappointed. During the weeks I spent at home, she would go through old magazines looking for the least messy ubtan recipes. She'd spend hours searching for the ingredients, and painstakingly blend them either by hand or in an old mixer.

Q. What does the word 'raucous' as used in the passage mean?

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

While packing my luggage for the boarding school at Sophia, Mum had slipped in a bag of the dry powder I was supposed to mix with milk or water and use during my bath. Before leaving me at the dormitory, she also left unnecessarily detailed instructions on how that was to be done with the seventeen-year-old caretaker who managed the "junior girls" in that wing. I knew the caretaker did not appreciate Mum's directive because she repeatedly reminded me of it for the two years I lived there, often humiliating me in front of my hostel mates. During the common bath time, she would loudly enquire about that powder my mum left for me to become fair. Of all the times my ubtan embarrassed me, those were the worst.

My seven years so far had taught me nothing about standing up for myself, or defending what I thought was right. I also lacked the entitlement that a combination of wealth and caste pride allow many, even at that young age, to take on much older, more influential bullies with fortitude. I was poor and pretending to be upper caste in a hostel filled with mostly older girls; I had to fit in.

So I joined the raucous laughter in the room or smiled like I was in on the joke she was making at my expense and about Mum, even as a part of me cringed. The caretaker must have sensed that I was hiding something, for she soon added a new element to her weekly routine: asking me if I thought my mother was a bad person. She wasn't content with just mocking me, she also needed me to assure her that she was right.

I didn't tell Mum about this. I knew she would want to intervene or report it to the administration. And I thought that would only make things worse for me. The caretaker might be reprimanded. But after that, living at the hostel could get a lot worse. Pretending to dislike my own mother while blaming myself for not defending her didn't take long to turn into deep self-disgust. That plastic bag of ubtan became its centre and source. I would shove it deep into the belly of my locker so no one, not even I, could see it.

The bag would sit there unopened during the semester and I would bring it home with me during the break. Even though Mum had half-expected that I wouldn't actually use it, she would still be disappointed. During the weeks I spent at home, she would go through old magazines looking for the least messy ubtan recipes. She'd spend hours searching for the ingredients, and painstakingly blend them either by hand or in an old mixer.

Q. From the given passage, which of the following can be rightly inferred about the author's mother?

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

While packing my luggage for the boarding school at Sophia, Mum had slipped in a bag of the dry powder I was supposed to mix with milk or water and use during my bath. Before leaving me at the dormitory, she also left unnecessarily detailed instructions on how that was to be done with the seventeen-year-old caretaker who managed the "junior girls" in that wing. I knew the caretaker did not appreciate Mum's directive because she repeatedly reminded me of it for the two years I lived there, often humiliating me in front of my hostel mates. During the common bath time, she would loudly enquire about that powder my mum left for me to become fair. Of all the times my ubtan embarrassed me, those were the worst.

My seven years so far had taught me nothing about standing up for myself, or defending what I thought was right. I also lacked the entitlement that a combination of wealth and caste pride allow many, even at that young age, to take on much older, more influential bullies with fortitude. I was poor and pretending to be upper caste in a hostel filled with mostly older girls; I had to fit in.

So I joined the raucous laughter in the room or smiled like I was in on the joke she was making at my expense and about Mum, even as a part of me cringed. The caretaker must have sensed that I was hiding something, for she soon added a new element to her weekly routine: asking me if I thought my mother was a bad person. She wasn't content with just mocking me, she also needed me to assure her that she was right.

I didn't tell Mum about this. I knew she would want to intervene or report it to the administration. And I thought that would only make things worse for me. The caretaker might be reprimanded. But after that, living at the hostel could get a lot worse. Pretending to dislike my own mother while blaming myself for not defending her didn't take long to turn into deep self-disgust. That plastic bag of ubtan became its centre and source. I would shove it deep into the belly of my locker so no one, not even I, could see it.

The bag would sit there unopened during the semester and I would bring it home with me during the break. Even though Mum had half-expected that I wouldn't actually use it, she would still be disappointed. During the weeks I spent at home, she would go through old magazines looking for the least messy ubtan recipes. She'd spend hours searching for the ingredients, and painstakingly blend them either by hand or in an old mixer.

Q. What, according to the passage, is the reason why the author's mother asked her to use ubtan?

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

While packing my luggage for the boarding school at Sophia, Mum had slipped in a bag of the dry powder I was supposed to mix with milk or water and use during my bath. Before leaving me at the dormitory, she also left unnecessarily detailed instructions on how that was to be done with the seventeen-year-old caretaker who managed the "junior girls" in that wing. I knew the caretaker did not appreciate Mum's directive because she repeatedly reminded me of it for the two years I lived there, often humiliating me in front of my hostel mates. During the common bath time, she would loudly enquire about that powder my mum left for me to become fair. Of all the times my ubtan embarrassed me, those were the worst.

My seven years so far had taught me nothing about standing up for myself, or defending what I thought was right. I also lacked the entitlement that a combination of wealth and caste pride allow many, even at that young age, to take on much older, more influential bullies with fortitude. I was poor and pretending to be upper caste in a hostel filled with mostly older girls; I had to fit in.

So I joined the raucous laughter in the room or smiled like I was in on the joke she was making at my expense and about Mum, even as a part of me cringed. The caretaker must have sensed that I was hiding something, for she soon added a new element to her weekly routine: asking me if I thought my mother was a bad person. She wasn't content with just mocking me, she also needed me to assure her that she was right.

I didn't tell Mum about this. I knew she would want to intervene or report it to the administration. And I thought that would only make things worse for me. The caretaker might be reprimanded. But after that, living at the hostel could get a lot worse. Pretending to dislike my own mother while blaming myself for not defending her didn't take long to turn into deep self-disgust. That plastic bag of ubtan became its centre and source. I would shove it deep into the belly of my locker so no one, not even I, could see it.

The bag would sit there unopened during the semester and I would bring it home with me during the break. Even though Mum had half-expected that I wouldn't actually use it, she would still be disappointed. During the weeks I spent at home, she would go through old magazines looking for the least messy ubtan recipes. She'd spend hours searching for the ingredients, and painstakingly blend them either by hand or in an old mixer.

Q. What, according to the author, does the bag of ubtan represent?

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

In our current age, finding an accurate map of the Ganga River system in India is almost as difficult as in Columbus's time. In 2017, the Survey of India started operating according to a new law. Any maps of India published in India must first be sent there. Often, the maps languish in their office for several months. Nine out of ten times, they send the map back with corrections and changes.

Often, they look like the kind of simplistic maps used when we were schoolchildren. Showing Tibet is a no-no, as is showing the borders. Violators risk forty-five days in jail and a fine. Children are growing up with distorted maps of the country. This is an incredible paradox at a time when Google Maps offers such exquisite detail.

Traditionally, Gangaji was the one who did not honour boundaries – she was the place where bodies disappeared, the place where a rigidly bound society slipped off its boundaries. Today we violate her boundaries, half-disappeared and sewage-choked, strapped up with barrages and dams. In the old days, sages would learn how Gangaji changed during the monsoon season. Now, the river's personality is determined more by the opening and shutting of the barrage gates.

Time and water are both flowing faster. For millennia, most of the rain in the subcontinent has fallen within one hundred stormy hours during the three-month monsoon season in northern India. With each passing year, more rain falls within a shorter time span. According to the World Economic Forum, out of sixty-seven surveyed countries, India is the most vulnerable to climate change.

As peak rainfall becomes more intense, landslides – already an existential threat to thousands of mountain villages – will become more common. The monsoon crops, chief among them rice, will be alternately drowned and starved, and the summer crops will die if more irrigation cannot be drawn from the limited water table. But a lot of solutions exist.

Through this troubled landscape winds the mighty river, now glimmering, now dull, now out of sight. Each day, with our excreta, our disavowal of balance and responsibility and our acceptance of the legacy of industrialisation, we are writing a dark chapter in the biography of this ancient goddess, the eternal life force, the Ganga River.

Q. Which of the following is most similar to the 'incredible paradox' that the author discusses in the given passage?

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

In our current age, finding an accurate map of the Ganga River system in India is almost as difficult as in Columbus's time. In 2017, the Survey of India started operating according to a new law. Any maps of India published in India must first be sent there. Often, the maps languish in their office for several months. Nine out of ten times, they send the map back with corrections and changes.

Often, they look like the kind of simplistic maps used when we were schoolchildren. Showing Tibet is a no-no, as is showing the borders. Violators risk forty-five days in jail and a fine. Children are growing up with distorted maps of the country. This is an incredible paradox at a time when Google Maps offers such exquisite detail.

Traditionally, Gangaji was the one who did not honour boundaries – she was the place where bodies disappeared, the place where a rigidly bound society slipped off its boundaries. Today we violate her boundaries, half-disappeared and sewage-choked, strapped up with barrages and dams. In the old days, sages would learn how Gangaji changed during the monsoon season. Now, the river's personality is determined more by the opening and shutting of the barrage gates.

Time and water are both flowing faster. For millennia, most of the rain in the subcontinent has fallen within one hundred stormy hours during the three-month monsoon season in northern India. With each passing year, more rain falls within a shorter time span. According to the World Economic Forum, out of sixty-seven surveyed countries, India is the most vulnerable to climate change.

As peak rainfall becomes more intense, landslides – already an existential threat to thousands of mountain villages – will become more common. The monsoon crops, chief among them rice, will be alternately drowned and starved, and the summer crops will die if more irrigation cannot be drawn from the limited water table. But a lot of solutions exist.

Through this troubled landscape winds the mighty river, now glimmering, now dull, now out of sight. Each day, with our excreta, our disavowal of balance and responsibility and our acceptance of the legacy of industrialisation, we are writing a dark chapter in the biography of this ancient goddess, the eternal life force, the Ganga River.

Q. What does the phrase 'strapped up' as used in the passage mean?

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

In our current age, finding an accurate map of the Ganga River system in India is almost as difficult as in Columbus's time. In 2017, the Survey of India started operating according to a new law. Any maps of India published in India must first be sent there. Often, the maps languish in their office for several months. Nine out of ten times, they send the map back with corrections and changes.

Often, they look like the kind of simplistic maps used when we were schoolchildren. Showing Tibet is a no-no, as is showing the borders. Violators risk forty-five days in jail and a fine. Children are growing up with distorted maps of the country. This is an incredible paradox at a time when Google Maps offers such exquisite detail.

Traditionally, Gangaji was the one who did not honour boundaries – she was the place where bodies disappeared, the place where a rigidly bound society slipped off its boundaries. Today we violate her boundaries, half-disappeared and sewage-choked, strapped up with barrages and dams. In the old days, sages would learn how Gangaji changed during the monsoon season. Now, the river's personality is determined more by the opening and shutting of the barrage gates.

Time and water are both flowing faster. For millennia, most of the rain in the subcontinent has fallen within one hundred stormy hours during the three-month monsoon season in northern India. With each passing year, more rain falls within a shorter time span. According to the World Economic Forum, out of sixty-seven surveyed countries, India is the most vulnerable to climate change.

As peak rainfall becomes more intense, landslides – already an existential threat to thousands of mountain villages – will become more common. The monsoon crops, chief among them rice, will be alternately drowned and starved, and the summer crops will die if more irrigation cannot be drawn from the limited water table. But a lot of solutions exist.

Through this troubled landscape winds the mighty river, now glimmering, now dull, now out of sight. Each day, with our excreta, our disavowal of balance and responsibility and our acceptance of the legacy of industrialisation, we are writing a dark chapter in the biography of this ancient goddess, the eternal life force, the Ganga River.

Q. Which of the following sums up the author's main point in the given passage?

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

In our current age, finding an accurate map of the Ganga River system in India is almost as difficult as in Columbus's time. In 2017, the Survey of India started operating according to a new law. Any maps of India published in India must first be sent there. Often, the maps languish in their office for several months. Nine out of ten times, they send the map back with corrections and changes.

Often, they look like the kind of simplistic maps used when we were schoolchildren. Showing Tibet is a no-no, as is showing the borders. Violators risk forty-five days in jail and a fine. Children are growing up with distorted maps of the country. This is an incredible paradox at a time when Google Maps offers such exquisite detail.

Traditionally, Gangaji was the one who did not honour boundaries – she was the place where bodies disappeared, the place where a rigidly bound society slipped off its boundaries. Today we violate her boundaries, half-disappeared and sewage-choked, strapped up with barrages and dams. In the old days, sages would learn how Gangaji changed during the monsoon season. Now, the river's personality is determined more by the opening and shutting of the barrage gates.

Time and water are both flowing faster. For millennia, most of the rain in the subcontinent has fallen within one hundred stormy hours during the three-month monsoon season in northern India. With each passing year, more rain falls within a shorter time span. According to the World Economic Forum, out of sixty-seven surveyed countries, India is the most vulnerable to climate change.

As peak rainfall becomes more intense, landslides – already an existential threat to thousands of mountain villages – will become more common. The monsoon crops, chief among them rice, will be alternately drowned and starved, and the summer crops will die if more irrigation cannot be drawn from the limited water table. But a lot of solutions exist.

Through this troubled landscape winds the mighty river, now glimmering, now dull, now out of sight. Each day, with our excreta, our disavowal of balance and responsibility and our acceptance of the legacy of industrialisation, we are writing a dark chapter in the biography of this ancient goddess, the eternal life force, the Ganga River.

Q. Based on the information in the given passage, which of the following can we ascribe to the river Ganga?

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

In our current age, finding an accurate map of the Ganga River system in India is almost as difficult as in Columbus's time. In 2017, the Survey of India started operating according to a new law. Any maps of India published in India must first be sent there. Often, the maps languish in their office for several months. Nine out of ten times, they send the map back with corrections and changes.

Often, they look like the kind of simplistic maps used when we were schoolchildren. Showing Tibet is a no-no, as is showing the borders. Violators risk forty-five days in jail and a fine. Children are growing up with distorted maps of the country. This is an incredible paradox at a time when Google Maps offers such exquisite detail.

Traditionally, Gangaji was the one who did not honour boundaries – she was the place where bodies disappeared, the place where a rigidly bound society slipped off its boundaries. Today we violate her boundaries, half-disappeared and sewage-choked, strapped up with barrages and dams. In the old days, sages would learn how Gangaji changed during the monsoon season. Now, the river's personality is determined more by the opening and shutting of the barrage gates.

Time and water are both flowing faster. For millennia, most of the rain in the subcontinent has fallen within one hundred stormy hours during the three-month monsoon season in northern India. With each passing year, more rain falls within a shorter time span. According to the World Economic Forum, out of sixty-seven surveyed countries, India is the most vulnerable to climate change.

As peak rainfall becomes more intense, landslides – already an existential threat to thousands of mountain villages – will become more common. The monsoon crops, chief among them rice, will be alternately drowned and starved, and the summer crops will die if more irrigation cannot be drawn from the limited water table. But a lot of solutions exist.

Through this troubled landscape winds the mighty river, now glimmering, now dull, now out of sight. Each day, with our excreta, our disavowal of balance and responsibility and our acceptance of the legacy of industrialisation, we are writing a dark chapter in the biography of this ancient goddess, the eternal life force, the Ganga River.

Q. Based on the information in the given passage, which of the following is the author most likely to agree with?

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

Five years older than Free India, the India of Quit India was geopolitically undivided, emotionally self-confident, and capable of sacrifice, of suffering in its very confidence. But that India of Quit India was about more than a challenge to the British raj, more than a proclamation of India's readiness and ability to participate in the war effort as an equal partner of the Allies, something which neither London nor Delhi was willing to recognise. That India was about a unifying wholeness. It was about a unity of resolves and, therefore, of action in and for that unity, that wholeness.

In his iconic address at the 'monster' meeting at Gowalia Tank in Bombay on August 8, 1942 at which the Quit India resolution was passed, Gandhi spoke of "the coming revolution" that would throw colonialism and imperialism off the nation's back. But he devoted as much if not more time in his address to 'India' than to Britain's rule over India. The Hindu-Muslim impasse and the call for Partition were on his mind. Gandhi had in mind a clear concept — a united India — but he also had in mind clear examples of those who strove and died in the striving for a non-sectarian, non-communal, non-distrusting India.

On this double anniversary — the 80th of Quit India and the 75th of Free India — those who believe that the different communities who make up the peoplehood of India are equal and equally bound by duties and empowered by rights must celebrate the bravehearts who died for that unity, for that equality. The Greats of the struggle for freedom are being commemorated. But the no-less Greats of the struggle for harmony deserve no less. Their names bear wounds and their memories scars. These demand our attention. But more, our solidarity. Gujarat gave an immortal example of what may be termed heroic deaths for harmony. On July 1, 1946, an annual rath yatra was to take place. Tension rose around the procession and violence followed between the two communities. Two friends, Vasantrao Hegishte and Rajab Ali Lakhani, "staved off... rioters, the former protecting Muslims and the latter saving Hindus, and both losing their lives".

On this double anniversary, seventy-five salutes and eighty genuflections to these heroes and — not to forget — to the heroic women in their bereaved families. Thinking of them how small our pre-occupations seem and how blind to the lethal dangers that incubate in disharmony. Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose had observed and applauded Quit India in August 1942. He was not there to see Free India in 1947. But his beckoning hand points to the motto he gave to his Indian National Army: Etihaad (unity), Etmad (faith) and Kurbani (sacrifice) — for the greatness of a Hindustan which is now our India that is Bharat.

Q. Which of the following is the most prominent theme/idea of the passage?

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

Five years older than Free India, the India of Quit India was geopolitically undivided, emotionally self-confident, and capable of sacrifice, of suffering in its very confidence. But that India of Quit India was about more than a challenge to the British raj, more than a proclamation of India's readiness and ability to participate in the war effort as an equal partner of the Allies, something which neither London nor Delhi was willing to recognise. That India was about a unifying wholeness. It was about a unity of resolves and, therefore, of action in and for that unity, that wholeness.

In his iconic address at the 'monster' meeting at Gowalia Tank in Bombay on August 8, 1942 at which the Quit India resolution was passed, Gandhi spoke of "the coming revolution" that would throw colonialism and imperialism off the nation's back. But he devoted as much if not more time in his address to 'India' than to Britain's rule over India. The Hindu-Muslim impasse and the call for Partition were on his mind. Gandhi had in mind a clear concept — a united India — but he also had in mind clear examples of those who strove and died in the striving for a non-sectarian, non-communal, non-distrusting India.

On this double anniversary — the 80th of Quit India and the 75th of Free India — those who believe that the different communities who make up the peoplehood of India are equal and equally bound by duties and empowered by rights must celebrate the bravehearts who died for that unity, for that equality. The Greats of the struggle for freedom are being commemorated. But the no-less Greats of the struggle for harmony deserve no less. Their names bear wounds and their memories scars. These demand our attention. But more, our solidarity. Gujarat gave an immortal example of what may be termed heroic deaths for harmony. On July 1, 1946, an annual rath yatra was to take place. Tension rose around the procession and violence followed between the two communities. Two friends, Vasantrao Hegishte and Rajab Ali Lakhani, "staved off... rioters, the former protecting Muslims and the latter saving Hindus, and both losing their lives".

On this double anniversary, seventy-five salutes and eighty genuflections to these heroes and — not to forget — to the heroic women in their bereaved families. Thinking of them how small our pre-occupations seem and how blind to the lethal dangers that incubate in disharmony. Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose had observed and applauded Quit India in August 1942. He was not there to see Free India in 1947. But his beckoning hand points to the motto he gave to his Indian National Army: Etihaad (unity), Etmad (faith) and Kurbani (sacrifice) — for the greatness of a Hindustan which is now our India that is Bharat.

Q. Which of the following statements can be inferred from the passage?

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

Five years older than Free India, the India of Quit India was geopolitically undivided, emotionally self-confident, and capable of sacrifice, of suffering in its very confidence. But that India of Quit India was about more than a challenge to the British raj, more than a proclamation of India's readiness and ability to participate in the war effort as an equal partner of the Allies, something which neither London nor Delhi was willing to recognise. That India was about a unifying wholeness. It was about a unity of resolves and, therefore, of action in and for that unity, that wholeness.

In his iconic address at the 'monster' meeting at Gowalia Tank in Bombay on August 8, 1942 at which the Quit India resolution was passed, Gandhi spoke of "the coming revolution" that would throw colonialism and imperialism off the nation's back. But he devoted as much if not more time in his address to 'India' than to Britain's rule over India. The Hindu-Muslim impasse and the call for Partition were on his mind. Gandhi had in mind a clear concept — a united India — but he also had in mind clear examples of those who strove and died in the striving for a non-sectarian, non-communal, non-distrusting India.

On this double anniversary — the 80th of Quit India and the 75th of Free India — those who believe that the different communities who make up the peoplehood of India are equal and equally bound by duties and empowered by rights must celebrate the bravehearts who died for that unity, for that equality. The Greats of the struggle for freedom are being commemorated. But the no-less Greats of the struggle for harmony deserve no less. Their names bear wounds and their memories scars. These demand our attention. But more, our solidarity. Gujarat gave an immortal example of what may be termed heroic deaths for harmony. On July 1, 1946, an annual rath yatra was to take place. Tension rose around the procession and violence followed between the two communities. Two friends, Vasantrao Hegishte and Rajab Ali Lakhani, "staved off... rioters, the former protecting Muslims and the latter saving Hindus, and both losing their lives".

On this double anniversary, seventy-five salutes and eighty genuflections to these heroes and — not to forget — to the heroic women in their bereaved families. Thinking of them how small our pre-occupations seem and how blind to the lethal dangers that incubate in disharmony. Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose had observed and applauded Quit India in August 1942. He was not there to see Free India in 1947. But his beckoning hand points to the motto he gave to his Indian National Army: Etihaad (unity), Etmad (faith) and Kurbani (sacrifice) — for the greatness of a Hindustan which is now our India that is Bharat.

Q. The phrase 'staved off', in context of the passage, means:

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

Five years older than Free India, the India of Quit India was geopolitically undivided, emotionally self-confident, and capable of sacrifice, of suffering in its very confidence. But that India of Quit India was about more than a challenge to the British raj, more than a proclamation of India's readiness and ability to participate in the war effort as an equal partner of the Allies, something which neither London nor Delhi was willing to recognise. That India was about a unifying wholeness. It was about a unity of resolves and, therefore, of action in and for that unity, that wholeness.

In his iconic address at the 'monster' meeting at Gowalia Tank in Bombay on August 8, 1942 at which the Quit India resolution was passed, Gandhi spoke of "the coming revolution" that would throw colonialism and imperialism off the nation's back. But he devoted as much if not more time in his address to 'India' than to Britain's rule over India. The Hindu-Muslim impasse and the call for Partition were on his mind. Gandhi had in mind a clear concept — a united India — but he also had in mind clear examples of those who strove and died in the striving for a non-sectarian, non-communal, non-distrusting India.

On this double anniversary — the 80th of Quit India and the 75th of Free India — those who believe that the different communities who make up the peoplehood of India are equal and equally bound by duties and empowered by rights must celebrate the bravehearts who died for that unity, for that equality. The Greats of the struggle for freedom are being commemorated. But the no-less Greats of the struggle for harmony deserve no less. Their names bear wounds and their memories scars. These demand our attention. But more, our solidarity. Gujarat gave an immortal example of what may be termed heroic deaths for harmony. On July 1, 1946, an annual rath yatra was to take place. Tension rose around the procession and violence followed between the two communities. Two friends, Vasantrao Hegishte and Rajab Ali Lakhani, "staved off... rioters, the former protecting Muslims and the latter saving Hindus, and both losing their lives".

On this double anniversary, seventy-five salutes and eighty genuflections to these heroes and — not to forget — to the heroic women in their bereaved families. Thinking of them how small our pre-occupations seem and how blind to the lethal dangers that incubate in disharmony. Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose had observed and applauded Quit India in August 1942. He was not there to see Free India in 1947. But his beckoning hand points to the motto he gave to his Indian National Army: Etihaad (unity), Etmad (faith) and Kurbani (sacrifice) — for the greatness of a Hindustan which is now our India that is Bharat.

Q. It can be said that India

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

Five years older than Free India, the India of Quit India was geopolitically undivided, emotionally self-confident, and capable of sacrifice, of suffering in its very confidence. But that India of Quit India was about more than a challenge to the British raj, more than a proclamation of India's readiness and ability to participate in the war effort as an equal partner of the Allies, something which neither London nor Delhi was willing to recognise. That India was about a unifying wholeness. It was about a unity of resolves and, therefore, of action in and for that unity, that wholeness.

In his iconic address at the 'monster' meeting at Gowalia Tank in Bombay on August 8, 1942 at which the Quit India resolution was passed, Gandhi spoke of "the coming revolution" that would throw colonialism and imperialism off the nation's back. But he devoted as much if not more time in his address to 'India' than to Britain's rule over India. The Hindu-Muslim impasse and the call for Partition were on his mind. Gandhi had in mind a clear concept — a united India — but he also had in mind clear examples of those who strove and died in the striving for a non-sectarian, non-communal, non-distrusting India.

On this double anniversary — the 80th of Quit India and the 75th of Free India — those who believe that the different communities who make up the peoplehood of India are equal and equally bound by duties and empowered by rights must celebrate the bravehearts who died for that unity, for that equality. The Greats of the struggle for freedom are being commemorated. But the no-less Greats of the struggle for harmony deserve no less. Their names bear wounds and their memories scars. These demand our attention. But more, our solidarity. Gujarat gave an immortal example of what may be termed heroic deaths for harmony. On July 1, 1946, an annual rath yatra was to take place. Tension rose around the procession and violence followed between the two communities. Two friends, Vasantrao Hegishte and Rajab Ali Lakhani, "staved off... rioters, the former protecting Muslims and the latter saving Hindus, and both losing their lives".

On this double anniversary, seventy-five salutes and eighty genuflections to these heroes and — not to forget — to the heroic women in their bereaved families. Thinking of them how small our pre-occupations seem and how blind to the lethal dangers that incubate in disharmony. Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose had observed and applauded Quit India in August 1942. He was not there to see Free India in 1947. But his beckoning hand points to the motto he gave to his Indian National Army: Etihaad (unity), Etmad (faith) and Kurbani (sacrifice) — for the greatness of a Hindustan which is now our India that is Bharat.

Q. The author is of the opinion that:

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

Climate change is a global concern and requires a well-coordinated global approach to address it. In simple terms, what needs to be done is to assess and monitor the net stock of GHG (greenhouse gases) present in the atmosphere at any given time, and work out ways to contain/reduce it.

Unlike many pollutant gases that have a relatively shorter life span once emitted, GHG can remain in the atmosphere for a fairly long time. For instance, carbon dioxide, the major constituent of GHG, can remain in the atmosphere for as long as a thousand years.

The Industrial Revolution in the 19th century and industrialisation in the world added to great volumes of GHG in the atmosphere over time. Unfortunately, the realisation of their adverse impact on climate came quite late.

To address this, substantial financial resources and the latest technologies are required. Developed countries, which are responsible for creating this mess in the first place and have the better financial capacity and technological capability, have to bear the major burden for this. They need to provide funds to the developing countries and facilitate technology transfers. This is the basic philosophy behind the "common but differentiated responsibilities and respective capabilities" principle.

Unfortunately, despite all the talk, this is not happening. In the COP (Conference of the Parties) meeting in Copenhagen in 2009, developed countries pledged to channel $100 billion a year to developing countries by 2020 to help them adapt to and mitigate climate change. This pledge is nowhere near being honoured. Developed countries have tried to further confuse the matter with accounting issues. Many have come out with various win-win solutions trying to obfuscate the need for financial transfers.

Excessive hot weather, untimely and excessive rains, flooding and extreme climatic conditions this year have affected people across the world. It is, however, the poor and developing countries in Africa, South Asia and Latin America which suffer the most due to a lack of resources to deal with the problem. Even if these countries were to follow the emissions discipline strictly individually, they might still suffer the climate change consequences.

India has shown leadership in declaring voluntary, ambitious NDCs (Nationally Determined Contribution) in Paris, followed by bold commitments in COPs thereafter. This is likely to motivate others, especially developing countries, to follow. But this is certainly not enough and may only serve a limited purpose.

India should use its global stature, lobbying power and leadership to take the bull by its horns – make developed countries do what they should rightly be doing, be it during the COP meetings on climate change or in other forums like G-20. As India takes over the G-20 presidency, this should be our main agenda. The developed country members of G-20 routinely corner developing countries over the subsidy issue in these meetings. It is time now to show them the mirror.

Q. Which of the following can be inferred from the passage?

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

Climate change is a global concern and requires a well-coordinated global approach to address it. In simple terms, what needs to be done is to assess and monitor the net stock of GHG (greenhouse gases) present in the atmosphere at any given time, and work out ways to contain/reduce it.

Unlike many pollutant gases that have a relatively shorter life span once emitted, GHG can remain in the atmosphere for a fairly long time. For instance, carbon dioxide, the major constituent of GHG, can remain in the atmosphere for as long as a thousand years.

The Industrial Revolution in the 19th century and industrialisation in the world added to great volumes of GHG in the atmosphere over time. Unfortunately, the realisation of their adverse impact on climate came quite late.

To address this, substantial financial resources and the latest technologies are required. Developed countries, which are responsible for creating this mess in the first place and have the better financial capacity and technological capability, have to bear the major burden for this. They need to provide funds to the developing countries and facilitate technology transfers. This is the basic philosophy behind the "common but differentiated responsibilities and respective capabilities" principle.

Unfortunately, despite all the talk, this is not happening. In the COP (Conference of the Parties) meeting in Copenhagen in 2009, developed countries pledged to channel $100 billion a year to developing countries by 2020 to help them adapt to and mitigate climate change. This pledge is nowhere near being honoured. Developed countries have tried to further confuse the matter with accounting issues. Many have come out with various win-win solutions trying to obfuscate the need for financial transfers.

Excessive hot weather, untimely and excessive rains, flooding and extreme climatic conditions this year have affected people across the world. It is, however, the poor and developing countries in Africa, South Asia and Latin America which suffer the most due to a lack of resources to deal with the problem. Even if these countries were to follow the emissions discipline strictly individually, they might still suffer the climate change consequences.

India has shown leadership in declaring voluntary, ambitious NDCs (Nationally Determined Contribution) in Paris, followed by bold commitments in COPs thereafter. This is likely to motivate others, especially developing countries, to follow. But this is certainly not enough and may only serve a limited purpose.

India should use its global stature, lobbying power and leadership to take the bull by its horns – make developed countries do what they should rightly be doing, be it during the COP meetings on climate change or in other forums like G-20. As India takes over the G-20 presidency, this should be our main agenda. The developed country members of G-20 routinely corner developing countries over the subsidy issue in these meetings. It is time now to show them the mirror.

Q. The tone of the passage is:

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

Climate change is a global concern and requires a well-coordinated global approach to address it. In simple terms, what needs to be done is to assess and monitor the net stock of GHG (greenhouse gases) present in the atmosphere at any given time, and work out ways to contain/reduce it.

Unlike many pollutant gases that have a relatively shorter life span once emitted, GHG can remain in the atmosphere for a fairly long time. For instance, carbon dioxide, the major constituent of GHG, can remain in the atmosphere for as long as a thousand years.

The Industrial Revolution in the 19th century and industrialisation in the world added to great volumes of GHG in the atmosphere over time. Unfortunately, the realisation of their adverse impact on climate came quite late.

To address this, substantial financial resources and the latest technologies are required. Developed countries, which are responsible for creating this mess in the first place and have the better financial capacity and technological capability, have to bear the major burden for this. They need to provide funds to the developing countries and facilitate technology transfers. This is the basic philosophy behind the "common but differentiated responsibilities and respective capabilities" principle.

Unfortunately, despite all the talk, this is not happening. In the COP (Conference of the Parties) meeting in Copenhagen in 2009, developed countries pledged to channel $100 billion a year to developing countries by 2020 to help them adapt to and mitigate climate change. This pledge is nowhere near being honoured. Developed countries have tried to further confuse the matter with accounting issues. Many have come out with various win-win solutions trying to obfuscate the need for financial transfers.

Excessive hot weather, untimely and excessive rains, flooding and extreme climatic conditions this year have affected people across the world. It is, however, the poor and developing countries in Africa, South Asia and Latin America which suffer the most due to a lack of resources to deal with the problem. Even if these countries were to follow the emissions discipline strictly individually, they might still suffer the climate change consequences.

India has shown leadership in declaring voluntary, ambitious NDCs (Nationally Determined Contribution) in Paris, followed by bold commitments in COPs thereafter. This is likely to motivate others, especially developing countries, to follow. But this is certainly not enough and may only serve a limited purpose.

India should use its global stature, lobbying power and leadership to take the bull by its horns – make developed countries do what they should rightly be doing, be it during the COP meetings on climate change or in other forums like G-20. As India takes over the G-20 presidency, this should be our main agenda. The developed country members of G-20 routinely corner developing countries over the subsidy issue in these meetings. It is time now to show them the mirror.

Q. Which of the following can most likely be used as an antonym for the word 'obfuscate'?

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

Climate change is a global concern and requires a well-coordinated global approach to address it. In simple terms, what needs to be done is to assess and monitor the net stock of GHG (greenhouse gases) present in the atmosphere at any given time, and work out ways to contain/reduce it.

Unlike many pollutant gases that have a relatively shorter life span once emitted, GHG can remain in the atmosphere for a fairly long time. For instance, carbon dioxide, the major constituent of GHG, can remain in the atmosphere for as long as a thousand years.

The Industrial Revolution in the 19th century and industrialisation in the world added to great volumes of GHG in the atmosphere over time. Unfortunately, the realisation of their adverse impact on climate came quite late.

To address this, substantial financial resources and the latest technologies are required. Developed countries, which are responsible for creating this mess in the first place and have the better financial capacity and technological capability, have to bear the major burden for this. They need to provide funds to the developing countries and facilitate technology transfers. This is the basic philosophy behind the "common but differentiated responsibilities and respective capabilities" principle.

Unfortunately, despite all the talk, this is not happening. In the COP (Conference of the Parties) meeting in Copenhagen in 2009, developed countries pledged to channel $100 billion a year to developing countries by 2020 to help them adapt to and mitigate climate change. This pledge is nowhere near being honoured. Developed countries have tried to further confuse the matter with accounting issues. Many have come out with various win-win solutions trying to obfuscate the need for financial transfers.

Excessive hot weather, untimely and excessive rains, flooding and extreme climatic conditions this year have affected people across the world. It is, however, the poor and developing countries in Africa, South Asia and Latin America which suffer the most due to a lack of resources to deal with the problem. Even if these countries were to follow the emissions discipline strictly individually, they might still suffer the climate change consequences.

India has shown leadership in declaring voluntary, ambitious NDCs (Nationally Determined Contribution) in Paris, followed by bold commitments in COPs thereafter. This is likely to motivate others, especially developing countries, to follow. But this is certainly not enough and may only serve a limited purpose.

India should use its global stature, lobbying power and leadership to take the bull by its horns – make developed countries do what they should rightly be doing, be it during the COP meetings on climate change or in other forums like G-20. As India takes over the G-20 presidency, this should be our main agenda. The developed country members of G-20 routinely corner developing countries over the subsidy issue in these meetings. It is time now to show them the mirror.

Q. The author is trying to ______ that India must use its ______ to make developed countries follow the right path.

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

Climate change is a global concern and requires a well-coordinated global approach to address it. In simple terms, what needs to be done is to assess and monitor the net stock of GHG (greenhouse gases) present in the atmosphere at any given time, and work out ways to contain/reduce it.

Unlike many pollutant gases that have a relatively shorter life span once emitted, GHG can remain in the atmosphere for a fairly long time. For instance, carbon dioxide, the major constituent of GHG, can remain in the atmosphere for as long as a thousand years.

The Industrial Revolution in the 19th century and industrialisation in the world added to great volumes of GHG in the atmosphere over time. Unfortunately, the realisation of their adverse impact on climate came quite late.

To address this, substantial financial resources and the latest technologies are required. Developed countries, which are responsible for creating this mess in the first place and have the better financial capacity and technological capability, have to bear the major burden for this. They need to provide funds to the developing countries and facilitate technology transfers. This is the basic philosophy behind the "common but differentiated responsibilities and respective capabilities" principle.

Unfortunately, despite all the talk, this is not happening. In the COP (Conference of the Parties) meeting in Copenhagen in 2009, developed countries pledged to channel $100 billion a year to developing countries by 2020 to help them adapt to and mitigate climate change. This pledge is nowhere near being honoured. Developed countries have tried to further confuse the matter with accounting issues. Many have come out with various win-win solutions trying to obfuscate the need for financial transfers.

Excessive hot weather, untimely and excessive rains, flooding and extreme climatic conditions this year have affected people across the world. It is, however, the poor and developing countries in Africa, South Asia and Latin America which suffer the most due to a lack of resources to deal with the problem. Even if these countries were to follow the emissions discipline strictly individually, they might still suffer the climate change consequences.

India has shown leadership in declaring voluntary, ambitious NDCs (Nationally Determined Contribution) in Paris, followed by bold commitments in COPs thereafter. This is likely to motivate others, especially developing countries, to follow. But this is certainly not enough and may only serve a limited purpose.

India should use its global stature, lobbying power and leadership to take the bull by its horns – make developed countries do what they should rightly be doing, be it during the COP meetings on climate change or in other forums like G-20. As India takes over the G-20 presidency, this should be our main agenda. The developed country members of G-20 routinely corner developing countries over the subsidy issue in these meetings. It is time now to show them the mirror.

Q. Which of the following is the main conclusion evident from the passage?