CLAT Practice Test- 40 - CLAT MCQ

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

Ask people about barbershop music and they'll generally conjure a familiar image : four old men in bow-striped vests and straw hats, swaying with canes, warbling standards in earnest. Hello my baby, hello my darling, hello my ragtime gal!

The image is not completely absurd. In the nascent days of the Barbershop Harmony Society - an organization founded in 19381938 that preserves and promotes barbershop music - these hallmarks were common. But in the eight decades since the organization was founded, bow-striped vests have given way to crisp suits; standards are still sung, but so are contemporary hits; and decorative canes have been banished to the unused props bin. There are men from all generations, including kids and teens and hipster 2020 -somethings, their moustaches fitting right in. And, yes, there are women.

I've known about the female barbershop organization, Sweet Adelines International, my entire life - my grandma has been a member for 5050 years and counting. But as a kid, barbershop was an abstraction to me, shaded in coolness. When my grandma talked about her barbershop singing, I envisioned women older than I ever imagined becoming, crooning listlessly in retirement homes. But then, when I was ten, my mom re-joined (she had been a member before I was born), and I attended my first regional contest to watch her compete with her quartet.

The competition stage looked like something out of Broadway : glaring spotlight, thick curtain, stage lights that shifted colour for each performer. Two giant jumbotron screens displayed the action to those who couldn't see, as if this were a sports game featuring the fearsome battle of flashy costumes and four-part harmony.

As I watched each quartet enter and exit the vast stage - all decked out in matching sequined gowns, singing in rigorously rehearsed synchronicity and displaying carefully planned choreography moves - I felt my stomach drop. I couldn't fathom my shy mother, who often broke out into an anxiety rash during social gatherings, being so openly expressive in front of hundreds of people. Would her voice quiver? Would her eyes open wide, like a deer in the spotlight? Would she choke?

From the moment she stepped on stage, I knew I didn't need to worry. She was not just comfortable, but confident: stride brisk, smile wide, voice perfectly controlled. As the quartet finished their ballad with a hushed "Smile my honey dear, while I kiss away each tear/or else I shall be melancholy too," the arena became pin-drop silent, then erupted into rapturous applause.

The experience was, in a word, thrilling - especially once the quartet ended up taking second place, turning my mom into, for all intents and purposes, a star.

Q. At the starting of passage author is talking about the

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

Ask people about barbershop music and they'll generally conjure a familiar image : four old men in bow-striped vests and straw hats, swaying with canes, warbling standards in earnest. Hello my baby, hello my darling, hello my ragtime gal!

The image is not completely absurd. In the nascent days of the Barbershop Harmony Society - an organization founded in 19381938 that preserves and promotes barbershop music - these hallmarks were common. But in the eight decades since the organization was founded, bow-striped vests have given way to crisp suits; standards are still sung, but so are contemporary hits; and decorative canes have been banished to the unused props bin. There are men from all generations, including kids and teens and hipster 2020 -somethings, their moustaches fitting right in. And, yes, there are women.

I've known about the female barbershop organization, Sweet Adelines International, my entire life - my grandma has been a member for 5050 years and counting. But as a kid, barbershop was an abstraction to me, shaded in coolness. When my grandma talked about her barbershop singing, I envisioned women older than I ever imagined becoming, crooning listlessly in retirement homes. But then, when I was ten, my mom re-joined (she had been a member before I was born), and I attended my first regional contest to watch her compete with her quartet.

The competition stage looked like something out of Broadway : glaring spotlight, thick curtain, stage lights that shifted colour for each performer. Two giant jumbotron screens displayed the action to those who couldn't see, as if this were a sports game featuring the fearsome battle of flashy costumes and four-part harmony.

As I watched each quartet enter and exit the vast stage - all decked out in matching sequined gowns, singing in rigorously rehearsed synchronicity and displaying carefully planned choreography moves - I felt my stomach drop. I couldn't fathom my shy mother, who often broke out into an anxiety rash during social gatherings, being so openly expressive in front of hundreds of people. Would her voice quiver? Would her eyes open wide, like a deer in the spotlight? Would she choke?

From the moment she stepped on stage, I knew I didn't need to worry. She was not just comfortable, but confident: stride brisk, smile wide, voice perfectly controlled. As the quartet finished their ballad with a hushed "Smile my honey dear, while I kiss away each tear/or else I shall be melancholy too," the arena became pin-drop silent, then erupted into rapturous applause.

The experience was, in a word, thrilling - especially once the quartet ended up taking second place, turning my mom into, for all intents and purposes, a star.

Q. In what context "Fatham" is used in the statement "I couldn't fathom my shy mother, who often broke out into an anxiety rash during social gatherings, being so openly expressive in front of hundreds of people" by the author?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

About forty-five hundred years ago, not long after the completion of the Great Pyramid at Giza, a seed of Pinus longaeva, the Great Basin bristlecone pine, landed on a steep slope in what are now known as the White Mountains, in eastern California. The seed may have travelled there on a gust of wind, its flight aided by a wing like attachment to the nut or it could have been planted by a bird known as the Clark's nutcracker, which likes to hide pine seeds in caches; nutcrackers have phenomenal spatial memory and can recall thousands of such caches. This seed, however, lay undisturbed. On a moist day in fall, or in the wake of melting snows in spring, a seedling appeared above ground-a stubby one-inch stem with a tuft of bright-green shoots.

Most seedlings die within a year; the mortality rate is more than ninety-nine per cent. The survivors are sometimes seen growing in the shadow of a fallen tree. The landscape of the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest, as this area of the White Mountains is called, is littered with fragments of dead trees-trunks, limbs, roots, and smaller chunks. Pinus longaeva grows exclusively in subalpine regions of the Great Basin, which stretches from the eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada to the Wasatch Range, in Utah. Conditions are generally too arid for the dead wood to rot; instead, it erodes, sanded down like rock. The remnants may harbour nutrients and fungi that help new trees grow. Bristlecones rise from the bones of their ancestors-a city within a cemetery.

Coast redwoods and giant sequoias, California's gargantuan world-record-holding trees, can grow fifty feet or more in their first twenty years. Bristlecones rise agonizingly slowly. After four or five years, the seedling on the steep slope would have been just a few inches higher, sprouting needles in place of the embryonic shoots. The needles are a deep green, tough, resinous, and closely bunched, in groups of five. On a mature tree, they live for fifty years or more. Decades may have passed before the tree was human height, and decades more before it resembled a conventional pine. Bristlecone saplings grow straight up, with relatively sparse foliage, looking like undernourished Christmas trees. After a few hundred years-by which time the Old Kingdom of Egypt had fallen-it was probably forty or fifty feet in height.

Many tree species live for hundreds of years. A smaller but not inconsiderable number, including the sequoias and certain yews, oaks, cypresses, and junipers, survive for thousands. Once a bristlecone has established itself in the unforgiving conditions of the White Mountains, it can last almost indefinitely. The trees tend to grow some distance from one another, so fires almost never destroy an entire stand. Because only a few other plant species can handle the dry, cold climate, the bristlecones face little competition. Unlike most plants, they tolerate dolomite soil, which is composed of a chalky type of limestone that is heavily alkaline and low in nutrients. As for insect threats, bristlecone wood is so dense that mountain-pine beetles and other pests can rarely burrow their way into it.

Q. Pinus longaeva grows exclusively in which reason?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

About forty-five hundred years ago, not long after the completion of the Great Pyramid at Giza, a seed of Pinus longaeva, the Great Basin bristlecone pine, landed on a steep slope in what are now known as the White Mountains, in eastern California. The seed may have travelled there on a gust of wind, its flight aided by a wing like attachment to the nut or it could have been planted by a bird known as the Clark's nutcracker, which likes to hide pine seeds in caches; nutcrackers have phenomenal spatial memory and can recall thousands of such caches. This seed, however, lay undisturbed. On a moist day in fall, or in the wake of melting snows in spring, a seedling appeared above ground-a stubby one-inch stem with a tuft of bright-green shoots.

Most seedlings die within a year; the mortality rate is more than ninety-nine per cent. The survivors are sometimes seen growing in the shadow of a fallen tree. The landscape of the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest, as this area of the White Mountains is called, is littered with fragments of dead trees-trunks, limbs, roots, and smaller chunks. Pinus longaeva grows exclusively in subalpine regions of the Great Basin, which stretches from the eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada to the Wasatch Range, in Utah. Conditions are generally too arid for the dead wood to rot; instead, it erodes, sanded down like rock. The remnants may harbour nutrients and fungi that help new trees grow. Bristlecones rise from the bones of their ancestors-a city within a cemetery.

Coast redwoods and giant sequoias, California's gargantuan world-record-holding trees, can grow fifty feet or more in their first twenty years. Bristlecones rise agonizingly slowly. After four or five years, the seedling on the steep slope would have been just a few inches higher, sprouting needles in place of the embryonic shoots. The needles are a deep green, tough, resinous, and closely bunched, in groups of five. On a mature tree, they live for fifty years or more. Decades may have passed before the tree was human height, and decades more before it resembled a conventional pine. Bristlecone saplings grow straight up, with relatively sparse foliage, looking like undernourished Christmas trees. After a few hundred years-by which time the Old Kingdom of Egypt had fallen-it was probably forty or fifty feet in height.

Many tree species live for hundreds of years. A smaller but not inconsiderable number, including the sequoias and certain yews, oaks, cypresses, and junipers, survive for thousands. Once a bristlecone has established itself in the unforgiving conditions of the White Mountains, it can last almost indefinitely. The trees tend to grow some distance from one another, so fires almost never destroy an entire stand. Because only a few other plant species can handle the dry, cold climate, the bristlecones face little competition. Unlike most plants, they tolerate dolomite soil, which is composed of a chalky type of limestone that is heavily alkaline and low in nutrients. As for insect threats, bristlecone wood is so dense that mountain-pine beetles and other pests can rarely burrow their way into it.

Q. Which of the following species of tree do not survive for thousands of years?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

About forty-five hundred years ago, not long after the completion of the Great Pyramid at Giza, a seed of Pinus longaeva, the Great Basin bristlecone pine, landed on a steep slope in what are now known as the White Mountains, in eastern California. The seed may have travelled there on a gust of wind, its flight aided by a wing like attachment to the nut or it could have been planted by a bird known as the Clark's nutcracker, which likes to hide pine seeds in caches; nutcrackers have phenomenal spatial memory and can recall thousands of such caches. This seed, however, lay undisturbed. On a moist day in fall, or in the wake of melting snows in spring, a seedling appeared above ground-a stubby one-inch stem with a tuft of bright-green shoots.

Most seedlings die within a year; the mortality rate is more than ninety-nine per cent. The survivors are sometimes seen growing in the shadow of a fallen tree. The landscape of the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest, as this area of the White Mountains is called, is littered with fragments of dead trees-trunks, limbs, roots, and smaller chunks. Pinus longaeva grows exclusively in subalpine regions of the Great Basin, which stretches from the eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada to the Wasatch Range, in Utah. Conditions are generally too arid for the dead wood to rot; instead, it erodes, sanded down like rock. The remnants may harbour nutrients and fungi that help new trees grow. Bristlecones rise from the bones of their ancestors-a city within a cemetery.

Coast redwoods and giant sequoias, California's gargantuan world-record-holding trees, can grow fifty feet or more in their first twenty years. Bristlecones rise agonizingly slowly. After four or five years, the seedling on the steep slope would have been just a few inches higher, sprouting needles in place of the embryonic shoots. The needles are a deep green, tough, resinous, and closely bunched, in groups of five. On a mature tree, they live for fifty years or more. Decades may have passed before the tree was human height, and decades more before it resembled a conventional pine. Bristlecone saplings grow straight up, with relatively sparse foliage, looking like undernourished Christmas trees. After a few hundred years-by which time the Old Kingdom of Egypt had fallen-it was probably forty or fifty feet in height.

Many tree species live for hundreds of years. A smaller but not inconsiderable number, including the sequoias and certain yews, oaks, cypresses, and junipers, survive for thousands. Once a bristlecone has established itself in the unforgiving conditions of the White Mountains, it can last almost indefinitely. The trees tend to grow some distance from one another, so fires almost never destroy an entire stand. Because only a few other plant species can handle the dry, cold climate, the bristlecones face little competition. Unlike most plants, they tolerate dolomite soil, which is composed of a chalky type of limestone that is heavily alkaline and low in nutrients. As for insect threats, bristlecone wood is so dense that mountain-pine beetles and other pests can rarely burrow their way into it.

Q. According to author what is the mortality rate of seedlings?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

About forty-five hundred years ago, not long after the completion of the Great Pyramid at Giza, a seed of Pinus longaeva, the Great Basin bristlecone pine, landed on a steep slope in what are now known as the White Mountains, in eastern California. The seed may have travelled there on a gust of wind, its flight aided by a wing like attachment to the nut or it could have been planted by a bird known as the Clark's nutcracker, which likes to hide pine seeds in caches; nutcrackers have phenomenal spatial memory and can recall thousands of such caches. This seed, however, lay undisturbed. On a moist day in fall, or in the wake of melting snows in spring, a seedling appeared above ground-a stubby one-inch stem with a tuft of bright-green shoots.

Most seedlings die within a year; the mortality rate is more than ninety-nine per cent. The survivors are sometimes seen growing in the shadow of a fallen tree. The landscape of the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest, as this area of the White Mountains is called, is littered with fragments of dead trees-trunks, limbs, roots, and smaller chunks. Pinus longaeva grows exclusively in subalpine regions of the Great Basin, which stretches from the eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada to the Wasatch Range, in Utah. Conditions are generally too arid for the dead wood to rot; instead, it erodes, sanded down like rock. The remnants may harbour nutrients and fungi that help new trees grow. Bristlecones rise from the bones of their ancestors-a city within a cemetery.

Coast redwoods and giant sequoias, California's gargantuan world-record-holding trees, can grow fifty feet or more in their first twenty years. Bristlecones rise agonizingly slowly. After four or five years, the seedling on the steep slope would have been just a few inches higher, sprouting needles in place of the embryonic shoots. The needles are a deep green, tough, resinous, and closely bunched, in groups of five. On a mature tree, they live for fifty years or more. Decades may have passed before the tree was human height, and decades more before it resembled a conventional pine. Bristlecone saplings grow straight up, with relatively sparse foliage, looking like undernourished Christmas trees. After a few hundred years-by which time the Old Kingdom of Egypt had fallen-it was probably forty or fifty feet in height.

Many tree species live for hundreds of years. A smaller but not inconsiderable number, including the sequoias and certain yews, oaks, cypresses, and junipers, survive for thousands. Once a bristlecone has established itself in the unforgiving conditions of the White Mountains, it can last almost indefinitely. The trees tend to grow some distance from one another, so fires almost never destroy an entire stand. Because only a few other plant species can handle the dry, cold climate, the bristlecones face little competition. Unlike most plants, they tolerate dolomite soil, which is composed of a chalky type of limestone that is heavily alkaline and low in nutrients. As for insect threats, bristlecone wood is so dense that mountain-pine beetles and other pests can rarely burrow their way into it.

Q. Coast redwoods and giant sequoias, California's gargantuan world-record-holding trees, can grow fifty feet or more in their first _________.

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

About forty-five hundred years ago, not long after the completion of the Great Pyramid at Giza, a seed of Pinus longaeva, the Great Basin bristlecone pine, landed on a steep slope in what are now known as the White Mountains, in eastern California. The seed may have travelled there on a gust of wind, its flight aided by a wing like attachment to the nut or it could have been planted by a bird known as the Clark's nutcracker, which likes to hide pine seeds in caches; nutcrackers have phenomenal spatial memory and can recall thousands of such caches. This seed, however, lay undisturbed. On a moist day in fall, or in the wake of melting snows in spring, a seedling appeared above ground-a stubby one-inch stem with a tuft of bright-green shoots.

Most seedlings die within a year; the mortality rate is more than ninety-nine per cent. The survivors are sometimes seen growing in the shadow of a fallen tree. The landscape of the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest, as this area of the White Mountains is called, is littered with fragments of dead trees-trunks, limbs, roots, and smaller chunks. Pinus longaeva grows exclusively in subalpine regions of the Great Basin, which stretches from the eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada to the Wasatch Range, in Utah. Conditions are generally too arid for the dead wood to rot; instead, it erodes, sanded down like rock. The remnants may harbour nutrients and fungi that help new trees grow. Bristlecones rise from the bones of their ancestors-a city within a cemetery.

Coast redwoods and giant sequoias, California's gargantuan world-record-holding trees, can grow fifty feet or more in their first twenty years. Bristlecones rise agonizingly slowly. After four or five years, the seedling on the steep slope would have been just a few inches higher, sprouting needles in place of the embryonic shoots. The needles are a deep green, tough, resinous, and closely bunched, in groups of five. On a mature tree, they live for fifty years or more. Decades may have passed before the tree was human height, and decades more before it resembled a conventional pine. Bristlecone saplings grow straight up, with relatively sparse foliage, looking like undernourished Christmas trees. After a few hundred years-by which time the Old Kingdom of Egypt had fallen-it was probably forty or fifty feet in height.

Many tree species live for hundreds of years. A smaller but not inconsiderable number, including the sequoias and certain yews, oaks, cypresses, and junipers, survive for thousands. Once a bristlecone has established itself in the unforgiving conditions of the White Mountains, it can last almost indefinitely. The trees tend to grow some distance from one another, so fires almost never destroy an entire stand. Because only a few other plant species can handle the dry, cold climate, the bristlecones face little competition. Unlike most plants, they tolerate dolomite soil, which is composed of a chalky type of limestone that is heavily alkaline and low in nutrients. As for insect threats, bristlecone wood is so dense that mountain-pine beetles and other pests can rarely burrow their way into it.

Q. What is the name of Great Basin bristlecone pine?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

Every year, a handful of people are honoured and elevated to a reputed title, the 'Nobel Laureate', which distinguishes them from others. Celebrated as one of the most coveted awards, the Nobel Prize is widely regarded as the crowning achievement of mankind that marks its scientific, economic, literary, and political excellence. No other award can match them in prestige. And while most people are aware of its existence, relatively few people know about Alfred Nobel, the genius who laid the foundation of these annually distributed awards. There is an often-repeated story regarding his creation, an interesting tale that highlights the underlying reason that persuaded him to devote his fortune to charity. Alfred Bernhard Nobel, an engineer and inventor, was born on October 21st, 1833 in Stockholm, Sweden. Right since his initial days, he was intensely curious being with a natural affinity for problem-solving. He was deeply interested in studying chemistry and was fascinated with Nitroglycerine due to its unpredictable and highly explosive nature. Despite the scientific community's aversion to Nitroglycerine, the young man's mind was determined to tame the explosive and turn it into a commercially usable blasting agent. In the 1860s, the chemist experimented with controlled explosions looking for a stable combination. However, in 1864, just when he had a feeling that he was on the cusp of an invention that would change the world, a tragedy struck his company. A vat of nitroglycerin overheated and resulted in an explosion killing five people, including his younger brother, Emil. Alfred himself suffered minor injuries in the disaster. Rather than being put off working with nitroglycerin, Alfred threw himself into trying to find a safe way to detonate the chemical. To give up now would be, in his view, to allow his brother to have died in vain. He continued his work and produced 'Dynamite', a safer to handle explosive. He was soon granted patents for his invention in Europe and the US. Dynamite, the first safely manageable explosive became Nobel's big business. It turned out to be an immediate success, with engineering companies from all over the world clamouring to get their hands on it. Afterall, controlled explosions found numerous uses, including mining, canal cutting, tunnel blasting, and more. Business boomed and numerous factories and plants were set up across the USA and Europe. Soon money started rolling in and virtually overnight, Alfred amassed fortune beyond anyone's extreme imagination. He kept refining dynamite continually and later created even stronger and safer explosives. Nobel spent most of his time tinkering with chemicals and held 355355 patents in explosives and synthetic materials.

Apart from mechanical workshops, he now set up armament factories producing cannon shells and other fearinspiring weapons of war. The explosives created by Nobel spread rapidly around the world and brought great benefits to engineering and mining. But inevitably, they were also used intensively for war. He often quoted, "As soon as nations will find that in one instant, whole armies can be utterly destroyed, they surely will abide in golden peace." Alfred considered himself to be a pacifist and strongly believed that his weapons would create deterrence, ultimately proving to be a boon to mankind. This, however, was a gross miscalculation. Wars continued, and nations didn't recoil. His inventions failed to change the course of the world. His faith in mankind was sadly misplaced.

Q. As per the passage, why did Alfred considered him a pacifist?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

Every year, a handful of people are honoured and elevated to a reputed title, the 'Nobel Laureate', which distinguishes them from others. Celebrated as one of the most coveted awards, the Nobel Prize is widely regarded as the crowning achievement of mankind that marks its scientific, economic, literary, and political excellence. No other award can match them in prestige. And while most people are aware of its existence, relatively few people know about Alfred Nobel, the genius who laid the foundation of these annually distributed awards. There is an often-repeated story regarding his creation, an interesting tale that highlights the underlying reason that persuaded him to devote his fortune to charity. Alfred Bernhard Nobel, an engineer and inventor, was born on October 21st, 1833 in Stockholm, Sweden. Right since his initial days, he was intensely curious being with a natural affinity for problem-solving. He was deeply interested in studying chemistry and was fascinated with Nitroglycerine due to its unpredictable and highly explosive nature. Despite the scientific community's aversion to Nitroglycerine, the young man's mind was determined to tame the explosive and turn it into a commercially usable blasting agent. In the 1860s, the chemist experimented with controlled explosions looking for a stable combination. However, in 1864, just when he had a feeling that he was on the cusp of an invention that would change the world, a tragedy struck his company. A vat of nitroglycerin overheated and resulted in an explosion killing five people, including his younger brother, Emil. Alfred himself suffered minor injuries in the disaster. Rather than being put off working with nitroglycerin, Alfred threw himself into trying to find a safe way to detonate the chemical. To give up now would be, in his view, to allow his brother to have died in vain. He continued his work and produced 'Dynamite', a safer to handle explosive. He was soon granted patents for his invention in Europe and the US. Dynamite, the first safely manageable explosive became Nobel's big business. It turned out to be an immediate success, with engineering companies from all over the world clamouring to get their hands on it. Afterall, controlled explosions found numerous uses, including mining, canal cutting, tunnel blasting, and more. Business boomed and numerous factories and plants were set up across the USA and Europe. Soon money started rolling in and virtually overnight, Alfred amassed fortune beyond anyone's extreme imagination. He kept refining dynamite continually and later created even stronger and safer explosives. Nobel spent most of his time tinkering with chemicals and held 355355 patents in explosives and synthetic materials.

Apart from mechanical workshops, he now set up armament factories producing cannon shells and other fearinspiring weapons of war. The explosives created by Nobel spread rapidly around the world and brought great benefits to engineering and mining. But inevitably, they were also used intensively for war. He often quoted, "As soon as nations will find that in one instant, whole armies can be utterly destroyed, they surely will abide in golden peace." Alfred considered himself to be a pacifist and strongly believed that his weapons would create deterrence, ultimately proving to be a boon to mankind. This, however, was a gross miscalculation. Wars continued, and nations didn't recoil. His inventions failed to change the course of the world. His faith in mankind was sadly misplaced.

Q. As per the passage, what did Alfred Nobel expect from various countries after they knew about his inventions?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

Every year, a handful of people are honoured and elevated to a reputed title, the 'Nobel Laureate', which distinguishes them from others. Celebrated as one of the most coveted awards, the Nobel Prize is widely regarded as the crowning achievement of mankind that marks its scientific, economic, literary, and political excellence. No other award can match them in prestige. And while most people are aware of its existence, relatively few people know about Alfred Nobel, the genius who laid the foundation of these annually distributed awards. There is an often-repeated story regarding his creation, an interesting tale that highlights the underlying reason that persuaded him to devote his fortune to charity. Alfred Bernhard Nobel, an engineer and inventor, was born on October 21st, 1833 in Stockholm, Sweden. Right since his initial days, he was intensely curious being with a natural affinity for problem-solving. He was deeply interested in studying chemistry and was fascinated with Nitroglycerine due to its unpredictable and highly explosive nature. Despite the scientific community's aversion to Nitroglycerine, the young man's mind was determined to tame the explosive and turn it into a commercially usable blasting agent. In the 1860s, the chemist experimented with controlled explosions looking for a stable combination. However, in 1864, just when he had a feeling that he was on the cusp of an invention that would change the world, a tragedy struck his company. A vat of nitroglycerin overheated and resulted in an explosion killing five people, including his younger brother, Emil. Alfred himself suffered minor injuries in the disaster. Rather than being put off working with nitroglycerin, Alfred threw himself into trying to find a safe way to detonate the chemical. To give up now would be, in his view, to allow his brother to have died in vain. He continued his work and produced 'Dynamite', a safer to handle explosive. He was soon granted patents for his invention in Europe and the US. Dynamite, the first safely manageable explosive became Nobel's big business. It turned out to be an immediate success, with engineering companies from all over the world clamouring to get their hands on it. Afterall, controlled explosions found numerous uses, including mining, canal cutting, tunnel blasting, and more. Business boomed and numerous factories and plants were set up across the USA and Europe. Soon money started rolling in and virtually overnight, Alfred amassed fortune beyond anyone's extreme imagination. He kept refining dynamite continually and later created even stronger and safer explosives. Nobel spent most of his time tinkering with chemicals and held 355355 patents in explosives and synthetic materials.

Apart from mechanical workshops, he now set up armament factories producing cannon shells and other fearinspiring weapons of war. The explosives created by Nobel spread rapidly around the world and brought great benefits to engineering and mining. But inevitably, they were also used intensively for war. He often quoted, "As soon as nations will find that in one instant, whole armies can be utterly destroyed, they surely will abide in golden peace." Alfred considered himself to be a pacifist and strongly believed that his weapons would create deterrence, ultimately proving to be a boon to mankind. This, however, was a gross miscalculation. Wars continued, and nations didn't recoil. His inventions failed to change the course of the world. His faith in mankind was sadly misplaced.

Q. According to the passage, how did Alfred lose Emil?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

Every year, a handful of people are honoured and elevated to a reputed title, the 'Nobel Laureate', which distinguishes them from others. Celebrated as one of the most coveted awards, the Nobel Prize is widely regarded as the crowning achievement of mankind that marks its scientific, economic, literary, and political excellence. No other award can match them in prestige. And while most people are aware of its existence, relatively few people know about Alfred Nobel, the genius who laid the foundation of these annually distributed awards. There is an often-repeated story regarding his creation, an interesting tale that highlights the underlying reason that persuaded him to devote his fortune to charity. Alfred Bernhard Nobel, an engineer and inventor, was born on October 21st, 1833 in Stockholm, Sweden. Right since his initial days, he was intensely curious being with a natural affinity for problem-solving. He was deeply interested in studying chemistry and was fascinated with Nitroglycerine due to its unpredictable and highly explosive nature. Despite the scientific community's aversion to Nitroglycerine, the young man's mind was determined to tame the explosive and turn it into a commercially usable blasting agent. In the 1860s, the chemist experimented with controlled explosions looking for a stable combination. However, in 1864, just when he had a feeling that he was on the cusp of an invention that would change the world, a tragedy struck his company. A vat of nitroglycerin overheated and resulted in an explosion killing five people, including his younger brother, Emil. Alfred himself suffered minor injuries in the disaster. Rather than being put off working with nitroglycerin, Alfred threw himself into trying to find a safe way to detonate the chemical. To give up now would be, in his view, to allow his brother to have died in vain. He continued his work and produced 'Dynamite', a safer to handle explosive. He was soon granted patents for his invention in Europe and the US. Dynamite, the first safely manageable explosive became Nobel's big business. It turned out to be an immediate success, with engineering companies from all over the world clamouring to get their hands on it. Afterall, controlled explosions found numerous uses, including mining, canal cutting, tunnel blasting, and more. Business boomed and numerous factories and plants were set up across the USA and Europe. Soon money started rolling in and virtually overnight, Alfred amassed fortune beyond anyone's extreme imagination. He kept refining dynamite continually and later created even stronger and safer explosives. Nobel spent most of his time tinkering with chemicals and held 355355 patents in explosives and synthetic materials.

Apart from mechanical workshops, he now set up armament factories producing cannon shells and other fearinspiring weapons of war. The explosives created by Nobel spread rapidly around the world and brought great benefits to engineering and mining. But inevitably, they were also used intensively for war. He often quoted, "As soon as nations will find that in one instant, whole armies can be utterly destroyed, they surely will abide in golden peace." Alfred considered himself to be a pacifist and strongly believed that his weapons would create deterrence, ultimately proving to be a boon to mankind. This, however, was a gross miscalculation. Wars continued, and nations didn't recoil. His inventions failed to change the course of the world. His faith in mankind was sadly misplaced.

Q. As per the question, why did Alfred's faith in mankind reduced ?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

Every year, a handful of people are honoured and elevated to a reputed title, the 'Nobel Laureate', which distinguishes them from others. Celebrated as one of the most coveted awards, the Nobel Prize is widely regarded as the crowning achievement of mankind that marks its scientific, economic, literary, and political excellence. No other award can match them in prestige. And while most people are aware of its existence, relatively few people know about Alfred Nobel, the genius who laid the foundation of these annually distributed awards. There is an often-repeated story regarding his creation, an interesting tale that highlights the underlying reason that persuaded him to devote his fortune to charity. Alfred Bernhard Nobel, an engineer and inventor, was born on October 21st, 1833 in Stockholm, Sweden. Right since his initial days, he was intensely curious being with a natural affinity for problem-solving. He was deeply interested in studying chemistry and was fascinated with Nitroglycerine due to its unpredictable and highly explosive nature. Despite the scientific community's aversion to Nitroglycerine, the young man's mind was determined to tame the explosive and turn it into a commercially usable blasting agent. In the 1860s, the chemist experimented with controlled explosions looking for a stable combination. However, in 1864, just when he had a feeling that he was on the cusp of an invention that would change the world, a tragedy struck his company. A vat of nitroglycerin overheated and resulted in an explosion killing five people, including his younger brother, Emil. Alfred himself suffered minor injuries in the disaster. Rather than being put off working with nitroglycerin, Alfred threw himself into trying to find a safe way to detonate the chemical. To give up now would be, in his view, to allow his brother to have died in vain. He continued his work and produced 'Dynamite', a safer to handle explosive. He was soon granted patents for his invention in Europe and the US. Dynamite, the first safely manageable explosive became Nobel's big business. It turned out to be an immediate success, with engineering companies from all over the world clamouring to get their hands on it. Afterall, controlled explosions found numerous uses, including mining, canal cutting, tunnel blasting, and more. Business boomed and numerous factories and plants were set up across the USA and Europe. Soon money started rolling in and virtually overnight, Alfred amassed fortune beyond anyone's extreme imagination. He kept refining dynamite continually and later created even stronger and safer explosives. Nobel spent most of his time tinkering with chemicals and held 355355 patents in explosives and synthetic materials.

Apart from mechanical workshops, he now set up armament factories producing cannon shells and other fearinspiring weapons of war. The explosives created by Nobel spread rapidly around the world and brought great benefits to engineering and mining. But inevitably, they were also used intensively for war. He often quoted, "As soon as nations will find that in one instant, whole armies can be utterly destroyed, they surely will abide in golden peace." Alfred considered himself to be a pacifist and strongly believed that his weapons would create deterrence, ultimately proving to be a boon to mankind. This, however, was a gross miscalculation. Wars continued, and nations didn't recoil. His inventions failed to change the course of the world. His faith in mankind was sadly misplaced.

Q. According to the passage, who started the process of the prestigious Nobel Prizes?

Direction: Read the passage carefully in order to answer the questions.

Novelist and Kendra Sahitya Akademi Award-winner KR Meera makes no bones about the fact that writing comes from repression and women experience it 10 times more than men. She considers women the true repository of stories and her critically acclaimed works reclaim that space. Her advice to budding women writers is to be fully vigilant about how masculinity insinuates itself into their world but also reassures them that for all their attempts at subjugation and slighting, the utmost men can do is envy women writers! She reminds us that every Women's Day is a day to dream of a world when every day is a women's day. "In that world, people won't desire to become more masculine but to become more humane," she says.

A few months ago, I met a man who tried to teach me how to write and what to write. He justified his right to do so saying, "you know, the one who eats the omelette is the right person to comment on the egg, not the hen". And I replied, 'but the hen alone can describe the pain and labour in conceiving and laying it, not the omelette eater. The moment the hen starts talking about her life, the concept of omelette might change altogether.'

Taking a cue from him, I think we can categorize the world's literature into two - omelette eaters' literature and hens' literature. I wish there is a cock's literature too, but I am afraid that it would be the same story which has been repeated over and again.

And why is it happening? May be the omelette eaters are truly uncomfortable listening to true stories of the conceived egg and the pain and labour of laying it. Maybe they are scared of losing their omelettes.

But whether they accept it or not, all the literature in this world is either of or about women only. Women have been the custodians of stories in all societies from time immemorial. Just think about the first story we have listened to. I bet it was told by a woman and not a man. But the first story you read in print had been invariably that of a man's. That explains it.

The number of women who write are far less than men writers because the women have been kept away from reading and writing all through history. Even today many are not allowed to read or write. Many have no access to publishing. That is why the Women's Day celebration is justified year after year. We need to remind us at least for a day that our due share of the world, its resources, its freedom, and its happiness is being denied. It is good that we have this day to remind the other half that whatever they enjoy is our rightful share.

Q. What is the meaning of the word 'insinuation' according to the passage?

Direction: Read the passage carefully in order to answer the questions.

Novelist and Kendra Sahitya Akademi Award-winner KR Meera makes no bones about the fact that writing comes from repression and women experience it 10 times more than men. She considers women the true repository of stories and her critically acclaimed works reclaim that space. Her advice to budding women writers is to be fully vigilant about how masculinity insinuates itself into their world but also reassures them that for all their attempts at subjugation and slighting, the utmost men can do is envy women writers! She reminds us that every Women's Day is a day to dream of a world when every day is a women's day. "In that world, people won't desire to become more masculine but to become more humane," she says.

A few months ago, I met a man who tried to teach me how to write and what to write. He justified his right to do so saying, "you know, the one who eats the omelette is the right person to comment on the egg, not the hen". And I replied, 'but the hen alone can describe the pain and labour in conceiving and laying it, not the omelette eater. The moment the hen starts talking about her life, the concept of omelette might change altogether.'

Taking a cue from him, I think we can categorize the world's literature into two - omelette eaters' literature and hens' literature. I wish there is a cock's literature too, but I am afraid that it would be the same story which has been repeated over and again.

And why is it happening? May be the omelette eaters are truly uncomfortable listening to true stories of the conceived egg and the pain and labour of laying it. Maybe they are scared of losing their omelettes.

But whether they accept it or not, all the literature in this world is either of or about women only. Women have been the custodians of stories in all societies from time immemorial. Just think about the first story we have listened to. I bet it was told by a woman and not a man. But the first story you read in print had been invariably that of a man's. That explains it.

The number of women who write are far less than men writers because the women have been kept away from reading and writing all through history. Even today many are not allowed to read or write. Many have no access to publishing. That is why the Women's Day celebration is justified year after year. We need to remind us at least for a day that our due share of the world, its resources, its freedom, and its happiness is being denied. It is good that we have this day to remind the other half that whatever they enjoy is our rightful share.

Q. From the passage, why are there fewer women writers as compared to men?

Direction: Read the passage carefully in order to answer the questions.

Novelist and Kendra Sahitya Akademi Award-winner KR Meera makes no bones about the fact that writing comes from repression and women experience it 10 times more than men. She considers women the true repository of stories and her critically acclaimed works reclaim that space. Her advice to budding women writers is to be fully vigilant about how masculinity insinuates itself into their world but also reassures them that for all their attempts at subjugation and slighting, the utmost men can do is envy women writers! She reminds us that every Women's Day is a day to dream of a world when every day is a women's day. "In that world, people won't desire to become more masculine but to become more humane," she says.

A few months ago, I met a man who tried to teach me how to write and what to write. He justified his right to do so saying, "you know, the one who eats the omelette is the right person to comment on the egg, not the hen". And I replied, 'but the hen alone can describe the pain and labour in conceiving and laying it, not the omelette eater. The moment the hen starts talking about her life, the concept of omelette might change altogether.'

Taking a cue from him, I think we can categorize the world's literature into two - omelette eaters' literature and hens' literature. I wish there is a cock's literature too, but I am afraid that it would be the same story which has been repeated over and again.

And why is it happening? May be the omelette eaters are truly uncomfortable listening to true stories of the conceived egg and the pain and labour of laying it. Maybe they are scared of losing their omelettes.

But whether they accept it or not, all the literature in this world is either of or about women only. Women have been the custodians of stories in all societies from time immemorial. Just think about the first story we have listened to. I bet it was told by a woman and not a man. But the first story you read in print had been invariably that of a man's. That explains it.

The number of women who write are far less than men writers because the women have been kept away from reading and writing all through history. Even today many are not allowed to read or write. Many have no access to publishing. That is why the Women's Day celebration is justified year after year. We need to remind us at least for a day that our due share of the world, its resources, its freedom, and its happiness is being denied. It is good that we have this day to remind the other half that whatever they enjoy is our rightful share.

Q. Why women are the custodians of stories in all societies as given in the passage?

Direction: Read the passage carefully in order to answer the questions.

Novelist and Kendra Sahitya Akademi Award-winner KR Meera makes no bones about the fact that writing comes from repression and women experience it 10 times more than men. She considers women the true repository of stories and her critically acclaimed works reclaim that space. Her advice to budding women writers is to be fully vigilant about how masculinity insinuates itself into their world but also reassures them that for all their attempts at subjugation and slighting, the utmost men can do is envy women writers! She reminds us that every Women's Day is a day to dream of a world when every day is a women's day. "In that world, people won't desire to become more masculine but to become more humane," she says.

A few months ago, I met a man who tried to teach me how to write and what to write. He justified his right to do so saying, "you know, the one who eats the omelette is the right person to comment on the egg, not the hen". And I replied, 'but the hen alone can describe the pain and labour in conceiving and laying it, not the omelette eater. The moment the hen starts talking about her life, the concept of omelette might change altogether.'

Taking a cue from him, I think we can categorize the world's literature into two - omelette eaters' literature and hens' literature. I wish there is a cock's literature too, but I am afraid that it would be the same story which has been repeated over and again.

And why is it happening? May be the omelette eaters are truly uncomfortable listening to true stories of the conceived egg and the pain and labour of laying it. Maybe they are scared of losing their omelettes.

But whether they accept it or not, all the literature in this world is either of or about women only. Women have been the custodians of stories in all societies from time immemorial. Just think about the first story we have listened to. I bet it was told by a woman and not a man. But the first story you read in print had been invariably that of a man's. That explains it.

The number of women who write are far less than men writers because the women have been kept away from reading and writing all through history. Even today many are not allowed to read or write. Many have no access to publishing. That is why the Women's Day celebration is justified year after year. We need to remind us at least for a day that our due share of the world, its resources, its freedom, and its happiness is being denied. It is good that we have this day to remind the other half that whatever they enjoy is our rightful share.

Q. According to the passage, how did Meera categorize the world's literature in a real sense?

Direction: Read the passage carefully in order to answer the questions.

Novelist and Kendra Sahitya Akademi Award-winner KR Meera makes no bones about the fact that writing comes from repression and women experience it 10 times more than men. She considers women the true repository of stories and her critically acclaimed works reclaim that space. Her advice to budding women writers is to be fully vigilant about how masculinity insinuates itself into their world but also reassures them that for all their attempts at subjugation and slighting, the utmost men can do is envy women writers! She reminds us that every Women's Day is a day to dream of a world when every day is a women's day. "In that world, people won't desire to become more masculine but to become more humane," she says.

A few months ago, I met a man who tried to teach me how to write and what to write. He justified his right to do so saying, "you know, the one who eats the omelette is the right person to comment on the egg, not the hen". And I replied, 'but the hen alone can describe the pain and labour in conceiving and laying it, not the omelette eater. The moment the hen starts talking about her life, the concept of omelette might change altogether.'

Taking a cue from him, I think we can categorize the world's literature into two - omelette eaters' literature and hens' literature. I wish there is a cock's literature too, but I am afraid that it would be the same story which has been repeated over and again.

And why is it happening? May be the omelette eaters are truly uncomfortable listening to true stories of the conceived egg and the pain and labour of laying it. Maybe they are scared of losing their omelettes.

But whether they accept it or not, all the literature in this world is either of or about women only. Women have been the custodians of stories in all societies from time immemorial. Just think about the first story we have listened to. I bet it was told by a woman and not a man. But the first story you read in print had been invariably that of a man's. That explains it.

The number of women who write are far less than men writers because the women have been kept away from reading and writing all through history. Even today many are not allowed to read or write. Many have no access to publishing. That is why the Women's Day celebration is justified year after year. We need to remind us at least for a day that our due share of the world, its resources, its freedom, and its happiness is being denied. It is good that we have this day to remind the other half that whatever they enjoy is our rightful share.

Q. According to the passage, what does KR Meera wants people to act on Women's day?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

An old saying goes as 'the trees with the sweetest fruits get the most hit by stones thrown at them'. A simple sentence with quite a deep meaning. Usually the same happens with the most humble, down-to-earth people in our society. They are present in abundance around us. Just that sometimes they are visible to naked eyes whereas sometimes you have to peep behind the mask they carry all the time. This hard mask becomes a necessity to protect themselves to be hit in the face by those stones that I earlier talked of. Carrying this mask just means that they might be pretending to be strong-headed and practical on the outside but actually, they have a soft, emotional, delicate inside instinct. In almost everything that happens with them, they are the givers without expecting much in return. They are caring and adore the most living beings around them, regardless of their size or significance. But often it is really disheartening to see that they are the ones to be the most criticized and blamed at. Even being the most deserving of all the happiness they desire, they are the most suffering ones. Gradually, some of these slip into a dark web and struggle hard to come out. Then is that the magic of acceptance comes in the scene.

Now two things may happen. Either they will accept themselves as well as their adversities for whole life, or their patience and perseverance bring out their sweetest fruit which does all the miracle. In the former case, even if they are not very happy with life, they are content because of acceptance. This is much like getting out of that dark web and settle peacefully at the edge, even if not completely away from it. In the latter case, they completely bounce out and transform. An individual or a team walks into their lives, who perform the acceptance act and the magic happens. First of all, they feel the light emerging from within, which eventually spreads out and may even reflect over the whole world, shining like the brightest huge star above our head that we fondly call as 'Sun'.

Either kind of acceptance is really crucial and much-needed in today's world. We are living in a time where it's a fast life and everyone seems to be racing like blind. Some of us even don't mind running over others if need be. Also, that's why the speedy increase in cases of depression, etc. Obviously, many gems go overlooked in the mad rush.

Today, put an effort to give a check whether you have one such sweet-fruits-tree around you and if you have accepted it gracefully yet. If not yet, then when? If you are the one yourself, have you found your magician(s) yet?

Q. What is the message the author is trying to convey?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

An old saying goes as 'the trees with the sweetest fruits get the most hit by stones thrown at them'. A simple sentence with quite a deep meaning. Usually the same happens with the most humble, down-to-earth people in our society. They are present in abundance around us. Just that sometimes they are visible to naked eyes whereas sometimes you have to peep behind the mask they carry all the time. This hard mask becomes a necessity to protect themselves to be hit in the face by those stones that I earlier talked of. Carrying this mask just means that they might be pretending to be strong-headed and practical on the outside but actually, they have a soft, emotional, delicate inside instinct. In almost everything that happens with them, they are the givers without expecting much in return. They are caring and adore the most living beings around them, regardless of their size or significance. But often it is really disheartening to see that they are the ones to be the most criticized and blamed at. Even being the most deserving of all the happiness they desire, they are the most suffering ones. Gradually, some of these slip into a dark web and struggle hard to come out. Then is that the magic of acceptance comes in the scene.

Now two things may happen. Either they will accept themselves as well as their adversities for whole life, or their patience and perseverance bring out their sweetest fruit which does all the miracle. In the former case, even if they are not very happy with life, they are content because of acceptance. This is much like getting out of that dark web and settle peacefully at the edge, even if not completely away from it. In the latter case, they completely bounce out and transform. An individual or a team walks into their lives, who perform the acceptance act and the magic happens. First of all, they feel the light emerging from within, which eventually spreads out and may even reflect over the whole world, shining like the brightest huge star above our head that we fondly call as 'Sun'.

Either kind of acceptance is really crucial and much-needed in today's world. We are living in a time where it's a fast life and everyone seems to be racing like blind. Some of us even don't mind running over others if need be. Also, that's why the speedy increase in cases of depression, etc. Obviously, many gems go overlooked in the mad rush.

Today, put an effort to give a check whether you have one such sweet-fruits-tree around you and if you have accepted it gracefully yet. If not yet, then when? If you are the one yourself, have you found your magician(s) yet?

Q. Which of the following word is not a synonym of instinct?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

An old saying goes as 'the trees with the sweetest fruits get the most hit by stones thrown at them'. A simple sentence with quite a deep meaning. Usually the same happens with the most humble, down-to-earth people in our society. They are present in abundance around us. Just that sometimes they are visible to naked eyes whereas sometimes you have to peep behind the mask they carry all the time. This hard mask becomes a necessity to protect themselves to be hit in the face by those stones that I earlier talked of. Carrying this mask just means that they might be pretending to be strong-headed and practical on the outside but actually, they have a soft, emotional, delicate inside instinct. In almost everything that happens with them, they are the givers without expecting much in return. They are caring and adore the most living beings around them, regardless of their size or significance. But often it is really disheartening to see that they are the ones to be the most criticized and blamed at. Even being the most deserving of all the happiness they desire, they are the most suffering ones. Gradually, some of these slip into a dark web and struggle hard to come out. Then is that the magic of acceptance comes in the scene.

Now two things may happen. Either they will accept themselves as well as their adversities for whole life, or their patience and perseverance bring out their sweetest fruit which does all the miracle. In the former case, even if they are not very happy with life, they are content because of acceptance. This is much like getting out of that dark web and settle peacefully at the edge, even if not completely away from it. In the latter case, they completely bounce out and transform. An individual or a team walks into their lives, who perform the acceptance act and the magic happens. First of all, they feel the light emerging from within, which eventually spreads out and may even reflect over the whole world, shining like the brightest huge star above our head that we fondly call as 'Sun'.

Either kind of acceptance is really crucial and much-needed in today's world. We are living in a time where it's a fast life and everyone seems to be racing like blind. Some of us even don't mind running over others if need be. Also, that's why the speedy increase in cases of depression, etc. Obviously, many gems go overlooked in the mad rush.

Today, put an effort to give a check whether you have one such sweet-fruits-tree around you and if you have accepted it gracefully yet. If not yet, then when? If you are the one yourself, have you found your magician(s) yet?

Q. Which of the following word is similar to abundance?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

An old saying goes as 'the trees with the sweetest fruits get the most hit by stones thrown at them'. A simple sentence with quite a deep meaning. Usually the same happens with the most humble, down-to-earth people in our society. They are present in abundance around us. Just that sometimes they are visible to naked eyes whereas sometimes you have to peep behind the mask they carry all the time. This hard mask becomes a necessity to protect themselves to be hit in the face by those stones that I earlier talked of. Carrying this mask just means that they might be pretending to be strong-headed and practical on the outside but actually, they have a soft, emotional, delicate inside instinct. In almost everything that happens with them, they are the givers without expecting much in return. They are caring and adore the most living beings around them, regardless of their size or significance. But often it is really disheartening to see that they are the ones to be the most criticized and blamed at. Even being the most deserving of all the happiness they desire, they are the most suffering ones. Gradually, some of these slip into a dark web and struggle hard to come out. Then is that the magic of acceptance comes in the scene.

Now two things may happen. Either they will accept themselves as well as their adversities for whole life, or their patience and perseverance bring out their sweetest fruit which does all the miracle. In the former case, even if they are not very happy with life, they are content because of acceptance. This is much like getting out of that dark web and settle peacefully at the edge, even if not completely away from it. In the latter case, they completely bounce out and transform. An individual or a team walks into their lives, who perform the acceptance act and the magic happens. First of all, they feel the light emerging from within, which eventually spreads out and may even reflect over the whole world, shining like the brightest huge star above our head that we fondly call as 'Sun'.

Either kind of acceptance is really crucial and much-needed in today's world. We are living in a time where it's a fast life and everyone seems to be racing like blind. Some of us even don't mind running over others if need be. Also, that's why the speedy increase in cases of depression, etc. Obviously, many gems go overlooked in the mad rush.

Today, put an effort to give a check whether you have one such sweet-fruits-tree around you and if you have accepted it gracefully yet. If not yet, then when? If you are the one yourself, have you found your magician(s) yet?

Q. How do these humble people transform and hit back?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

An old saying goes as 'the trees with the sweetest fruits get the most hit by stones thrown at them'. A simple sentence with quite a deep meaning. Usually the same happens with the most humble, down-to-earth people in our society. They are present in abundance around us. Just that sometimes they are visible to naked eyes whereas sometimes you have to peep behind the mask they carry all the time. This hard mask becomes a necessity to protect themselves to be hit in the face by those stones that I earlier talked of. Carrying this mask just means that they might be pretending to be strong-headed and practical on the outside but actually, they have a soft, emotional, delicate inside instinct. In almost everything that happens with them, they are the givers without expecting much in return. They are caring and adore the most living beings around them, regardless of their size or significance. But often it is really disheartening to see that they are the ones to be the most criticized and blamed at. Even being the most deserving of all the happiness they desire, they are the most suffering ones. Gradually, some of these slip into a dark web and struggle hard to come out. Then is that the magic of acceptance comes in the scene.

Now two things may happen. Either they will accept themselves as well as their adversities for whole life, or their patience and perseverance bring out their sweetest fruit which does all the miracle. In the former case, even if they are not very happy with life, they are content because of acceptance. This is much like getting out of that dark web and settle peacefully at the edge, even if not completely away from it. In the latter case, they completely bounce out and transform. An individual or a team walks into their lives, who perform the acceptance act and the magic happens. First of all, they feel the light emerging from within, which eventually spreads out and may even reflect over the whole world, shining like the brightest huge star above our head that we fondly call as 'Sun'.

Either kind of acceptance is really crucial and much-needed in today's world. We are living in a time where it's a fast life and everyone seems to be racing like blind. Some of us even don't mind running over others if need be. Also, that's why the speedy increase in cases of depression, etc. Obviously, many gems go overlooked in the mad rush.

Today, put an effort to give a check whether you have one such sweet-fruits-tree around you and if you have accepted it gracefully yet. If not yet, then when? If you are the one yourself, have you found your magician(s) yet?

Q. What does the magic of acceptance do?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

Every Sunday morning I take a light jog around a park near my home. There's a lake located in one corner of the park. Each time I jog by this lake, I see the same elderly woman sitting at the water's edge with a small metal cage sitting beside her.

This past Sunday my curiosity got the best of me, so I stopped jogging and walked over to her. As I got closer, I realized that the metal cage was, in fact, a small trap. There were three turtles, unharmed, slowly walking around the base of the trap. She had a fourth turtle in her lap that she was carefully scrubbing with a sponge brush.

"Hello," I said. "I see you here every Sunday morning. If you don't mind my nosiness, I'd love to know what you're doing with these turtles."

She smiled. "I'm cleaning off their shells," she replied. "Anything on a turtle's shell, like algae or scum, reduces the turtle's ability to absorb heat and impedes its ability to swim. It can also corrode and weaken the shell over time."

"Wow! That's really nice of you!" I exclaimed.

She went on "I spend a couple of hours each Sunday morning, relaxing by this lake and helping these little guys out. It's my strange way of making a difference."

"But don't most freshwater turtles live their whole lives with algae and scum hanging from their shells?" I asked. "Yep, sadly, they do," she replied.

I scratched my head. "Well then, don't you think your time could be better spent? I mean, I think your efforts are kind and all, but freshwater turtles are living in lakes all around the world. And 99% of these turtles don't have kind people like you to help them clean off their shells. So, no offense... but how exactly are your localized efforts here truly making a difference?"

The woman giggled aloud. She then looked down at the turtle in her lap, scrubbed off the last piece of algae from its shell, and said, "Sweetie, if this little guy could talk, he'd tell you I just made all the difference in the world."

Q. Which of the following word is closest to giggling?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

Every Sunday morning I take a light jog around a park near my home. There's a lake located in one corner of the park. Each time I jog by this lake, I see the same elderly woman sitting at the water's edge with a small metal cage sitting beside her.

This past Sunday my curiosity got the best of me, so I stopped jogging and walked over to her. As I got closer, I realized that the metal cage was, in fact, a small trap. There were three turtles, unharmed, slowly walking around the base of the trap. She had a fourth turtle in her lap that she was carefully scrubbing with a sponge brush.

"Hello," I said. "I see you here every Sunday morning. If you don't mind my nosiness, I'd love to know what you're doing with these turtles."

She smiled. "I'm cleaning off their shells," she replied. "Anything on a turtle's shell, like algae or scum, reduces the turtle's ability to absorb heat and impedes its ability to swim. It can also corrode and weaken the shell over time."

"Wow! That's really nice of you!" I exclaimed.

She went on "I spend a couple of hours each Sunday morning, relaxing by this lake and helping these little guys out. It's my strange way of making a difference."

"But don't most freshwater turtles live their whole lives with algae and scum hanging from their shells?" I asked. "Yep, sadly, they do," she replied.

I scratched my head. "Well then, don't you think your time could be better spent? I mean, I think your efforts are kind and all, but freshwater turtles are living in lakes all around the world. And 99% of these turtles don't have kind people like you to help them clean off their shells. So, no offense... but how exactly are your localized efforts here truly making a difference?"

The woman giggled aloud. She then looked down at the turtle in her lap, scrubbed off the last piece of algae from its shell, and said, "Sweetie, if this little guy could talk, he'd tell you I just made all the difference in the world."

Q. What did the author think of the old lady's acts?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

Every Sunday morning I take a light jog around a park near my home. There's a lake located in one corner of the park. Each time I jog by this lake, I see the same elderly woman sitting at the water's edge with a small metal cage sitting beside her.

This past Sunday my curiosity got the best of me, so I stopped jogging and walked over to her. As I got closer, I realized that the metal cage was, in fact, a small trap. There were three turtles, unharmed, slowly walking around the base of the trap. She had a fourth turtle in her lap that she was carefully scrubbing with a sponge brush.

"Hello," I said. "I see you here every Sunday morning. If you don't mind my nosiness, I'd love to know what you're doing with these turtles."

She smiled. "I'm cleaning off their shells," she replied. "Anything on a turtle's shell, like algae or scum, reduces the turtle's ability to absorb heat and impedes its ability to swim. It can also corrode and weaken the shell over time."

"Wow! That's really nice of you!" I exclaimed.

She went on "I spend a couple of hours each Sunday morning, relaxing by this lake and helping these little guys out. It's my strange way of making a difference."

"But don't most freshwater turtles live their whole lives with algae and scum hanging from their shells?" I asked. "Yep, sadly, they do," she replied.

I scratched my head. "Well then, don't you think your time could be better spent? I mean, I think your efforts are kind and all, but freshwater turtles are living in lakes all around the world. And 99% of these turtles don't have kind people like you to help them clean off their shells. So, no offense... but how exactly are your localized efforts here truly making a difference?"

The woman giggled aloud. She then looked down at the turtle in her lap, scrubbed off the last piece of algae from its shell, and said, "Sweetie, if this little guy could talk, he'd tell you I just made all the difference in the world."

Q. What do you understand by nosiness?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

Every Sunday morning I take a light jog around a park near my home. There's a lake located in one corner of the park. Each time I jog by this lake, I see the same elderly woman sitting at the water's edge with a small metal cage sitting beside her.

This past Sunday my curiosity got the best of me, so I stopped jogging and walked over to her. As I got closer, I realized that the metal cage was, in fact, a small trap. There were three turtles, unharmed, slowly walking around the base of the trap. She had a fourth turtle in her lap that she was carefully scrubbing with a sponge brush.

"Hello," I said. "I see you here every Sunday morning. If you don't mind my nosiness, I'd love to know what you're doing with these turtles."

She smiled. "I'm cleaning off their shells," she replied. "Anything on a turtle's shell, like algae or scum, reduces the turtle's ability to absorb heat and impedes its ability to swim. It can also corrode and weaken the shell over time."

"Wow! That's really nice of you!" I exclaimed.

She went on "I spend a couple of hours each Sunday morning, relaxing by this lake and helping these little guys out. It's my strange way of making a difference."

"But don't most freshwater turtles live their whole lives with algae and scum hanging from their shells?" I asked. "Yep, sadly, they do," she replied.

I scratched my head. "Well then, don't you think your time could be better spent? I mean, I think your efforts are kind and all, but freshwater turtles are living in lakes all around the world. And 99% of these turtles don't have kind people like you to help them clean off their shells. So, no offense... but how exactly are your localized efforts here truly making a difference?"

The woman giggled aloud. She then looked down at the turtle in her lap, scrubbed off the last piece of algae from its shell, and said, "Sweetie, if this little guy could talk, he'd tell you I just made all the difference in the world."

Q. How does the algae hurt the turtles?

Direction: Read the passage carefully, in order to answer the question.

Every Sunday morning I take a light jog around a park near my home. There's a lake located in one corner of the park. Each time I jog by this lake, I see the same elderly woman sitting at the water's edge with a small metal cage sitting beside her.

This past Sunday my curiosity got the best of me, so I stopped jogging and walked over to her. As I got closer, I realized that the metal cage was, in fact, a small trap. There were three turtles, unharmed, slowly walking around the base of the trap. She had a fourth turtle in her lap that she was carefully scrubbing with a sponge brush.

"Hello," I said. "I see you here every Sunday morning. If you don't mind my nosiness, I'd love to know what you're doing with these turtles."

She smiled. "I'm cleaning off their shells," she replied. "Anything on a turtle's shell, like algae or scum, reduces the turtle's ability to absorb heat and impedes its ability to swim. It can also corrode and weaken the shell over time."

"Wow! That's really nice of you!" I exclaimed.

She went on "I spend a couple of hours each Sunday morning, relaxing by this lake and helping these little guys out. It's my strange way of making a difference."

"But don't most freshwater turtles live their whole lives with algae and scum hanging from their shells?" I asked. "Yep, sadly, they do," she replied.

I scratched my head. "Well then, don't you think your time could be better spent? I mean, I think your efforts are kind and all, but freshwater turtles are living in lakes all around the world. And 99% of these turtles don't have kind people like you to help them clean off their shells. So, no offense... but how exactly are your localized efforts here truly making a difference?"

The woman giggled aloud. She then looked down at the turtle in her lap, scrubbed off the last piece of algae from its shell, and said, "Sweetie, if this little guy could talk, he'd tell you I just made all the difference in the world."

Q. Why did the old woman clean turtles?