Daily Passage Test for CLAT - May 17 MCQs & solutions Free

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.

Humans would not be here but for pregnancy and childbirth. It is true for each of us and, more importantly, true for all of us, collectively. These uncomfortable, protracted and wonderful challenges not only shepherd us into the world, but also shape our behaviour, social structure and the trajectory of our evolution itself. The surprising part is that, while pregnancy and childbirth are fundamental and defining traits of mammals, they have driven us humans to be very un-mammalian indeed.

Popular notion often has it that natural selection works by seizing on fundamental traits and processes, and optimising them with each new beat of the generations and species. But that’s not always true. Instead of functioning as a refining, perfecting tool, evolution in the real world is all about trade-offs: life has limitations, and big changes in one area often mean sacrifices in others. We humans are the smartest, most complex animals on the planet, but we do not have the best or most optimised biology by any stretch, especially not when it comes to reproduction.

Witnessing our fellow mammals give birth, experiencing the rawness of sight, smell and sound, lays bare the biology before us. On the one hand is the disgust born of our evolutionary predilection to avoid blood and fluids of other animals – a necessary impulse in pre-sanitary times. No matter one’s willingness to embrace a positive view of bodily function, the stomach requires training against the mind when any human, for example a doctor, engages this evolutionary apparatus. The shame and avoidance we feel with all forms of bodily discharge are a sound and healthy part of our subconscious.

There is, however, a deeper discomfort that arises from watching our fellow mammals give birth – one notices a nonchalance compared with our own elaborate, painful and sacramental experience. A cow moos and lows in mild discomfort, as one might when feeling full after a good meal, but it does not compare with the suffering of a birthing human mother. The calf is birthed quickly, practically dropping to the ground after a short push – nothing compared with our day or more of arduous labour. For our survival, and the core of our family happiness, our species must endure pain and risk. We are alone in this, and it troubles us.

We are alone because, though we are a mammal like the cow, and like our nearest cousins the chimps and other apes, we do not act like a mammal, hardly ever. Our blood is warm, our skin has hair, our brain is well-integrated across its hemispheres – and there the similarities end. For a mammal, we live too long, we are too smart for our size, and we are too faithful to our partners. In these particulars, we are decidedly not alone – but, rather, alone in our class.

The other post-reptilian, warm-blooded, big-brained class of animals – only distantly related to us – share far more of what makes us human than do our hairy near-cousins. To understand humans – and our reproduction – we have to start with birds.

Q. What can be inferred from the passage among the following options?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.

Humans would not be here but for pregnancy and childbirth. It is true for each of us and, more importantly, true for all of us, collectively. These uncomfortable, protracted and wonderful challenges not only shepherd us into the world, but also shape our behaviour, social structure and the trajectory of our evolution itself. The surprising part is that, while pregnancy and childbirth are fundamental and defining traits of mammals, they have driven us humans to be very un-mammalian indeed.

Popular notion often has it that natural selection works by seizing on fundamental traits and processes, and optimising them with each new beat of the generations and species. But that’s not always true. Instead of functioning as a refining, perfecting tool, evolution in the real world is all about trade-offs: life has limitations, and big changes in one area often mean sacrifices in others. We humans are the smartest, most complex animals on the planet, but we do not have the best or most optimised biology by any stretch, especially not when it comes to reproduction.

Witnessing our fellow mammals give birth, experiencing the rawness of sight, smell and sound, lays bare the biology before us. On the one hand is the disgust born of our evolutionary predilection to avoid blood and fluids of other animals – a necessary impulse in pre-sanitary times. No matter one’s willingness to embrace a positive view of bodily function, the stomach requires training against the mind when any human, for example a doctor, engages this evolutionary apparatus. The shame and avoidance we feel with all forms of bodily discharge are a sound and healthy part of our subconscious.

There is, however, a deeper discomfort that arises from watching our fellow mammals give birth – one notices a nonchalance compared with our own elaborate, painful and sacramental experience. A cow moos and lows in mild discomfort, as one might when feeling full after a good meal, but it does not compare with the suffering of a birthing human mother. The calf is birthed quickly, practically dropping to the ground after a short push – nothing compared with our day or more of arduous labour. For our survival, and the core of our family happiness, our species must endure pain and risk. We are alone in this, and it troubles us.

We are alone because, though we are a mammal like the cow, and like our nearest cousins the chimps and other apes, we do not act like a mammal, hardly ever. Our blood is warm, our skin has hair, our brain is well-integrated across its hemispheres – and there the similarities end. For a mammal, we live too long, we are too smart for our size, and we are too faithful to our partners. In these particulars, we are decidedly not alone – but, rather, alone in our class.

The other post-reptilian, warm-blooded, big-brained class of animals – only distantly related to us – share far more of what makes us human than do our hairy near-cousins. To understand humans – and our reproduction – we have to start with birds.

Q. How is "nonchalance" defined in the passage?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.

Humans would not be here but for pregnancy and childbirth. It is true for each of us and, more importantly, true for all of us, collectively. These uncomfortable, protracted and wonderful challenges not only shepherd us into the world, but also shape our behaviour, social structure and the trajectory of our evolution itself. The surprising part is that, while pregnancy and childbirth are fundamental and defining traits of mammals, they have driven us humans to be very un-mammalian indeed.

Popular notion often has it that natural selection works by seizing on fundamental traits and processes, and optimising them with each new beat of the generations and species. But that’s not always true. Instead of functioning as a refining, perfecting tool, evolution in the real world is all about trade-offs: life has limitations, and big changes in one area often mean sacrifices in others. We humans are the smartest, most complex animals on the planet, but we do not have the best or most optimised biology by any stretch, especially not when it comes to reproduction.

Witnessing our fellow mammals give birth, experiencing the rawness of sight, smell and sound, lays bare the biology before us. On the one hand is the disgust born of our evolutionary predilection to avoid blood and fluids of other animals – a necessary impulse in pre-sanitary times. No matter one’s willingness to embrace a positive view of bodily function, the stomach requires training against the mind when any human, for example a doctor, engages this evolutionary apparatus. The shame and avoidance we feel with all forms of bodily discharge are a sound and healthy part of our subconscious.

There is, however, a deeper discomfort that arises from watching our fellow mammals give birth – one notices a nonchalance compared with our own elaborate, painful and sacramental experience. A cow moos and lows in mild discomfort, as one might when feeling full after a good meal, but it does not compare with the suffering of a birthing human mother. The calf is birthed quickly, practically dropping to the ground after a short push – nothing compared with our day or more of arduous labour. For our survival, and the core of our family happiness, our species must endure pain and risk. We are alone in this, and it troubles us.

We are alone because, though we are a mammal like the cow, and like our nearest cousins the chimps and other apes, we do not act like a mammal, hardly ever. Our blood is warm, our skin has hair, our brain is well-integrated across its hemispheres – and there the similarities end. For a mammal, we live too long, we are too smart for our size, and we are too faithful to our partners. In these particulars, we are decidedly not alone – but, rather, alone in our class.

The other post-reptilian, warm-blooded, big-brained class of animals – only distantly related to us – share far more of what makes us human than do our hairy near-cousins. To understand humans – and our reproduction – we have to start with birds.

Q. What literary device is employed in the sentence: "A cow moos and lows in mild discomfort, as one might when feeling full after a good meal"?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.

Humans would not be here but for pregnancy and childbirth. It is true for each of us and, more importantly, true for all of us, collectively. These uncomfortable, protracted and wonderful challenges not only shepherd us into the world, but also shape our behaviour, social structure and the trajectory of our evolution itself. The surprising part is that, while pregnancy and childbirth are fundamental and defining traits of mammals, they have driven us humans to be very un-mammalian indeed.

Popular notion often has it that natural selection works by seizing on fundamental traits and processes, and optimising them with each new beat of the generations and species. But that’s not always true. Instead of functioning as a refining, perfecting tool, evolution in the real world is all about trade-offs: life has limitations, and big changes in one area often mean sacrifices in others. We humans are the smartest, most complex animals on the planet, but we do not have the best or most optimised biology by any stretch, especially not when it comes to reproduction.

Witnessing our fellow mammals give birth, experiencing the rawness of sight, smell and sound, lays bare the biology before us. On the one hand is the disgust born of our evolutionary predilection to avoid blood and fluids of other animals – a necessary impulse in pre-sanitary times. No matter one’s willingness to embrace a positive view of bodily function, the stomach requires training against the mind when any human, for example a doctor, engages this evolutionary apparatus. The shame and avoidance we feel with all forms of bodily discharge are a sound and healthy part of our subconscious.

There is, however, a deeper discomfort that arises from watching our fellow mammals give birth – one notices a nonchalance compared with our own elaborate, painful and sacramental experience. A cow moos and lows in mild discomfort, as one might when feeling full after a good meal, but it does not compare with the suffering of a birthing human mother. The calf is birthed quickly, practically dropping to the ground after a short push – nothing compared with our day or more of arduous labour. For our survival, and the core of our family happiness, our species must endure pain and risk. We are alone in this, and it troubles us.

We are alone because, though we are a mammal like the cow, and like our nearest cousins the chimps and other apes, we do not act like a mammal, hardly ever. Our blood is warm, our skin has hair, our brain is well-integrated across its hemispheres – and there the similarities end. For a mammal, we live too long, we are too smart for our size, and we are too faithful to our partners. In these particulars, we are decidedly not alone – but, rather, alone in our class.

The other post-reptilian, warm-blooded, big-brained class of animals – only distantly related to us – share far more of what makes us human than do our hairy near-cousins. To understand humans – and our reproduction – we have to start with birds.

Q. What does the passage suggest about the role of pregnancy and childbirth in human evolution?

Directions: Kindly read the passage carefully and answer the questions given beside.

Humans would not be here but for pregnancy and childbirth. It is true for each of us and, more importantly, true for all of us, collectively. These uncomfortable, protracted and wonderful challenges not only shepherd us into the world, but also shape our behaviour, social structure and the trajectory of our evolution itself. The surprising part is that, while pregnancy and childbirth are fundamental and defining traits of mammals, they have driven us humans to be very un-mammalian indeed.

Popular notion often has it that natural selection works by seizing on fundamental traits and processes, and optimising them with each new beat of the generations and species. But that’s not always true. Instead of functioning as a refining, perfecting tool, evolution in the real world is all about trade-offs: life has limitations, and big changes in one area often mean sacrifices in others. We humans are the smartest, most complex animals on the planet, but we do not have the best or most optimised biology by any stretch, especially not when it comes to reproduction.

Witnessing our fellow mammals give birth, experiencing the rawness of sight, smell and sound, lays bare the biology before us. On the one hand is the disgust born of our evolutionary predilection to avoid blood and fluids of other animals – a necessary impulse in pre-sanitary times. No matter one’s willingness to embrace a positive view of bodily function, the stomach requires training against the mind when any human, for example a doctor, engages this evolutionary apparatus. The shame and avoidance we feel with all forms of bodily discharge are a sound and healthy part of our subconscious.

There is, however, a deeper discomfort that arises from watching our fellow mammals give birth – one notices a nonchalance compared with our own elaborate, painful and sacramental experience. A cow moos and lows in mild discomfort, as one might when feeling full after a good meal, but it does not compare with the suffering of a birthing human mother. The calf is birthed quickly, practically dropping to the ground after a short push – nothing compared with our day or more of arduous labour. For our survival, and the core of our family happiness, our species must endure pain and risk. We are alone in this, and it troubles us.

We are alone because, though we are a mammal like the cow, and like our nearest cousins the chimps and other apes, we do not act like a mammal, hardly ever. Our blood is warm, our skin has hair, our brain is well-integrated across its hemispheres – and there the similarities end. For a mammal, we live too long, we are too smart for our size, and we are too faithful to our partners. In these particulars, we are decidedly not alone – but, rather, alone in our class.

The other post-reptilian, warm-blooded, big-brained class of animals – only distantly related to us – share far more of what makes us human than do our hairy near-cousins. To understand humans – and our reproduction – we have to start with birds.

Q. What does the passage reveal about the uniqueness of humans among mammals?