Daily Passage Test for CLAT - Sep 21 MCQs & solutions Free

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

Aunty Nusrat wasn’t someone I spent a lot of time with. I met her, or rather bumped into her, at family gatherings that she always attended punctually. She would greet me warmly with a hug and a sloppy kiss planted on my forehead. She would enquire about my family (even though she would see them standing right next to me) and my studies, and would heap blessings upon me, which included among many things becoming a big doctor and a mother to boys. She was mild and gentle towards everyone, and she was someone people usually said nice things about.

Over the years, this repeated exposure to Aunty Nusrat transformed and turned itself into a habit and then into an expectation. When I crossed into my early 20s, this expectation would announce itself at a family gathering in the form of a slight tug at the heart, which would then dissolve into a feeling of relief upon seeing her. It was as though my mind had a checklist for family gatherings that included Aunty Nusrat as one of the things I needed to cross off. The funny thing about these episodes was they lasted only a few seconds. They never entered my mind before or after the events. They existed only for as long as they took place.

One July afternoon, at a distant cousin’s engagement party, I felt the familiar tug at my heart. I looked around for Aunty Nusrat, but she was nowhere to be seen. I asked a few people, but no one had seen her. Later, closer to when the party was about to conclude, we learned that she had passed away. She had been getting ready to leave for the party when she had suddenly collapsed. She was taken to the hospital where she was declared dead. When we heard about her death, she had already been buried.

We went upstairs and after performing our ablutions, prayed side by side. Throughout the prayers, I felt that I was unable to concentrate. I was upset of course, but I couldn’t say that I was heartbroken or even deeply distressed. I couldn’t understand why I was feeling restless. I thought about Aunty Nusrat and how she had sort of just existed out there for as long as I could remember. I wasn’t missing her, maybe just missing the idea of her. She was like a painting that had stood in your home for years and now had suddenly disappeared, leaving behind just the impression on the wall, a painting that you mostly walked by most days but occasionally you would catch yourself stopping and gazing at its contents before walking off again.

Q. How would you describe the tone of the passage?

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

Aunty Nusrat wasn’t someone I spent a lot of time with. I met her, or rather bumped into her, at family gatherings that she always attended punctually. She would greet me warmly with a hug and a sloppy kiss planted on my forehead. She would enquire about my family (even though she would see them standing right next to me) and my studies, and would heap blessings upon me, which included among many things becoming a big doctor and a mother to boys. She was mild and gentle towards everyone, and she was someone people usually said nice things about.

Over the years, this repeated exposure to Aunty Nusrat transformed and turned itself into a habit and then into an expectation. When I crossed into my early 20s, this expectation would announce itself at a family gathering in the form of a slight tug at the heart, which would then dissolve into a feeling of relief upon seeing her. It was as though my mind had a checklist for family gatherings that included Aunty Nusrat as one of the things I needed to cross off. The funny thing about these episodes was they lasted only a few seconds. They never entered my mind before or after the events. They existed only for as long as they took place.

One July afternoon, at a distant cousin’s engagement party, I felt the familiar tug at my heart. I looked around for Aunty Nusrat, but she was nowhere to be seen. I asked a few people, but no one had seen her. Later, closer to when the party was about to conclude, we learned that she had passed away. She had been getting ready to leave for the party when she had suddenly collapsed. She was taken to the hospital where she was declared dead. When we heard about her death, she had already been buried.

We went upstairs and after performing our ablutions, prayed side by side. Throughout the prayers, I felt that I was unable to concentrate. I was upset of course, but I couldn’t say that I was heartbroken or even deeply distressed. I couldn’t understand why I was feeling restless. I thought about Aunty Nusrat and how she had sort of just existed out there for as long as I could remember. I wasn’t missing her, maybe just missing the idea of her. She was like a painting that had stood in your home for years and now had suddenly disappeared, leaving behind just the impression on the wall, a painting that you mostly walked by most days but occasionally you would catch yourself stopping and gazing at its contents before walking off again.

Q. How may Aunty Nusrat be deduced from the passage?

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

Aunty Nusrat wasn’t someone I spent a lot of time with. I met her, or rather bumped into her, at family gatherings that she always attended punctually. She would greet me warmly with a hug and a sloppy kiss planted on my forehead. She would enquire about my family (even though she would see them standing right next to me) and my studies, and would heap blessings upon me, which included among many things becoming a big doctor and a mother to boys. She was mild and gentle towards everyone, and she was someone people usually said nice things about.

Over the years, this repeated exposure to Aunty Nusrat transformed and turned itself into a habit and then into an expectation. When I crossed into my early 20s, this expectation would announce itself at a family gathering in the form of a slight tug at the heart, which would then dissolve into a feeling of relief upon seeing her. It was as though my mind had a checklist for family gatherings that included Aunty Nusrat as one of the things I needed to cross off. The funny thing about these episodes was they lasted only a few seconds. They never entered my mind before or after the events. They existed only for as long as they took place.

One July afternoon, at a distant cousin’s engagement party, I felt the familiar tug at my heart. I looked around for Aunty Nusrat, but she was nowhere to be seen. I asked a few people, but no one had seen her. Later, closer to when the party was about to conclude, we learned that she had passed away. She had been getting ready to leave for the party when she had suddenly collapsed. She was taken to the hospital where she was declared dead. When we heard about her death, she had already been buried.

We went upstairs and after performing our ablutions, prayed side by side. Throughout the prayers, I felt that I was unable to concentrate. I was upset of course, but I couldn’t say that I was heartbroken or even deeply distressed. I couldn’t understand why I was feeling restless. I thought about Aunty Nusrat and how she had sort of just existed out there for as long as I could remember. I wasn’t missing her, maybe just missing the idea of her. She was like a painting that had stood in your home for years and now had suddenly disappeared, leaving behind just the impression on the wall, a painting that you mostly walked by most days but occasionally you would catch yourself stopping and gazing at its contents before walking off again.

Q. How did Aunty Nusrat and the narrator typically communicate?

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

Aunty Nusrat wasn’t someone I spent a lot of time with. I met her, or rather bumped into her, at family gatherings that she always attended punctually. She would greet me warmly with a hug and a sloppy kiss planted on my forehead. She would enquire about my family (even though she would see them standing right next to me) and my studies, and would heap blessings upon me, which included among many things becoming a big doctor and a mother to boys. She was mild and gentle towards everyone, and she was someone people usually said nice things about.

Over the years, this repeated exposure to Aunty Nusrat transformed and turned itself into a habit and then into an expectation. When I crossed into my early 20s, this expectation would announce itself at a family gathering in the form of a slight tug at the heart, which would then dissolve into a feeling of relief upon seeing her. It was as though my mind had a checklist for family gatherings that included Aunty Nusrat as one of the things I needed to cross off. The funny thing about these episodes was they lasted only a few seconds. They never entered my mind before or after the events. They existed only for as long as they took place.

One July afternoon, at a distant cousin’s engagement party, I felt the familiar tug at my heart. I looked around for Aunty Nusrat, but she was nowhere to be seen. I asked a few people, but no one had seen her. Later, closer to when the party was about to conclude, we learned that she had passed away. She had been getting ready to leave for the party when she had suddenly collapsed. She was taken to the hospital where she was declared dead. When we heard about her death, she had already been buried.

We went upstairs and after performing our ablutions, prayed side by side. Throughout the prayers, I felt that I was unable to concentrate. I was upset of course, but I couldn’t say that I was heartbroken or even deeply distressed. I couldn’t understand why I was feeling restless. I thought about Aunty Nusrat and how she had sort of just existed out there for as long as I could remember. I wasn’t missing her, maybe just missing the idea of her. She was like a painting that had stood in your home for years and now had suddenly disappeared, leaving behind just the impression on the wall, a painting that you mostly walked by most days but occasionally you would catch yourself stopping and gazing at its contents before walking off again.

Q. What is the author's initial impression of Aunty Nusrat?

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

Aunty Nusrat wasn’t someone I spent a lot of time with. I met her, or rather bumped into her, at family gatherings that she always attended punctually. She would greet me warmly with a hug and a sloppy kiss planted on my forehead. She would enquire about my family (even though she would see them standing right next to me) and my studies, and would heap blessings upon me, which included among many things becoming a big doctor and a mother to boys. She was mild and gentle towards everyone, and she was someone people usually said nice things about.

Over the years, this repeated exposure to Aunty Nusrat transformed and turned itself into a habit and then into an expectation. When I crossed into my early 20s, this expectation would announce itself at a family gathering in the form of a slight tug at the heart, which would then dissolve into a feeling of relief upon seeing her. It was as though my mind had a checklist for family gatherings that included Aunty Nusrat as one of the things I needed to cross off. The funny thing about these episodes was they lasted only a few seconds. They never entered my mind before or after the events. They existed only for as long as they took place.

One July afternoon, at a distant cousin’s engagement party, I felt the familiar tug at my heart. I looked around for Aunty Nusrat, but she was nowhere to be seen. I asked a few people, but no one had seen her. Later, closer to when the party was about to conclude, we learned that she had passed away. She had been getting ready to leave for the party when she had suddenly collapsed. She was taken to the hospital where she was declared dead. When we heard about her death, she had already been buried.

We went upstairs and after performing our ablutions, prayed side by side. Throughout the prayers, I felt that I was unable to concentrate. I was upset of course, but I couldn’t say that I was heartbroken or even deeply distressed. I couldn’t understand why I was feeling restless. I thought about Aunty Nusrat and how she had sort of just existed out there for as long as I could remember. I wasn’t missing her, maybe just missing the idea of her. She was like a painting that had stood in your home for years and now had suddenly disappeared, leaving behind just the impression on the wall, a painting that you mostly walked by most days but occasionally you would catch yourself stopping and gazing at its contents before walking off again.

Q. How did the author's feelings toward Aunty Nusrat change as they grew older?