English Language and Comprehension Passage For questions 1–10 In the given passage some words have been deleted. Fill in the blanks with the help of the alternatives given. Select the most appropriate option for each number.
Gabriella Montez was comfortably curled up in an overstuffed chair in the sitting area. She was (1) _________ the peace and quiet at home - everyone else was (2) ________ at the party - and had totally lost (3) __________ in a book which was the best she had (4) _________ read and she couldn’t wait to get (5) _______the end. However, before she set her eyes (6) ________ the next page, the book was (7) ________ right out of her hands, and she (8) __________ at her mother standing over her. “Gabby, it’s New Year’s Eve,” she said. “(9) __________ reading!” she snapped at her daughter. “But, mum, I’m almost done,” Gabriella (10) __________.
Passage For questions 11–20 In the given passage some words have been deleted. Fill in the blanks with the help of the alternatives given. Select the most appropriate option for each number.
The word ‘diet’ is associated with the feeling of developing eating (1) _________ that are time-bound, coupled (2) ________ a strict food plan. But the (3) ________ meaning of diet is the food (4) _________ which a person follows daily. It (5) ________ creating a food plan that (6) _________ around your lifestyle, your work, (7) _________ quality of your sleep, your (8) __________ level, the kind of (9) _______ you do, your palate and your (10) ___________.
Passage For questions 21–25 In the given passage some words have been deleted. Fill in the blanks with the help of the alternatives given. Select the most appropriate option for each number.
Ragi is a popular annual plant that is (1) _________ with healthy nutrients. It is a good (2) _______ of iron, protein, calcium and (3) ________ minerals. It is also rich in fibre and (4) _______ in weight loss as it contains (5) ______ saturated fats.
Passage For questions 26–35 Read the passage and answer the questions that follow.
The first time that Agha Shahid Ali spoke to me about his approaching death was on 25 April 2001. The conversation began routinely. I had telephoned to remind him that we had been invited to a friend’s house for lunch. Although he had been under treatment for cancer for some fourteen months, Shahid was still on his feet and perfectly lucid, except for occasional lapses of memory. I heard him thumbing through his engagement book and then suddenly he said: ‘Oh dear. I can’t see a thing.’ There was a brief pause and then he added: ‘I hope this doesn’t mean that I’m dying...’ I did not know how to respond: his voice was completely at odds with the content of what he had just said, light to the point of jocularity. I mumbled something innocuous: ‘No Shahid — of course not. You’ll be fine.’ He cut me short. In a tone of voice that was at once quizzical and direct, he said: ‘When it happens I hope you’ll write something about me.’ I was shocked into silence and a long moment passed before I could bring myself to say the things that people say on such occasions. ‘Shahid you’ll be fine; you have to be strong...’ From the window of my study I could see a corner of the building in which he lived, some eight blocks away. It was just a few months since he moved there: he had been living a few miles away, in Manhattan, when he had a sudden blackout in February 2000. After tests revealed that he had a malignant brain tumour, he decided to move to Brooklyn, to be close to his youngest sister, Sameetah, who teaches at the Pratt Institute—a few blocks away from the street where I live. Shahid ignored my reassurances. He began to laugh and it was then that I realised that he was dead serious. I understood that he was entrusting me with a quite specific charge: he wanted me to remember him not through the spoken recitatives of memory and friendship, but through the written word. He knew that my instincts would have led me to search for reasons to avoid writing about his death: I would have told myself that I was not a poet; that our friendship was of recent date; that there were many others who knew him much better and would be writing from greater understanding and knowledge. All this Shahid had guessed and he had decided to shut off those routes while there was still time. ‘You must write about me.’ Finally, I said: ‘Shahid, I will: I’ll do the best I can.’
Passage For questions 36–45 Read the passage and answer the questions that follow.
The drainage systems of India are mainly controlled by the broad relief features of the subcontinent. Accordingly, the Indian rivers are divided into two major groups: the Himalayan rivers; and the Peninsular rivers. Apart from originating from the two major physiographic regions of India, the Himalayan and the Peninsular rivers are different from each other in many ways. Most of the Himalayan rivers are perennial. It means that they have water throughout the year. These rivers receive water from rain as well as from melted snow from the lofty mountains. The major Himalayan rivers are the Indus, the Ganga and the Brahmaputra. These rivers are long, and are joined by many large and important tributaries. A river along with its tributaries may be called a river system. The two major Himalayan rivers, the Indus and the Brahmaputra originate from the north of the mountain ranges. They cut through the mountains making gorges in the upper course. The perennial Himalayan rivers have long courses from their source to the sea. They perform intensive erosional activity in their upper courses and carry huge loads of silt and sand with their swift current. In the middle and the lower courses, these rivers form meanders, oxbow lakes, levees and many other depositional features in their floodplains as their speed slackens. They also have well developed deltas. A large number of the Peninsular rivers like the Godavari, Kaveri and Krishna are seasonal, as their flow is dependent on rainfall. During the dry season when it doesn’t rain, even the large rivers have reduced flow of water in their channels. The Peninsular rivers have shorter and shallower courses as compared to their Himalayan counterparts. However, some of them originate in the central highlands and flow towards the west. Most of the rivers of peninsular India originate in the Western Ghats and flow towards the Bay of Bengal.
Passage For questions 46–50 Read the passage and answer the questions that follow.
The Roman Empire covered a vast stretch of territory that included most of Europe as we know it today and a large part of the Fertile Crescent and North Africa. The Roman empire embraced a wealth of local cultures and languages; that women had a stronger legal position then than they do in many countries today; but also that much of the economy was run on slave labour, denying freedom to substantial numbers of persons. From the fifth century onwards, the empire fell apart in the west but remained intact and exceptionally prosperous in its eastern half. Roman historians have a rich collection of sources to go on, which we can broadly divide into three groups: (a) texts, (b) documents and (c) material remains. Textual sources include letters, speeches, sermons, laws, and histories of the period written by contemporaries. These were usually called ‘Annals’ because the narrative was constructed on a year-by-year basis. Documentary sources include mainly inscriptions and papyri. Inscriptions were usually cut on stone, so a large number survive, in both Greek and Latin. The ‘papyrus’ was a reedlike plant that grew along the banks of the Nile in Egypt and was processed to produce sheets of writing material that was very widely used in everyday life. Thousands of contracts, accounts, letters and official documents survive ‘on papyrus’ and have been published by scholars who are called ‘papyrologists’. Material remains include a very wide assortment of items that mainly archaeologists discover (for example, through excavation and field survey), for example, buildings, monuments and other kinds of structures, pottery, coins, mosaics, even entire landscapes. Each of these sources can only tell us just so much about the past, and combining them can be a fruitful exercise, but how well this is done depends on the historian’s skill!
Passage For questions 51–55 Read the passage and answer the questions that follow.
Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Isaac Newton, whose chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralysed astrophysicist, (scholar of astrophysics — branch of physics dealing with stars, planets, etc.) the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour,” he said. “From three-thirty to four.” And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave,” said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice.” Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses.