Question : Comprehension:

Read the following passage and answer the questions given after it.

The excitement of bird watchers on spotting a particular species for the very first time is unparalleled. With eyes shining and pride bursting, they exclaim, “I had a life today”, or “It was a lifer for me”. For the longest time, I couldn’t fathom what all the fuss was about. I mean, at some point in their lives, even a crow or mynah would have been a lifer — seen for the very first time. So, here, I’ve done a bit of jugaad with the term and defined it as a bird that you see maybe (but not necessarily) for the first time, but which has made a lasting, life-changing impact on you. Then I recalled some of my own “lifers”.

Number 1 is the little coppersmith barbet. The first bird I saw through brand new, big and powerful binoculars — and it was solely responsible for my getting interested in birds. The fellow looked like a tubby little clown with hiccups and that just blew me away.

I will never forget the first time I saw grey hornbills aeons ago: over sullen grey skies in the Borivali National Park (now called Sanjay Gandhi National Park) — squealing as they flew high up across the sky. They looked as if they had just left Jurassic Park. Or, for that matter, their larger, more glamorous, cousins — Great pied hornbills. Tramping through a streambed in Kalagarh (near Corbett), we suddenly heard this rasping, whooshing, sound. Up there, in the clear blue, were six-seven huge black-and-white birds with colossal yellow beaks flying in tandem across the clear blue sky, their wings making a rasping sound.

Say “paradise flycatcher” and a birder’s eyes will begin to glint: “Where? When? Will it be there now?” are questions that will be shot out like machine-gun bullets. The first time I saw a full-grown milk-white-and-glossy-black male, with its glamorous 18-inch streamer tail, was at the Sultanpur National Park in Haryana. But I remember better the flycatchers, that made me run around in a tea garden in Palampur, teasingly whistling at me from one end to the other. The nesting pair in Naukuchiatal was more accommodating except that I had to stand kneedeep in the hotel’s garbage dump to get a good view of them flitting to and fro the gully nearby. To compensate, one actually flew nearly down to my feet to snatch up a blue bottle I had missed.

Of course, there have been rarities: the highlight of the regular Bharatpur (the Keoladeo National Park) visits was the darshan of VIP Siberian cranes. Then they stopped coming, which was the first indication of their slow extinction — even if it was just “local” to our area. The gloriously uppity Great Indian bustards in the Karera Sanctuary (Madhya Pradesh) were another unforgettable sighting. The sheer disdain with which they flounced away from our howling, jolting jeep and took to their wings was a lesson in being put in your place. Now, not only does the sanctuary not exist anymore but those magnificent muscular birds are crashing to total extinction.

Question:

According to the passage which sanctuary does NOT exist anymore?

Option 1: Keoladeo National Park, Bharatpur

Option 2: Sultanpur National Park, Haryana

Option 3: Sanjay Gandhi National Park

Option 4: Karera Sanctuary, Madhya Pradesh

Question : Comprehension:
Read the following passage and answer the questions given after it.

The excitement of bird watchers on spotting a particular species for the very first time is unparalleled. With eyes shining and pride bursting, they exclaim, “I had a life today”, or “It was a lifer for me”. For the longest time, I couldn’t fathom what all the fuss was about. I mean, at some point in their lives, even a crow or mynah would have been a lifer — seen for the very first time. So, here, I’ve done a bit of jugaad with the term and defined it as a bird that you see maybe (but not necessarily) for the first time, but which has made a lasting, life-changing impact on you. Then I recalled some of my own “lifers”.

Number 1 is the little coppersmith barbet. The first bird I saw through brand new, big and powerful binoculars — and it was solely responsible for my getting interested in birds. The fellow looked like a tubby little clown with hiccups and that just blew me away.

I will never forget the first time I saw grey hornbills aeons ago: over sullen grey skies in the Borivali National Park (now called Sanjay Gandhi National Park) — squealing as they flew high up across the sky. They looked as if they had just left Jurassic Park. Or, for that matter, their larger, more glamorous, cousins — Great pied hornbills. Tramping through a streambed in Kalagarh (near Corbett), we suddenly heard this rasping, whooshing, sound. Up there, in the clear blue, were six-seven huge black-and-white birds with colossal yellow beaks flying in tandem across the clear blue sky, their wings making a rasping sound.

Say “paradise flycatcher” and a birder’s eyes will begin to glint: “Where? When? Will it be there now?” are questions that will be shot out like machine-gun bullets. The first time I saw a full-grown milk-white-and-glossy-black male, with its glamorous 18-inch streamer tail, was at the Sultanpur National Park in Haryana. But I remember better the flycatchers, that made me run around in a tea garden in Palampur, teasingly whistling at me from one end to the other. The nesting pair in Naukuchiatal was more accommodating except that I had to stand kneedeep in the hotel’s garbage dump to get a good view of them flitting to and fro the gully nearby. To compensate, one actually flew nearly down to my feet to snatch up a blue bottle I had missed.

Of course, there have been rarities: the highlight of the regular Bharatpur (the Keoladeo National Park) visits was the darshan of VIP Siberian cranes. Then they stopped coming, which was the first indication of their slow extinction — even if it was just “local” to our area. The gloriously uppity Great Indian bustards in the Karera Sanctuary (Madhya Pradesh) were another unforgettable sighting. The sheer disdain with which they flounced away from our howling, jolting jeep and took to their wings was a lesson in being put in your place. Now, not only does the sanctuary not exist anymore but those magnificent muscular birds are crashing to total extinction.

Question:
What does the word 'lifer' mean for the author?

Option 1: A bird that you see for the first time

Option 2: A bird which is becoming extinct

Option 3: A bird which makes a life-changing impact on you

Option 4: A bird that you love

Question : Comprehension:
Read the following passage and answer the questions given after it.

The excitement of bird watchers on spotting a particular species for the very first time is unparalleled. With eyes shining and pride bursting, they exclaim, “I had a life today”, or “It was a lifer for me”. For the longest time, I couldn’t fathom what all the fuss was about. I mean, at some point in their lives, even a crow or mynah would have been a lifer — seen for the very first time. So, here, I’ve done a bit of jugaad with the term and defined it as a bird that you see maybe (but not necessarily) for the first time, but which has made a lasting, life-changing impact on you. Then I recalled some of my own “lifers”.

Number 1 is the little coppersmith barbet. The first bird I saw through brand new, big and powerful binoculars — and it was solely responsible for my getting interested in birds. The fellow looked like a tubby little clown with hiccups and that just blew me away.

I will never forget the first time I saw grey hornbills aeons ago: over sullen grey skies in the Borivali National Park (now called Sanjay Gandhi National Park) — squealing as they flew high up across the sky. They looked as if they had just left Jurassic Park. Or, for that matter, their larger, more glamorous, cousins — Great pied hornbills. Tramping through a streambed in Kalagarh (near Corbett), we suddenly heard this rasping, whooshing, sound. Up there, in the clear blue, were six-seven huge black-and-white birds with colossal yellow beaks flying in tandem across the clear blue sky, their wings making a rasping sound.

Say “paradise flycatcher” and a birder’s eyes will begin to glint: “Where? When? Will it be there now?” are questions that will be shot out like machine-gun bullets. The first time I saw a full-grown milk-white-and-glossy-black male, with its glamorous 18-inch streamer tail, was at the Sultanpur National Park in Haryana. But I remember better the flycatchers, that made me run around in a tea garden in Palampur, teasingly whistling at me from one end to the other. The nesting pair in Naukuchiatal was more accommodating except that I had to stand kneedeep in the hotel’s garbage dump to get a good view of them flitting to and fro the gully nearby. To compensate, one actually flew nearly down to my feet to snatch up a blue bottle I had missed.

Of course, there have been rarities: the highlight of the regular Bharatpur (the Keoladeo National Park) visits was the darshan of VIP Siberian cranes. Then they stopped coming, which was the first indication of their slow extinction — even if it was just “local” to our area. The gloriously uppity Great Indian bustards in the Karera Sanctuary (Madhya Pradesh) were another unforgettable sighting. The sheer disdain with which they flounced away from our howling, jolting jeep and took to their wings was a lesson in being put in your place. Now, not only does the sanctuary not exist anymore but those magnificent muscular birds are crashing to total extinction.

Question:
Match the words with their meaning.
Words Meanings
a. fathom 1. team
b. aeons 2. understand
c. tandem 3. ages

Option 1: a-2, b-1, c-3

Option 2: a-1, b-3, c-2

Option 3: a-2, b-3, c-1

Option 4: a-3, b-2, c-1

Question : Comprehension:

Read the following passage and answer the questions given after it.

The excitement of bird watchers on spotting a particular species for the very first time is unparalleled. With eyes shining and pride bursting, they exclaim, “I had a life today”, or “It was a lifer for me”. For the longest time, I couldn’t fathom what all the fuss was about. I mean, at some point in their lives, even a crow or mynah would have been a lifer — seen for the very first time. So, here, I’ve done a bit of jugaad with the term and defined it as a bird that you see maybe (but not necessarily) for the first time, but which has made a lasting, life-changing impact on you. Then I recalled some of my own “lifers”.

Number 1 is the little coppersmith barbet. The first bird I saw through brand new, big and powerful binoculars — and it was solely responsible for my getting interested in birds. The fellow looked like a tubby little clown with hiccups and that just blew me away.

I will never forget the first time I saw grey hornbills aeons ago: over sullen grey skies in the Borivali National Park (now called Sanjay Gandhi National Park) — squealing as they flew high up across the sky. They looked as if they had just left Jurassic Park. Or, for that matter, their larger, more glamorous, cousins — Great pied hornbills. Tramping through a streambed in Kalagarh (near Corbett), we suddenly heard this rasping, whooshing, sound. Up there, in the clear blue, were six-seven huge black-and-white birds with colossal yellow beaks flying in tandem across the clear blue sky, their wings making a rasping sound.

Say “paradise flycatcher” and a birder’s eyes will begin to glint: “Where? When? Will it be there now?” are questions that will be shot out like machine-gun bullets. The first time I saw a full-grown milk-white-and-glossy-black male, with its glamorous 18-inch streamer tail, was at the Sultanpur National Park in Haryana. But I remember better the flycatchers, that made me run around in a tea garden in Palampur, teasingly whistling at me from one end to the other. The nesting pair in Naukuchiatal was more accommodating except that I had to stand kneedeep in the hotel’s garbage dump to get a good view of them flitting to and fro the gully nearby. To compensate, one actually flew nearly down to my feet to snatch up a blue bottle I had missed.

Of course, there have been rarities: the highlight of the regular Bharatpur (the Keoladeo National Park) visits was the darshan of VIP Siberian cranes. Then they stopped coming, which was the first indication of their slow extinction — even if it was just “local” to our area. The gloriously uppity Great Indian bustards in the Karera Sanctuary (Madhya Pradesh) were another unforgettable sighting. The sheer disdain with which they flounced away from our howling, jolting jeep and took to their wings was a lesson in being put in your place. Now, not only does the sanctuary not exist anymore but those magnificent muscular birds are crashing to total extinction.

Question:
Which bird is black and white with a huge yellow beak?

Option 1: Siberian crane

Option 2: Paradise flycatcher

Option 3: Grey hornbill

Option 4: Great pied hornbill

Question : Comprehension:

Read the following passage and answer the questions given after it.

The excitement of bird watchers on spotting a particular species for the very first time is unparalleled. With eyes shining and pride bursting, they exclaim, “I had a life today”, or “It was a lifer for me”. For the longest time, I couldn’t fathom what all the fuss was about. I mean, at some point in their lives, even a crow or mynah would have been a lifer — seen for the very first time. So, here, I’ve done a bit of jugaad with the term and defined it as a bird that you see maybe (but not necessarily) for the first time, but which has made a lasting, life-changing impact on you. Then I recalled some of my own “lifers”.

Number 1 is the little coppersmith barbet. The first bird I saw through brand new, big and powerful binoculars — and it was solely responsible for my getting interested in birds. The fellow looked like a tubby little clown with hiccups and that just blew me away.

I will never forget the first time I saw grey hornbills aeons ago: over sullen grey skies in the Borivali National Park (now called Sanjay Gandhi National Park) — squealing as they flew high up across the sky. They looked as if they had just left Jurassic Park. Or, for that matter, their larger, more glamorous, cousins — Great pied hornbills. Tramping through a streambed in Kalagarh (near Corbett), we suddenly heard this rasping, whooshing, sound. Up there, in the clear blue, were six-seven huge black-and-white birds with colossal yellow beaks flying in tandem across the clear blue sky, their wings making a rasping sound.

Say “paradise flycatcher” and a birder’s eyes will begin to glint: “Where? When? Will it be there now?” are questions that will be shot out like machine-gun bullets. The first time I saw a full-grown milk-white-and-glossy-black male, with its glamorous 18-inch streamer tail, was at the Sultanpur National Park in Haryana. But I remember better the flycatchers, that made me run around in a tea garden in Palampur, teasingly whistling at me from one end to the other. The nesting pair in Naukuchiatal was more accommodating except that I had to stand kneedeep in the hotel’s garbage dump to get a good view of them flitting to and fro the gully nearby. To compensate, one actually flew nearly down to my feet to snatch up a blue bottle I had missed.

Of course, there have been rarities: the highlight of the regular Bharatpur (the Keoladeo National Park) visits was the darshan of VIP Siberian cranes. Then they stopped coming, which was the first indication of their slow extinction — even if it was just “local” to our area. The gloriously uppity Great Indian bustards in the Karera Sanctuary (Madhya Pradesh) were another unforgettable sighting. The sheer disdain with which they flounced away from our howling, jolting jeep and took to their wings was a lesson in being put in your place. Now, not only does the sanctuary not exist anymore but those magnificent muscular birds are crashing to total extinction.

Question:
Which pair of birds did the author see in Naukuchiatal?

Option 1: Coppersmith barbet

Option 2: Paradise flycatcher

Option 3: Hornbill

Option 4: Great Indian bustard

Question : Comprehension:
Read the following passage and answer the questions given after it.

The excitement of bird watchers on spotting a particular species for the very first time is unparalleled. With eyes shining and pride bursting, they exclaim, “I had a life today”, or “It was a lifer for me”. For the longest time, I couldn’t fathom what all the fuss was about. I mean, at some point in their lives, even a crow or mynah would have been a lifer — seen for the very first time. So, here, I’ve done a bit of jugaad with the term and defined it as a bird that you see maybe (but not necessarily) for the first time, but which has made a lasting, life-changing impact on you. Then I recalled some of my own “lifers”.

Number 1 is the little coppersmith barbet. The first bird I saw through brand new, big and powerful binoculars — and it was solely responsible for my getting interested in birds. The fellow looked like a tubby little clown with hiccups and that just blew me away.

I will never forget the first time I saw grey hornbills aeons ago: over sullen grey skies in the Borivali National Park (now called Sanjay Gandhi National Park) — squealing as they flew high up across the sky. They looked as if they had just left Jurassic Park. Or, for that matter, their larger, more glamorous, cousins — Great pied hornbills. Tramping through a streambed in Kalagarh (near Corbett), we suddenly heard this rasping, whooshing, sound. Up there, in the clear blue, were six-seven huge black-and-white birds with colossal yellow beaks flying in tandem across the clear blue sky, their wings making a rasping sound.

Say “paradise flycatcher” and a birder’s eyes will begin to glint: “Where? When? Will it be there now?” are questions that will be shot out like machine-gun bullets. The first time I saw a full-grown milk-white-and-glossy-black male, with its glamorous 18-inch streamer tail, was at the Sultanpur National Park in Haryana. But I remember better the flycatchers, that made me run around in a tea garden in Palampur, teasingly whistling at me from one end to the other. The nesting pair in Naukuchiatal was more accommodating except that I had to stand kneedeep in the hotel’s garbage dump to get a good view of them flitting to and fro the gully nearby. To compensate, one actually flew nearly down to my feet to snatch up a blue bottle I had missed.

Of course, there have been rarities: the highlight of the regular Bharatpur (the Keoladeo National Park) visits was the darshan of VIP Siberian cranes. Then they stopped coming, which was the first indication of their slow extinction — even if it was just “local” to our area. The gloriously uppity Great Indian bustards in the Karera Sanctuary (Madhya Pradesh) were another unforgettable sighting. The sheer disdain with which they flounced away from our howling, jolting jeep and took to their wings was a lesson in being put in your place. Now, not only does the sanctuary not exist anymore but those magnificent muscular birds are crashing to total extinction.

Question:
Select the most appropriate meaning of the underlined idiom in the given sentence.
Mrs. Arora has got the green light from the principal to organise a science conference in the college.

Option 1: Got permission to go ahead with something

Option 2: Got energy and motivation to do something

Option 3: Got fired for doing something

Option 4: Got the work started