Reading Comprehension Test 49

Delhi is charming. Its charm has not failed to fascinate anyone. The Pandavas who are believed to have built the shining city of Indraprastha somewhere close to what is now the Purana Qila; Qutbuddin Eibak, who got the tall brick-minar built there; the Lodis, who created the Shisha Gumbad in the exquisite parks; the Mughals, who gave Delhi not just the Lal Qila but many majestic structures; and the British, who left behind for us Edwin Lutyen’s Delhi, all came under Delhi’s charm and, in turn, added their bit to it. For over a thousand years, and probably for a much longer time in its uncertain past, Delhi has continued to fascinate the rest of India, too. It will not be an exaggeration at all to say that all roads in India lead to Delhi - - the place, the history and the legend. Delhi, despite its polluted air, its political skulduggery, its many masks and its history of massacres and riots, continues to enchant India. My first visit to Delhi was over half a century ago. In January 1968, as a young college student, I went there to meet Lalita Gouri Shastri. It was two years after Lal Bahadur Shastri met with an untimely death. Receiving a strange lad from the South whose Hindi expression was awkward and who was terrified to be in such a large city, she was warm, affectionate and as simple as a rustic song. As I was leaving, she gently touched my head to bless me and said, daro mat, fear not. For the rest of the time, before catching my return train, I went around looking at as many monuments as a quick rickshaw ride allowed. Most of them created a sense of awe in my mind. I could not reconcile the contrast between Lalitaji’s touching simplicity and the awe-striking monuments of Delhi. Is Delhi the legacy of Nadir Shah’s...A..... or the melancholic love of Mirza Ghalib? I have often wondered if Ghalib was not speaking to many of the Shahs of the past when he wrote in his lonely last years, “tere vaade pe jiye hum, to yeh jano, jhoota jana/ke Khushi se mar na jaate eitbar hota” (It was your promises that kept me alive, though I knew they were pure lies. Had they been true, would I not have died of delight?). In Delhi, one does not have to be a poet of Ghalib’s genius to know a lie to be a lie. Every Lalita Devi in Delhi has the courage to face the terror of every Shah; every Ghalib has the wits to know the lies doled out as promises.

Which of the following words could replace “exquisite”, as highlighted in the above passage, to make the statement grammatically and contextually correct?

Delhi is charming. Its charm has not failed to fascinate anyone. The Pandavas who are believed to have built the shining city of Indraprastha somewhere close to what is now the Purana Qila; Qutbuddin Eibak, who got the tall brick-minar built there; the Lodis, who created the Shisha Gumbad in the exquisite parks; the Mughals, who gave Delhi not just the Lal Qila but many majestic structures; and the British, who left behind for us Edwin Lutyen’s Delhi, all came under Delhi’s charm and, in turn, added their bit to it. For over a thousand years, and probably for a much longer time in its uncertain past, Delhi has continued to fascinate the rest of India, too. It will not be an exaggeration at all to say that all roads in India lead to Delhi - - the place, the history and the legend. Delhi, despite its polluted air, its political skulduggery, its many masks and its history of massacres and riots, continues to enchant India. My first visit to Delhi was over half a century ago. In January 1968, as a young college student, I went there to meet Lalita Gouri Shastri. It was two years after Lal Bahadur Shastri met with an untimely death. Receiving a strange lad from the South whose Hindi expression was awkward and who was terrified to be in such a large city, she was warm, affectionate and as simple as a rustic song. As I was leaving, she gently touched my head to bless me and said, daro mat, fear not. For the rest of the time, before catching my return train, I went around looking at as many monuments as a quick rickshaw ride allowed. Most of them created a sense of awe in my mind. I could not reconcile the contrast between Lalitaji’s touching simplicity and the awe-striking monuments of Delhi. Is Delhi the legacy of Nadir Shah’s...A..... or the melancholic love of Mirza Ghalib? I have often wondered if Ghalib was not speaking to many of the Shahs of the past when he wrote in his lonely last years, “tere vaade pe jiye hum, to yeh jano, jhoota jana/ke Khushi se mar na jaate eitbar hota” (It was your promises that kept me alive, though I knew they were pure lies. Had they been true, would I not have died of delight?). In Delhi, one does not have to be a poet of Ghalib’s genius to know a lie to be a lie. Every Lalita Devi in Delhi has the courage to face the terror of every Shah; every Ghalib has the wits to know the lies doled out as promises.

Which of the following words could fit in the blank ‘A’, to make the statement grammatically and contextually correct?

Delhi is charming. Its charm has not failed to fascinate anyone. The Pandavas who are believed to have built the shining city of Indraprastha somewhere close to what is now the Purana Qila; Qutbuddin Eibak, who got the tall brick-minar built there; the Lodis, who created the Shisha Gumbad in the exquisite parks; the Mughals, who gave Delhi not just the Lal Qila but many majestic structures; and the British, who left behind for us Edwin Lutyen’s Delhi, all came under Delhi’s charm and, in turn, added their bit to it. For over a thousand years, and probably for a much longer time in its uncertain past, Delhi has continued to fascinate the rest of India, too. It will not be an exaggeration at all to say that all roads in India lead to Delhi - - the place, the history and the legend. Delhi, despite its polluted air, its political skulduggery, its many masks and its history of massacres and riots, continues to enchant India. My first visit to Delhi was over half a century ago. In January 1968, as a young college student, I went there to meet Lalita Gouri Shastri. It was two years after Lal Bahadur Shastri met with an untimely death. Receiving a strange lad from the South whose Hindi expression was awkward and who was terrified to be in such a large city, she was warm, affectionate and as simple as a rustic song. As I was leaving, she gently touched my head to bless me and said, daro mat, fear not. For the rest of the time, before catching my return train, I went around looking at as many monuments as a quick rickshaw ride allowed. Most of them created a sense of awe in my mind. I could not reconcile the contrast between Lalitaji’s touching simplicity and the awe-striking monuments of Delhi. Is Delhi the legacy of Nadir Shah’s...A..... or the melancholic love of Mirza Ghalib? I have often wondered if Ghalib was not speaking to many of the Shahs of the past when he wrote in his lonely last years, “tere vaade pe jiye hum, to yeh jano, jhoota jana/ke Khushi se mar na jaate eitbar hota” (It was your promises that kept me alive, though I knew they were pure lies. Had they been true, would I not have died of delight?). In Delhi, one does not have to be a poet of Ghalib’s genius to know a lie to be a lie. Every Lalita Devi in Delhi has the courage to face the terror of every Shah; every Ghalib has the wits to know the lies doled out as promises.

Which of the following statements is not true as per the information given in the passage?

Delhi is charming. Its charm has not failed to fascinate anyone. The Pandavas who are believed to have built the shining city of Indraprastha somewhere close to what is now the Purana Qila; Qutbuddin Eibak, who got the tall brick-minar built there; the Lodis, who created the Shisha Gumbad in the exquisite parks; the Mughals, who gave Delhi not just the Lal Qila but many majestic structures; and the British, who left behind for us Edwin Lutyen’s Delhi, all came under Delhi’s charm and, in turn, added their bit to it. For over a thousand years, and probably for a much longer time in its uncertain past, Delhi has continued to fascinate the rest of India, too. It will not be an exaggeration at all to say that all roads in India lead to Delhi - - the place, the history and the legend. Delhi, despite its polluted air, its political skulduggery, its many masks and its history of massacres and riots, continues to enchant India. My first visit to Delhi was over half a century ago. In January 1968, as a young college student, I went there to meet Lalita Gouri Shastri. It was two years after Lal Bahadur Shastri met with an untimely death. Receiving a strange lad from the South whose Hindi expression was awkward and who was terrified to be in such a large city, she was warm, affectionate and as simple as a rustic song. As I was leaving, she gently touched my head to bless me and said, daro mat, fear not. For the rest of the time, before catching my return train, I went around looking at as many monuments as a quick rickshaw ride allowed. Most of them created a sense of awe in my mind. I could not reconcile the contrast between Lalitaji’s touching simplicity and the awe-striking monuments of Delhi. Is Delhi the legacy of Nadir Shah’s...A..... or the melancholic love of Mirza Ghalib? I have often wondered if Ghalib was not speaking to many of the Shahs of the past when he wrote in his lonely last years, “tere vaade pe jiye hum, to yeh jano, jhoota jana/ke Khushi se mar na jaate eitbar hota” (It was your promises that kept me alive, though I knew they were pure lies. Had they been true, would I not have died of delight?). In Delhi, one does not have to be a poet of Ghalib’s genius to know a lie to be a lie. Every Lalita Devi in Delhi has the courage to face the terror of every Shah; every Ghalib has the wits to know the lies doled out as promises.

Which of the following words is same in meaning to the word skulduggery?

Delhi is charming. Its charm has not failed to fascinate anyone. The Pandavas who are believed to have built the shining city of Indraprastha somewhere close to what is now the Purana Qila; Qutbuddin Eibak, who got the tall brick-minar built there; the Lodis, who created the Shisha Gumbad in the exquisite parks; the Mughals, who gave Delhi not just the Lal Qila but many majestic structures; and the British, who left behind for us Edwin Lutyen’s Delhi, all came under Delhi’s charm and, in turn, added their bit to it. For over a thousand years, and probably for a much longer time in its uncertain past, Delhi has continued to fascinate the rest of India, too. It will not be an exaggeration at all to say that all roads in India lead to Delhi - - the place, the history and the legend. Delhi, despite its polluted air, its political skulduggery, its many masks and its history of massacres and riots, continues to enchant India. My first visit to Delhi was over half a century ago. In January 1968, as a young college student, I went there to meet Lalita Gouri Shastri. It was two years after Lal Bahadur Shastri met with an untimely death. Receiving a strange lad from the South whose Hindi expression was awkward and who was terrified to be in such a large city, she was warm, affectionate and as simple as a rustic song. As I was leaving, she gently touched my head to bless me and said, daro mat, fear not. For the rest of the time, before catching my return train, I went around looking at as many monuments as a quick rickshaw ride allowed. Most of them created a sense of awe in my mind. I could not reconcile the contrast between Lalitaji’s touching simplicity and the awe-striking monuments of Delhi. Is Delhi the legacy of Nadir Shah’s...A..... or the melancholic love of Mirza Ghalib? I have often wondered if Ghalib was not speaking to many of the Shahs of the past when he wrote in his lonely last years, “tere vaade pe jiye hum, to yeh jano, jhoota jana/ke Khushi se mar na jaate eitbar hota” (It was your promises that kept me alive, though I knew they were pure lies. Had they been true, would I not have died of delight?). In Delhi, one does not have to be a poet of Ghalib’s genius to know a lie to be a lie. Every Lalita Devi in Delhi has the courage to face the terror of every Shah; every Ghalib has the wits to know the lies doled out as promises.

Which of the following words is opposite in meaning to the word exaggerat?