Practice Reading Comprehension Practice Questions with Detailed Solutions – Level 2

Read the given passage and answer the questions that follow.

On a summer afternoon, a person walking from a leafy residential colony into a crowded commercial market often feels the air grow noticeably hotter within a few hundred metres. This is not imagination. Scientists call the phenomenon the urban heat island. Built-up areas tend to remain warmer than the surrounding countryside, and the difference is usually most pronounced after sunset.

The causes are largely of our own making. Concrete, asphalt and brick absorb sunlight during the day and release the stored heat slowly through the night, so the city never quite cools down. Trees and open soil cool the air by releasing water vapour, but they are replaced by roads and rooftops. Air conditioners, vehicles and factories add their own waste heat. Tall buildings packed closely together trap warm air and block breezes.

The consequences go beyond discomfort. Warmer nights deny the human body its chance to recover from daytime heat. This is why the elderly, outdoor workers and people living in poorly ventilated homes are especially vulnerable. Higher temperatures also push up demand for electricity, and the extra power used for cooling often comes from burning fuel, which in turn adds to the warming. In this way the problem feeds on itself.

Yet the heat island is not an inevitable price of urban growth. Some Indian cities have begun painting rooftops white so that they reflect sunlight instead of absorbing it. This simple measure can lower indoor temperatures in small houses with tin or concrete roofs. Planting trees along streets, protecting lakes and wetlands, and designing buildings that allow air to flow freely can all help. None of these steps is dramatic on its own. Together, however, they suggest that a city can be planned to stay cooler, provided planners treat heat as seriously as they treat traffic or water supply.

Which of the following is the most suitable title for the passage?

Read the given passage and answer the questions that follow.

On a summer afternoon, a person walking from a leafy residential colony into a crowded commercial market often feels the air grow noticeably hotter within a few hundred metres. This is not imagination. Scientists call the phenomenon the urban heat island. Built-up areas tend to remain warmer than the surrounding countryside, and the difference is usually most pronounced after sunset.

The causes are largely of our own making. Concrete, asphalt and brick absorb sunlight during the day and release the stored heat slowly through the night, so the city never quite cools down. Trees and open soil cool the air by releasing water vapour, but they are replaced by roads and rooftops. Air conditioners, vehicles and factories add their own waste heat. Tall buildings packed closely together trap warm air and block breezes.

The consequences go beyond discomfort. Warmer nights deny the human body its chance to recover from daytime heat. This is why the elderly, outdoor workers and people living in poorly ventilated homes are especially vulnerable. Higher temperatures also push up demand for electricity, and the extra power used for cooling often comes from burning fuel, which in turn adds to the warming. In this way the problem feeds on itself.

Yet the heat island is not an inevitable price of urban growth. Some Indian cities have begun painting rooftops white so that they reflect sunlight instead of absorbing it. This simple measure can lower indoor temperatures in small houses with tin or concrete roofs. Planting trees along streets, protecting lakes and wetlands, and designing buildings that allow air to flow freely can all help. None of these steps is dramatic on its own. Together, however, they suggest that a city can be planned to stay cooler, provided planners treat heat as seriously as they treat traffic or water supply.

According to the passage, why are warmer nights harmful to people?

Read the given passage and answer the questions that follow.

On a summer afternoon, a person walking from a leafy residential colony into a crowded commercial market often feels the air grow noticeably hotter within a few hundred metres. This is not imagination. Scientists call the phenomenon the urban heat island. Built-up areas tend to remain warmer than the surrounding countryside, and the difference is usually most pronounced after sunset.

The causes are largely of our own making. Concrete, asphalt and brick absorb sunlight during the day and release the stored heat slowly through the night, so the city never quite cools down. Trees and open soil cool the air by releasing water vapour, but they are replaced by roads and rooftops. Air conditioners, vehicles and factories add their own waste heat. Tall buildings packed closely together trap warm air and block breezes.

The consequences go beyond discomfort. Warmer nights deny the human body its chance to recover from daytime heat. This is why the elderly, outdoor workers and people living in poorly ventilated homes are especially vulnerable. Higher temperatures also push up demand for electricity, and the extra power used for cooling often comes from burning fuel, which in turn adds to the warming. In this way the problem feeds on itself.

Yet the heat island is not an inevitable price of urban growth. Some Indian cities have begun painting rooftops white so that they reflect sunlight instead of absorbing it. This simple measure can lower indoor temperatures in small houses with tin or concrete roofs. Planting trees along streets, protecting lakes and wetlands, and designing buildings that allow air to flow freely can all help. None of these steps is dramatic on its own. Together, however, they suggest that a city can be planned to stay cooler, provided planners treat heat as seriously as they treat traffic or water supply.

What does the author mean by saying that "the problem feeds on itself"?

Read the given passage and answer the questions that follow.

On a summer afternoon, a person walking from a leafy residential colony into a crowded commercial market often feels the air grow noticeably hotter within a few hundred metres. This is not imagination. Scientists call the phenomenon the urban heat island. Built-up areas tend to remain warmer than the surrounding countryside, and the difference is usually most pronounced after sunset.

The causes are largely of our own making. Concrete, asphalt and brick absorb sunlight during the day and release the stored heat slowly through the night, so the city never quite cools down. Trees and open soil cool the air by releasing water vapour, but they are replaced by roads and rooftops. Air conditioners, vehicles and factories add their own waste heat. Tall buildings packed closely together trap warm air and block breezes.

The consequences go beyond discomfort. Warmer nights deny the human body its chance to recover from daytime heat. This is why the elderly, outdoor workers and people living in poorly ventilated homes are especially vulnerable. Higher temperatures also push up demand for electricity, and the extra power used for cooling often comes from burning fuel, which in turn adds to the warming. In this way the problem feeds on itself.

Yet the heat island is not an inevitable price of urban growth. Some Indian cities have begun painting rooftops white so that they reflect sunlight instead of absorbing it. This simple measure can lower indoor temperatures in small houses with tin or concrete roofs. Planting trees along streets, protecting lakes and wetlands, and designing buildings that allow air to flow freely can all help. None of these steps is dramatic on its own. Together, however, they suggest that a city can be planned to stay cooler, provided planners treat heat as seriously as they treat traffic or water supply.

As used in the first paragraph, the word "pronounced" most nearly means

Read the given passage and answer the questions that follow.

On a summer afternoon, a person walking from a leafy residential colony into a crowded commercial market often feels the air grow noticeably hotter within a few hundred metres. This is not imagination. Scientists call the phenomenon the urban heat island. Built-up areas tend to remain warmer than the surrounding countryside, and the difference is usually most pronounced after sunset.

The causes are largely of our own making. Concrete, asphalt and brick absorb sunlight during the day and release the stored heat slowly through the night, so the city never quite cools down. Trees and open soil cool the air by releasing water vapour, but they are replaced by roads and rooftops. Air conditioners, vehicles and factories add their own waste heat. Tall buildings packed closely together trap warm air and block breezes.

The consequences go beyond discomfort. Warmer nights deny the human body its chance to recover from daytime heat. This is why the elderly, outdoor workers and people living in poorly ventilated homes are especially vulnerable. Higher temperatures also push up demand for electricity, and the extra power used for cooling often comes from burning fuel, which in turn adds to the warming. In this way the problem feeds on itself.

Yet the heat island is not an inevitable price of urban growth. Some Indian cities have begun painting rooftops white so that they reflect sunlight instead of absorbing it. This simple measure can lower indoor temperatures in small houses with tin or concrete roofs. Planting trees along streets, protecting lakes and wetlands, and designing buildings that allow air to flow freely can all help. None of these steps is dramatic on its own. Together, however, they suggest that a city can be planned to stay cooler, provided planners treat heat as seriously as they treat traffic or water supply.

The author's attitude towards tackling the urban heat island, as reflected in the last paragraph, is best described as

Read the given passage and answer the questions that follow.

For centuries, communities in the dry regions of western India faced a simple problem: rain arrived in a few intense months and then vanished for the rest of the year. One of their most ingenious answers was the stepwell, known as vav in Gujarat and baoli or bawdi in parts of north India. An ordinary well requires water to be drawn up with a rope and bucket. A stepwell, by contrast, allows people to walk down a long flight of steps to reach the water, whatever its level happens to be.

The design was more than a convenience. As the water table fell during the hot months, the lower steps gradually came into use, so the structure served the community throughout the year. The deep, shaded shafts kept the air several degrees cooler than at the surface, and travellers often rested in the pillared galleries along the descent. Many stepwells were commissioned by queens, merchants and local rulers as acts of charity. Some, such as Rani ki Vav in Patan, are adorned with hundreds of carved sculptures. Water, in other words, was treated not merely as a resource but as something worthy of reverence.

The decline of stepwells began when piped water and powered pumps made them seem unnecessary. Abandoned, many filled with silt and garbage, and the groundwater around them was drawn down faster than the rains could restore it. Yet this neglect has prompted some rethinking. In several towns, residents and civic bodies have cleaned old stepwells, and some once again collect rainwater during the monsoon.

The revival, however, should not be romanticised. Stepwells cannot by themselves meet the needs of crowded modern cities. What they offer is a principle: water is best managed close to where it falls, with the participation of those who use it. That idea may prove more valuable than the stones themselves.

Which of the following is the most suitable title for the passage?

Read the given passage and answer the questions that follow.

For centuries, communities in the dry regions of western India faced a simple problem: rain arrived in a few intense months and then vanished for the rest of the year. One of their most ingenious answers was the stepwell, known as vav in Gujarat and baoli or bawdi in parts of north India. An ordinary well requires water to be drawn up with a rope and bucket. A stepwell, by contrast, allows people to walk down a long flight of steps to reach the water, whatever its level happens to be.

The design was more than a convenience. As the water table fell during the hot months, the lower steps gradually came into use, so the structure served the community throughout the year. The deep, shaded shafts kept the air several degrees cooler than at the surface, and travellers often rested in the pillared galleries along the descent. Many stepwells were commissioned by queens, merchants and local rulers as acts of charity. Some, such as Rani ki Vav in Patan, are adorned with hundreds of carved sculptures. Water, in other words, was treated not merely as a resource but as something worthy of reverence.

The decline of stepwells began when piped water and powered pumps made them seem unnecessary. Abandoned, many filled with silt and garbage, and the groundwater around them was drawn down faster than the rains could restore it. Yet this neglect has prompted some rethinking. In several towns, residents and civic bodies have cleaned old stepwells, and some once again collect rainwater during the monsoon.

The revival, however, should not be romanticised. Stepwells cannot by themselves meet the needs of crowded modern cities. What they offer is a principle: water is best managed close to where it falls, with the participation of those who use it. That idea may prove more valuable than the stones themselves.

According to the passage, how did a stepwell continue to serve people even in the hot months?

Read the given passage and answer the questions that follow.

For centuries, communities in the dry regions of western India faced a simple problem: rain arrived in a few intense months and then vanished for the rest of the year. One of their most ingenious answers was the stepwell, known as vav in Gujarat and baoli or bawdi in parts of north India. An ordinary well requires water to be drawn up with a rope and bucket. A stepwell, by contrast, allows people to walk down a long flight of steps to reach the water, whatever its level happens to be.

The design was more than a convenience. As the water table fell during the hot months, the lower steps gradually came into use, so the structure served the community throughout the year. The deep, shaded shafts kept the air several degrees cooler than at the surface, and travellers often rested in the pillared galleries along the descent. Many stepwells were commissioned by queens, merchants and local rulers as acts of charity. Some, such as Rani ki Vav in Patan, are adorned with hundreds of carved sculptures. Water, in other words, was treated not merely as a resource but as something worthy of reverence.

The decline of stepwells began when piped water and powered pumps made them seem unnecessary. Abandoned, many filled with silt and garbage, and the groundwater around them was drawn down faster than the rains could restore it. Yet this neglect has prompted some rethinking. In several towns, residents and civic bodies have cleaned old stepwells, and some once again collect rainwater during the monsoon.

The revival, however, should not be romanticised. Stepwells cannot by themselves meet the needs of crowded modern cities. What they offer is a principle: water is best managed close to where it falls, with the participation of those who use it. That idea may prove more valuable than the stones themselves.

With which of the following statements would the author most likely agree?

Read the given passage and answer the questions that follow.

For centuries, communities in the dry regions of western India faced a simple problem: rain arrived in a few intense months and then vanished for the rest of the year. One of their most ingenious answers was the stepwell, known as vav in Gujarat and baoli or bawdi in parts of north India. An ordinary well requires water to be drawn up with a rope and bucket. A stepwell, by contrast, allows people to walk down a long flight of steps to reach the water, whatever its level happens to be.

The design was more than a convenience. As the water table fell during the hot months, the lower steps gradually came into use, so the structure served the community throughout the year. The deep, shaded shafts kept the air several degrees cooler than at the surface, and travellers often rested in the pillared galleries along the descent. Many stepwells were commissioned by queens, merchants and local rulers as acts of charity. Some, such as Rani ki Vav in Patan, are adorned with hundreds of carved sculptures. Water, in other words, was treated not merely as a resource but as something worthy of reverence.

The decline of stepwells began when piped water and powered pumps made them seem unnecessary. Abandoned, many filled with silt and garbage, and the groundwater around them was drawn down faster than the rains could restore it. Yet this neglect has prompted some rethinking. In several towns, residents and civic bodies have cleaned old stepwells, and some once again collect rainwater during the monsoon.

The revival, however, should not be romanticised. Stepwells cannot by themselves meet the needs of crowded modern cities. What they offer is a principle: water is best managed close to where it falls, with the participation of those who use it. That idea may prove more valuable than the stones themselves.

As used in the passage, the word "romanticised" most nearly means

Read the given passage and answer the questions that follow.

For centuries, communities in the dry regions of western India faced a simple problem: rain arrived in a few intense months and then vanished for the rest of the year. One of their most ingenious answers was the stepwell, known as vav in Gujarat and baoli or bawdi in parts of north India. An ordinary well requires water to be drawn up with a rope and bucket. A stepwell, by contrast, allows people to walk down a long flight of steps to reach the water, whatever its level happens to be.

The design was more than a convenience. As the water table fell during the hot months, the lower steps gradually came into use, so the structure served the community throughout the year. The deep, shaded shafts kept the air several degrees cooler than at the surface, and travellers often rested in the pillared galleries along the descent. Many stepwells were commissioned by queens, merchants and local rulers as acts of charity. Some, such as Rani ki Vav in Patan, are adorned with hundreds of carved sculptures. Water, in other words, was treated not merely as a resource but as something worthy of reverence.

The decline of stepwells began when piped water and powered pumps made them seem unnecessary. Abandoned, many filled with silt and garbage, and the groundwater around them was drawn down faster than the rains could restore it. Yet this neglect has prompted some rethinking. In several towns, residents and civic bodies have cleaned old stepwells, and some once again collect rainwater during the monsoon.

The revival, however, should not be romanticised. Stepwells cannot by themselves meet the needs of crowded modern cities. What they offer is a principle: water is best managed close to where it falls, with the participation of those who use it. That idea may prove more valuable than the stones themselves.

The tone of the passage can best be described as