<\/span><\/h2>\n\n\n\n1. Attempt all the questions.
2. Once you have completed all the questions of a particular section click on the submit button for scores and explanations then move to the next sections.
3. For each correct answer, you receive 1 mark. For this mock, there is no negative marking.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<\/span>English Language<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n\n\n\nEach set of questions in this section is based on a single passage. Please answer each question based on what is stated or implied in the corresponding passage. In some instances, more than one option may be the answer to the question; in such a case, please choose the option that most accurately and comprehensively answers the question.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\nWhen my father, the ideas man, had first proposed the idea of manufacturing to his siblings back in the early 1950s, they had expressed their reservations. In those days, bicycle parts and components were by and large imported. The supplies were tightly controlled by a cartel, comprising of the old British agency houses, which had been passed on to Indian associates post-Independence. These entities doled out supplies on a quota basis. My uncle Om Prakash remembered having to wait for two whole days at the offices of Dunlop (suppliers of tyres and tubes), just to meet the manager.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My father was persuasive. He was confident that they had the knowhow to manufacture bicycles, but that dream would be stillborn if India’s dependence on imported parts and components continued. He proposed that the brothers manufacture their own. Technology and capital were both scarce, they protested. Even before the karigars (artisans) could get down to making components, tools and dyes would have to be created. Everything would have to be done from scratch, on a shoestring budget.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
While my uncles Dayanand and Om Prakash were packing up to move to Ludhiana, one of their suppliers, a Muslim by the name of Kareem Deen, was preparing to shift to Pakistan. He manufactured bicycle saddles under a brand name he had created himself. Before he left, Karam Deen went to see his friend Om Prakash Munjal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What happened next would be a life-changing moment for our family. Uncle Om Prakash asked Kareem Deen whether the Munjals could use that brand name for their business. He agreed. The gesture was typical of the way businesses were run at the time \u2013 on reputation, relationships and goodwill. The worth and value of brands and patents were not appreciated or understood. And so, with nothing more than a casual nod, his brand passed to the Munjals. Yes, dear reader, you guessed correctly. It was “Hero”.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Once my uncles came around to the idea of manufacturing, a confident, “Yeh bhi kar lenge” (We can do this too), resounded around the Munjal residence and workplace. It was, of course, easier said than done. After several hits and misses, they finally came up with a product that satisfied all the siblings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But disaster lurked ahead, one that almost cost the Munjals their business. The welding in some of the bicycle forks cracked and the pipes broke off, with the result that the incensed dealers returned all orders and consignments. The siblings pooled their resources and paid back the affected parties, no questions asked. Their reputation survived, but their pockets were almost empty. The Munjal brothers girded their loins, went back to the design table and perfected the forks.<\/p>\n\n\n