List of top Questions asked in CAT- 1995

PQRS is a square. SR is a tangent (at point S) to the circle with centre O and TR = OS. Then the ratio of area of the circle to the area of the square is:

In the given figure, AB is diameter of the circle and points C and D are on the circumference such that $\angle CAD = 30^\circ$ and $\angle CBA = 70^\circ$. What is the measure of $\angle ACD$? 

Revenue obtained by a publishing house while selling books, magazines and journals (Rs. in lakh). 

Answer the questions based on the following graph.

Answer the questions based on the following piecharts.

In the adjoining figure, AC + AB = 5AD and AC – AD = 8. Then the area of the rectangle ABCD is

AB $\perp$ BC, BD $\perp$ AC and CE bisects $\angle C$, $\angle A = 30^\circ$. Then what is $\angle CED$?

$le(x, y) = \text{Least of} \ (x, y)$

$mo(x) = |x|$

$me(x, y) = \text{Maximum of} \ (x, y)$

The Republican Party has lost its min(d) To win elections, a party obviously needs votes and constituencies. However first, it needs an ide(a) In 1994–95, the Republican Party had after a long struggle advanced a coherent, compelling set of political ideas expressed in a specific legislative agend(a) The political story of 1996 is that this same party, within the space of six weeks, became totally, shockingly intellectually derange(d) Think back. The singular achievement of the House Speaker Newt Gingrich’s 1994 revolution was that it swept into power united behind one comprehensive ideological goal: dismantling the welfare state. Just about anything in the contract with America and the legislative agenda of the 104th Congress is a mere subheading: welfare reform, tax cuts, entitlement reform, returning power to the states, the balanced budget (a supremely powerful means for keeping the growth of government in check).
The central Republican idea was that the individual, the family, the church, the schools — civil society — were being systematically usurped and strangled by the federal behemoth Republicans who were riding into Washington to slay it.
With this idea they met Clinton head-on in late 1995. And although they were tactically defeated — the government shutdown proved a disaster for Republicans — they won philosophically. Clinton conceded all their principles. He finally embraced their seven year balanced budget. Then, in a State of the Union speech that might have been delivered by a moderate Republican, he declared, “The era of Big Government is over,” the dominant theme of the Gingrich Revolution. It seems so long ago. Because then, astonishingly, on the very morrow of their philosophical victory, just as the Republicans prepared to carry these ideas into battle in November, came cannon fire from the rear. The first Republican renegade to cry ’Wrong!’ and charge was Steve Forbes. With his free-lunch, tax-cutting flat tax, he declared the balanced budget, the centrepiece of the Republican revolution, unnecessary. Then, no sooner had the Forbes mutiny been put down then Pat Buchanan declared a general insurrection. He too declared war on the party’s central ideology in the name not supply side theory but of class welfare, the Democratic weapon of choice against Republicanism.
The enemy, according to Buchanan, is not the welfare state. It is that conservative icon, capitalism, with its ruthless captains of industry, greedy financiers and political elite (Republicans included, of course). All three groups collaborate to let foreigners — immigrants, traders, parasitic foreign-aid loafers — destroy the good life of the ordinary American worker.
Buchanan holds that what is killing the little guy in America is the Big Guy, not Big Government. It blames not an overreaching government that tries to insulate citizens from life’s buffeting to the point where it creates deep dependency and irresponsibility, but an arrogant and unfeeling elite. Buchanan would protect and wield a mighty government apparatus to do so, government that builds trade walls and immigrant — repelling fences, that imposes punitive taxes on imports, that policies the hiring and firing practices of business with the arrogance of the most zealous affirmative action enforcer.
This is Reaganism standing on its hea(d) Republicans have focused too much on the mere technical dangers posed by this assault. Yes, it gives ammunition to the Democrats. Yes, it puts the eventual nominee through a bruising campaign and delivers him tarnished and drained into the ring against Bill Clinton.
But the real danger is philosophical, not tactical. It is axioms, not just policies, that are under fire. The Republican idea of smaller government is being proud to dust — by Republicans. In the middle of an election year, when they should be honing their themes against Democratic liberalism, Buchanan’s rise is forcing a pointless rearguard battle against a philosophical corpse, the obsolete Palaeo conservatism — a mix of nativism, protectionism and isolationism of the 1930s.
As the candidates’ debate in Arizona last week showed, the entire primary campaign will be fought on Buchanan’s grounds, fending off his Smoot-Hawley-Franco populism. And then what? After the convention, what does the nominee do? Try to resurrect the anti-welfare state themes of the historically successful 1994 congressional campaign? Well, yes, but with a terrible loss of energy and focus — and support. Buchanan’s constituency, by then convinced by their leader that the working man’s issues have been pushed aside, may simply walk on election day or, even worse, defect to the Democrats. After all, Democrats fight class war very well.
Political parties can survive bruising primary battles. They cannot survive ideological meltdown. Dole and Buchanan say they are fighting for the heart and soul of the Republican Party, heart and soul, however, will get you nowhere when you’ve lost your way — and your min(d)

Icicles — two metres long and, at their tips, as bright and sharp as needles — hang from the caves: wild ice stalactites, dragon’s teeth. I peer through them to see the world transformed to abstract. Little snow tornadoes twirl across the blank. The car is out there somewhere, represented by a subtle bump in the snow-fiel(d) The old jeep truck, a larger beast, is up to its door handles, like a sinking remnant: dinosaur yielding to ice age. The town’s behemoth snow-plow passes on the road, dome light twirling, and casts aside a frozen doe that now lies, neck broken, upon the roadside snow-bank, soon to vanish under the snowfall still to come. There is double-jointed consciousness at work in the dramatics of big weather. Down in the snowstorm, we are as mortal as the deer. I sink to my waist in a drift; I panic, my arms claw for an instant, like a drowning swimmer’s, in the powder. Men up and down the storm collapse with coronaries, snow shovels in their hands, cheeks turned into a deathly colour, like frost-bitten plums.
Yet when we go upstairs to consult the Weather Channel, we settle down, as cosy gods do, to hover high above the earth and watch the play with a divine perspective. Moist air labelled L for low rides up the continent from the Gulf of Mexico and collides with the high that has slid down from the North Pole. And thus is whipped up the egg-white fluff on the studio map that, down in the frozen, messy world, buries mortals.
An odd new metaphysics of weather: It is not that weather has necessarily grown more apocalypti(c) The famous ‘Winter of the Blue Snow’ of 1886–87 turned rivers of the American West into glaciers that when they thawed, carried along inundation of dead cattle. President Theodore Roosevelt was virtually ruined as a rancher by the weather that destroyed 65 per cent of his her(d) In 1811 Mississippi river flowed briefly because of the New Madrid earthquake.
What’s new in America is the theatre of it. Television does not create weather; any more than it creates contemporary politics. However, the ritual ceremonies of televised weather have endowed a subject often previously banal with an amazing life as mass entertainment, nationwide interactive preoccupation and a kind of immense performance art. What we have is weather as electronic American Shintoism, a casual but almost mystic daily religion, wherein nature is not inert but restless, stirring alive with kinetic fronts and meanings and turbulent expectations (forecasts, variables, prophecies). We have installed an elaborate priesthood and technology of interpretation: acolytes and satellites preside over snow and circuses. At least major snowstorms have about them an innocence and moral neutrality that is more refreshing than the last national television spectacle, the O. J. Simpson trial.
One attraction is the fact that these large gestures of nature are political. The weather in the mirabilis mode can, of course, be dragged onto the opened page to start a macro-argument about global warming or a micro-spat over a mayor’s fecklessness in deploying snowplows. Otherwise, traumas of weather do not admit of political interpretation. The snow Shinto reintroduces an element of what is almost charmingly uncontrollable in life. And, as shown last week, surprising, even as the priests predict it. This is welcome — a kind of ideological relief — in a rather stupidly politicised society living under the delusion that everything in life (and death) is arguable, political and therefore manipulable — from diet to DN(a) None of the old earthbound Marxist Whom Whom here in meteorology, but rather sky gods that bang around at higher altitudes and leave the earth in its misery, to submit to the sloppy collateral damage.
The moral difference of weather, even when destructive, is somehow stimulating. Why? The sheer levelling force is pleasing. It overrides routine and organises people into a shared moment that will become a punctuating memory in their lives (‘Lord, remember the blizzard in 1996?’).
Or perhaps one’s reaction is no more complicated than a child’s delight in dramatic disruption. Anyone loves to stand on the beach with a hurricane coming — a darkly lashing Byronism in surf and wind gets the blood up. The God’s, or child’s, part of the mind welcomes big weather — floods and blizzards. The coping, grown-up human part curses it, and sinks.
The paradox of big weather, it makes people feel important even while it, it dramatises their insignificance. In some ways, extreme weather is a brief moral equivalent of war — as stimulating as war can sometimes be, without most of the carnage.
The sun rises upon diamond-scattered snow-fields and glistens upon the lucent dragon’s teeth. In the distance, three deer, roused from their shelter under pines, venture forth. They struggle and plunge undulously through the opulent white. 
Upstairs, I switch on the Shinto Weather Channel and the priests at the map show me the next wave —white swirls and serried arrows, advancing inexorably, bringing the next blizzar(d)