SECTION-A Read the passage given below : (1) Seagulls, as you know, never falter, never stall. To stall in the air is for them a disgrace and a dishonour. But Jonathan Livingston Seagull, unashamed, stretching his wings again in that trembling hard curve slowing, slowing, and stalling once more -was no ordinary bird. Most gulls don't bother to learn more than the simplest facts of flight - how to get from shore to food and back again. For most gulls, it is not flying that matters, but eating. For this gull, though, it was not eating that mattered, but flight. More than anything else; Jonathan Livingston Seagull loved to fly. (2) This kind of thinking, he found, is not the way to make oneself popular with other birds. Even his parents were dismayed as Jonathan spent the whole day alone, making hundreds of low-level gliders, experimenting. "Why, Jon, why ?" his mother asked. "Why is it so hard to be like the rest of the flock, Jon? Why can't you leave low flying to the pelicans, the albatross? Why don't you eat? Son, you're bone and feathers !" "I don't mind being bone and feathers, mom. I just want to know what I can do in he air and what I can't, that's all. I just want to know." "See here Jonathan," said his father, not unkindly. "Winter isn't far away. Boats will be few, and the surface fish will be swimming deep. If you must study, then study food, and how to get it. This flying business is all very well, but you can't eat a glide; you know. Don't you forget that the reason you fly is to eat." (3) Jonathan nodded obediently. For the next few days he tried to behave like the other gulls; he really tried, screeching and fighting with the flock around the piers and fishing boats, diving on scraps of fish and bread. But he couldn't make it work. It wasn't long before Jonathan Gull was off by himself again, far out at sea, hungry, happy, learning. The subject was speed, and in a week's practice he learned more about speed than the fastest gull alive. Time after time it happened. Careful as he was, working at the very peak of his ability, he lost control at a high speed. The key, he thought at last, dripping wet, must be to hold the wings still at high speeds - to flap up to fifty and then hold the wings still. (4) From two thousand feet he tried again, rolling into his dive, beak straight down, wings full out and stable from the moment he passed fifty miles per hour. It took tremendous strength, but it worked. In ten seconds he had blurred ninety miles per hour. Jonathan had set a world speed record for seagulls ! But victory was shortlived. The instant he began his pullout, the instant he changed the angle of his wings, he snapped into the same uncontrollable disaster, and at ninety miles per hour it hit him like dynamite. Jonathan Seagull exploded in midair and smashed down into a brick-hard sea. As he sank low in the water, a strange hollow voice sounded within him. There's no way around it. I am a seagull. I am limited by my nature. If I were meant to learn so much about flying, I'd have charts for brains. If I were meant to fly at speed, I'd have a falcon's short wings. Short wings. A falcon's short wings! That's the answer! What a fool I've been! All I need is a tiny little wing, all I need is to fold most of my wings and just fly on the tips along. Short wings!