Questões de Inglês

[1] New Dehli’s Paharganj rail station is

humming with sound and crawling with

people. The gray platforms are bathed in

white light. The train engines belch smoke

[5] and whistle like impatient bulls.

If you were to search for me in the

crowded maze, where would you look? You

would probably try to find me among the

dozens of street children who are stretched

[10] out on the smooth concrete floor in various

stages of rest and slumber. You might even

imagine me as an adolescent vendor,

peddling plastic bottles containing tap water

from the station’s toilet as pure Himalayan

[15] mineral water. You could visualize me as one

of the sweepers in dirty shirts and torn pants

shuffling ........ the platform, with a long

swishing broom transferring dirt from the

pavement ........ the track. Or you could look

[20] for me among the regiments of red-

uniformed porters bustling about with heavy

loads on their heads.

Well, think again, because I am neither a

vendor, nor porter, nor sweeper. Today I am

[25] a genuine passenger, travelling to Mumbai, in

the sleeper class no less, and with a proper

reservation. I am wearing a starched white

bush shirt made 100% cotton and Levi’s

jeans-yes, Levi’s jeans, bought from the

[30] Tibetan Market. I am walking purposefully

........ platform number five to board the

Paschim Express for Mumbai. There is a

porter trudging along by my side carrying a

light-brown suitcase on his head. The porter

[35] has been hired by me, and the suitcase on his

head belongs to me. The suitcase does not

contain any money. I have heard too many

stories about robbers on trains that drug you

at night and make off with your belongings to

[40] take the chance of keeping the most precious

cargo of my life-my salary from the Taylors-in

my suitcase. It is inside my underwear. I take

a quick look ........ the loose notes in my front

pocket. I reckon I will have just enough to

[45] take an auto-rickshaw from Bandra Terminus

to Salim’s room in the Ghatkopar slum. Won’t

Salim be surprised to see me arrive in a

three-wheeler instead of on the local train?

And when he sees the game I bought for

[50] him, I hope he doesn’t faint from happiness.

Adapted from: SWARUP, Vikas. Slumdog Millionaire. 2005. p. 148-149.

[1] New Dehli’s Paharganj rail station is

humming with sound and crawling with

people. The gray platforms are bathed in

white light. The train engines belch smoke

[5] and whistle like impatient bulls.

If you were to search for me in the

crowded maze, where would you look? You

would probably try to find me among the

dozens of street children who are stretched

[10] out on the smooth concrete floor in various

stages of rest and slumber. You might even

imagine me as an adolescent vendor,

peddling plastic bottles containing tap water

from the station’s toilet as pure Himalayan

[15] mineral water. You could visualize me as one

of the sweepers in dirty shirts and torn pants

shuffling ........ the platform, with a long

swishing broom transferring dirt from the

pavement ........ the track. Or you could look

[20] for me among the regiments of red-

uniformed porters bustling about with heavy

loads on their heads.

Well, think again, because I am neither a

vendor, nor porter, nor sweeper. Today I am

[25] a genuine passenger, travelling to Mumbai, in

the sleeper class no less, and with a proper

reservation. I am wearing a starched white

bush shirt made 100% cotton and Levi’s

jeans-yes, Levi’s jeans, bought from the

[30] Tibetan Market. I am walking purposefully

........ platform number five to board the

Paschim Express for Mumbai. There is a

porter trudging along by my side carrying a

light-brown suitcase on his head. The porter

[35] has been hired by me, and the suitcase on his

head belongs to me. The suitcase does not

contain any money. I have heard too many

stories about robbers on trains that drug you

at night and make off with your belongings to

[40] take the chance of keeping the most precious

cargo of my life-my salary from the Taylors-in

my suitcase. It is inside my underwear. I take

a quick look ........ the loose notes in my front

pocket. I reckon I will have just enough to

[45] take an auto-rickshaw from Bandra Terminus

to Salim’s room in the Ghatkopar slum. Won’t

Salim be surprised to see me arrive in a

three-wheeler instead of on the local train?

And when he sees the game I bought for

[50] him, I hope he doesn’t faint from happiness.

Adapted from: SWARUP, Vikas. Slumdog Millionaire. 2005. p. 148-149.

[1] New Dehli’s Paharganj rail station is

humming with sound and crawling with

people. The gray platforms are bathed in

white light. The train engines belch smoke

[5] and whistle like impatient bulls.

If you were to search for me in the

crowded maze, where would you look? You

would probably try to find me among the

dozens of street children who are stretched

[10] out on the smooth concrete floor in various

stages of rest and slumber. You might even

imagine me as an adolescent vendor,

peddling plastic bottles containing tap water

from the station’s toilet as pure Himalayan

[15] mineral water. You could visualize me as one

of the sweepers in dirty shirts and torn pants

shuffling ........ the platform, with a long

swishing broom transferring dirt from the

pavement ........ the track. Or you could look

[20] for me among the regiments of red-

uniformed porters bustling about with heavy

loads on their heads.

Well, think again, because I am neither a

vendor, nor porter, nor sweeper. Today I am

[25] a genuine passenger, travelling to Mumbai, in

the sleeper class no less, and with a proper

reservation. I am wearing a starched white

bush shirt made 100% cotton and Levi’s

jeans-yes, Levi’s jeans, bought from the

[30] Tibetan Market. I am walking purposefully

........ platform number five to board the

Paschim Express for Mumbai. There is a

porter trudging along by my side carrying a

light-brown suitcase on his head. The porter

[35] has been hired by me, and the suitcase on his

head belongs to me. The suitcase does not

contain any money. I have heard too many

stories about robbers on trains that drug you

at night and make off with your belongings to

[40] take the chance of keeping the most precious

cargo of my life-my salary from the Taylors-in

my suitcase. It is inside my underwear. I take

a quick look ........ the loose notes in my front

pocket. I reckon I will have just enough to

[45] take an auto-rickshaw from Bandra Terminus

to Salim’s room in the Ghatkopar slum. Won’t

Salim be surprised to see me arrive in a

three-wheeler instead of on the local train?

And when he sees the game I bought for

[50] him, I hope he doesn’t faint from happiness.

Adapted from: SWARUP, Vikas. Slumdog Millionaire. 2005. p. 148-149.

[1] New Dehli’s Paharganj rail station is

humming with sound and crawling with

people. The gray platforms are bathed in

white light. The train engines belch smoke

[5] and whistle like impatient bulls.

If you were to search for me in the

crowded maze, where would you look? You

would probably try to find me among the

dozens of street children who are stretched

[10] out on the smooth concrete floor in various

stages of rest and slumber. You might even

imagine me as an adolescent vendor,

peddling plastic bottles containing tap water

from the station’s toilet as pure Himalayan

[15] mineral water. You could visualize me as one

of the sweepers in dirty shirts and torn pants

shuffling ........ the platform, with a long

swishing broom transferring dirt from the

pavement ........ the track. Or you could look

[20] for me among the regiments of red-

uniformed porters bustling about with heavy

loads on their heads.

Well, think again, because I am neither a

vendor, nor porter, nor sweeper. Today I am

[25] a genuine passenger, travelling to Mumbai, in

the sleeper class no less, and with a proper

reservation. I am wearing a starched white

bush shirt made 100% cotton and Levi’s

jeans-yes, Levi’s jeans, bought from the

[30] Tibetan Market. I am walking purposefully

........ platform number five to board the

Paschim Express for Mumbai. There is a

porter trudging along by my side carrying a

light-brown suitcase on his head. The porter

[35] has been hired by me, and the suitcase on his

head belongs to me. The suitcase does not

contain any money. I have heard too many

stories about robbers on trains that drug you

at night and make off with your belongings to

[40] take the chance of keeping the most precious

cargo of my life-my salary from the Taylors-in

my suitcase. It is inside my underwear. I take

a quick look ........ the loose notes in my front

pocket. I reckon I will have just enough to

[45] take an auto-rickshaw from Bandra Terminus

to Salim’s room in the Ghatkopar slum. Won’t

Salim be surprised to see me arrive in a

three-wheeler instead of on the local train?

And when he sees the game I bought for

[50] him, I hope he doesn’t faint from happiness.

Adapted from: SWARUP, Vikas. Slumdog Millionaire. 2005. p. 148-149.

[1] Beware. There is a new danger on the

streets. And you might not spot it until it’s too

late.

Pedestrians wearing iPod or MP3 music

[5] player headphones have a habit of stepping

out into the road, oblivious to traffic.

‘Podestrians’, as they have been called,

now account for nearly one in ten minor

accidents involving sudden braking and

[10] shunts, according to ........ from an insurance

company.

Well over half of the ........ are described

as young people, teenagers or children.

‘We have seen a significant increase in

[15] drivers citing such individuals as having been

a factor in accidents,’ a spokesman for the

company said.

The most common ........ involves a

‘podestrian’ stepping into the road without

[20] looking properly and failing to hear an

oncoming vehicle.

This can force the driver to brake

suddenly, risking collision with the car behind.

And if a head full of music isn’t bad

[25] enough, some podestrians are talking on their

mobile phones at the same time.

'The problem of music players masking

the noise of cars can often be compounded

by the simultaneous use of mobile phones,’

[30] the spokesman said.

‘People have enjoyed listening to music on

foot ever since the first Walkmans were

introduced in the late 1970s. But 30 years on

there seems to be a rising number of

[35] pedestrians who are isolated from traffic

noise.’

Adaptado de: Daily Mail, 8 out. 2008.

[1] Beware. There is a new danger on the

streets. And you might not spot it until it’s too

late.

Pedestrians wearing iPod or MP3 music

[5] player headphones have a habit of stepping

out into the road, oblivious to traffic.

‘Podestrians’, as they have been called,

now account for nearly one in ten minor

accidents involving sudden braking and

[10] shunts, according to ........ from an insurance

company.

Well over half of the ........ are described

as young people, teenagers or children.

‘We have seen a significant increase in

[15] drivers citing such individuals as having been

a factor in accidents,’ a spokesman for the

company said.

The most common ........ involves a

‘podestrian’ stepping into the road without

[20] looking properly and failing to hear an

oncoming vehicle.

This can force the driver to brake

suddenly, risking collision with the car behind.

And if a head full of music isn’t bad

[25] enough, some podestrians are talking on their

mobile phones at the same time.

'The problem of music players masking

the noise of cars can often be compounded

by the simultaneous use of mobile phones,’

[30] the spokesman said.

‘People have enjoyed listening to music on

foot ever since the first Walkmans were

introduced in the late 1970s. But 30 years on

there seems to be a rising number of

[35] pedestrians who are isolated from traffic

noise.’

Adaptado de: Daily Mail, 8 out. 2008.