Three Days to See Questions & Answers | Class 7 English | CBSE NCERT

(b) — She says she finds "hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch".

(c) — 'Symmetry' means evenness; she feels the balanced shape of the leaf with her fingers.

(b) — In spring she touches the branches "hopefully in search of a bud, the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep".

quiver

She feels the happy quiver of a bird in full song — the tiny trembling of the tree caused by a singing bird perched on it.

She mentions the smooth skin of a silver birch and the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. This shows she experiences nature lovingly and patiently, through careful touch instead of sight.

(b) — The extract says her "heart cries out with longing to see all these things."

(b) — She reasons that if touch itself gives her so much pleasure, sight must reveal far more beauty.

(b) — She imagines being given the use of her eyes "for just three days".

touch

'Longing' suggests a deep, aching wish. Since she has never seen the things she touches so lovingly, her desire to see them is strong and heartfelt.

It shows she is hopeful and imaginative. Instead of complaining about blindness, she fills her imagination with the beauty she would see, and values whatever her remaining senses give her.

(a) — She says, "I should divide the period into three parts."

(c) — On the first day she should want to see the people whose kindness and companionship made her life worth living.

(d) — The writer calls the eye the 'window of the soul' through which one sees into the heart of a friend.

False — she would spend the first day seeing the people important to her; museums are her plan for the second day.

People come first because their kindness and companionship have made her life worth living. To her, human love matters more than any sight in the world.

It suggests that eyes express the true feelings of the heart. By looking into a friend's eyes, one can 'see' their inner self — their emotions and thoughts.

(a) — She says she can only 'see' through her fingertips the outline of a face.

(b) — She can detect laughter, sorrow and other obvious emotions.

(b) — The extract says, "I know my friends from the feel of their faces."

feel

She senses emotions through touch: by feeling the outline of a face with her fingertips, she can detect laughter, sorrow and other obvious emotions expressed on it.

It shows that touch is so powerful in the writer's life that it partially makes up for sight, letting her recognise people and even read their visible emotions.

(b) — She says the next day she should arise with the dawn.

(b) — She wants to see the thrilling miracle by which night is transformed into day.

(c) — She wants to see the pageant of man's progress, so she should go to the museums for a hasty glimpse of the world, past and present.

behold

The sun awakens the sleeping earth with a magnificent panorama of light — the spreading sunrise which the writer would behold with awe.

It tells me that she does not want to waste even a moment of her precious three days. Simple things most people ignore, like a sunrise, are thrilling miracles to her.

(a) — She says her eyes would see the condensed history of the earth.

(b) — Mastodons were large, elephant-like animals with fur, whose gigantic carcasses are displayed in museums.

(b) — Man appears with his "tiny stature and powerful brain", with which he conquered the animal kingdom.

stature

Gigantic dinosaurs and mastodons roamed the earth before man appeared and conquered the animal kingdom.

The dinosaurs and mastodons were gigantic, while man is tiny in comparison; yet with his powerful brain, not his body, man conquered the animal kingdom.

(b) — On the third day she shall spend her time in the workaday world, amid the haunts of men going about the business of life.

(c) — The extract says, "The city becomes my destination."

(c) — She says, "I see suffering, and I am compassionate."

happy

She looks at people to understand something of their daily lives by sight — to read on their faces the way they live and feel.

She sees smiles and feels happy; she sees serious determination and feels proud; she sees suffering and feels compassionate.

(b) — At midnight, permanent night — her blindness — would close in on her again.

(c) — Since the writer cannot see, the return of darkness means the permanent night of blindness.

(b) — Only after darkness descended again would she realise how much she had left unseen.

False — she says that in those three short days she should not have seen all she wanted to see.

The world holds far too much beauty and interest for three short days; her longing is so great that no amount of seeing could satisfy it fully.

It teaches that we truly understand the value of something only when we lose it. We must therefore appreciate and use what we have while we still have it.

(b) — Her one hint is: "use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind."

(b) — She names the music of voice, the song of a bird and the mighty strains of an orchestra.

(c) — 'Tactile' comes from touch; she advises us to touch each object as if tomorrow that sense would fail.

strains

She wants us to hear every precious sound and touch every object as if we were to lose those senses tomorrow — that is, to give each sense full attention and value while it lasts.

Because she knows from her own life what it means to live without sight, she understands the true value of the senses far better than those who have them and take them for granted.

(b) — The writer says, "taste with relish each morsel, as if tomorrow you could never smell and taste again."

(b) — A morsel is a small piece or mouthful of food.

(d) — She says, "of all the senses, I am sure that sight must be the most delightful."

sense

It means to take full, joyful delight in every aspect of the pleasure and beauty that the world reveals to us through the senses Nature has given us.

Because she has never had it, she longs for it most; she gets so much joy from mere touch that she is sure the beauty sight reveals — faces, sunrises, cities — must be the greatest of all.

She finds hundreds of things to interest her through mere touch — the symmetry of a leaf, the bark of trees and the quiver of a singing bird.

In spring she touches the branches hopefully in search of a bud, the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep.

She has imagined what she should most like to see if she were given the use of her eyes, say, for just three days.

On the first day she would want to see the people whose kindness and companionship have made her life worth living.

Because through the eye one can see into the heart of a friend; eyes express the true feelings within a person.

She knows her friends from the feel of their faces. She can 'see' the outline of a face through her fingertips and detect laughter, sorrow and other obvious emotions.

She would arise with the dawn to see the thrilling miracle by which night is transformed into day, beholding with awe the magnificent panorama of light.

She wants to see the pageant of man's progress — a hasty glimpse of the world, past and present — so she would go to the museums.

Her eyes would see the condensed history of the earth — animals and the races of men in their native environment, and gigantic carcasses of dinosaurs and mastodons.

Man, with his tiny stature but powerful brain, appeared on the earth and used that brain to conquer the animal kingdom.

She would spend the third day in the workaday world, amid the haunts of men in the city, because she wants to understand something of their daily lives.

She sees smiles and feels happy; she sees serious determination and feels proud; she sees suffering and feels compassionate.

At midnight, permanent night — her blindness — would close in on her again, and only then would she realise how much she had left unseen.

She realises how much she had left unseen, for in three short days she could not have seen all she wanted to see.

Her hint is: use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind, and apply the same method to all the other senses.

We should hear the music of voice, the song of a bird and the strains of an orchestra as if we would be stricken deaf tomorrow; touch each object as if our tactile sense would fail; and smell the perfume of flowers and taste each morsel with relish, as if we could never smell and taste again.

She considers sight the most delightful sense, because she who cannot see gets so much pleasure from mere touch that she is sure sight must reveal much more beauty.

'Behold' means see; 'panorama' means a broad, magnificent scene; 'haunts' means the regular meeting places or familiar places of people.

A 'morsel' is a small piece of food; 'facets' are aspects of something.

I learn to value and make the most of every sense and every moment, because we understand the worth of things only when we imagine losing them.

The writer shows that though she cannot see, touch gives her a rich life. She finds "hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch" — the delicate symmetry of a leaf, the smooth skin of a silver birch and the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. She even knows her friends "from the feel of their faces" and can detect laughter and sorrow. Thus touch acts as her window to the world, partly making up for the senses she lacks.

The author gets immense pleasure from mere touch, so she reasons that sight must reveal "how much more beauty". The eye is the 'window of the soul' through which one can see into the heart of a friend — something her fingertips can never fully do. It would show her sunrise, the pageant of man's progress and the faces of people. Because it would open the widest world to her at once, she is "sure that sight must be the most delightful" of all the senses.

On the first day she would see the people whose kindness and companionship have made her life worth living, and look into their eyes, the 'window of the soul'. On the second day she would arise with the dawn to watch night transformed into day, and then visit the museums to see the pageant of man's progress. On the third day she would spend the day in the workaday world — the city — standing at a busy corner, watching people going about the business of life.

Her choices show that people matter to her most: she keeps the first day entirely for the friends whose kindness made her life worth living. Next she values the beauty and history of the world — the sunrise, the museums and man's progress. Finally she cares about everyday humanity, spending her last day watching ordinary people, feeling happy at their smiles, proud of their determination and compassionate towards their suffering. Her plan reveals gratitude, curiosity and deep sympathy.

She asks those who can see to "use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind" — to treat every ordinary sight as precious. The same method applies to the other senses: hear the music of voice, the song of a bird and the strains of an orchestra as if deafness were coming tomorrow; touch each object as if the tactile sense would fail; smell the perfume of flowers and taste each morsel with relish. In short, "Make the most of every sense" and glory in the pleasure and beauty the world reveals.

Imagining the loss of a sense wakes us up to its value. The author, who lost sight, knows that "only when darkness had again descended upon me should I realise how much I had left unseen." If we pretend that tomorrow we shall be blind or deaf, ordinary experiences — a sunrise, a bird's song, a morsel of food — become miracles worth savouring. Thus imagining loss teaches gratitude and prevents us from taking our senses for granted.

Her essay reminds us how much effort and patience life without a sense demands — she needs her fingertips merely to know a friend's face. Understanding this should make us respect, not pity, people with special abilities, and support them with thoughtful help such as reading aloud, describing scenes or providing assistive tools. We should treat them as equals who experience the world differently, and never take for granted the abilities they must work around every day.

For most people a sunrise is an everyday event they barely notice, but for one who has never seen, the coming of light is the greatest of spectacles. The writer would arise with the dawn to "behold with awe the magnificent panorama of light with which the sun awakens the sleeping earth." Her word 'miracle' shows her sense of wonder. She wants to see it because it is nature's grandest daily performance — the one sight she has imagined all her life.

The writer lists the simplest things as treasures: the symmetry of a leaf, the bark of a pine, a bud in spring, a bird's quiver, dawn light and the smiles of passers-by. She plans her three precious days around such 'ordinary' sights, and then asks us to imagine losing our senses tomorrow. Seen through her longing, everyday experiences become rare and wonderful. The reader finishes the essay feeling that nothing around them is really ordinary.

If I could hear anything for three days, I would listen first to my mother's voice and my favourite music, then to rain on the roof, birdsong at dawn and the sea's waves — the sounds the essay lists as treasures. I would record nothing; I would only listen, knowing the silence would return. Like the writer, I would end the three days realising how much I had left unheard, and I would never take sounds for granted again.

The writer of the essay is a person of remarkable spirit who cannot see, yet she refuses to be defined by loss. She is sensitive and loving: she passes her hands "lovingly" over the smooth skin of a silver birch and the rough bark of a pine, and feels "the happy quiver of a bird in full song." She is curious and eager — in spring she searches the branches for a bud, "the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep." She is imaginative: rather than complaining, she builds a detailed dream of three days of sight, dividing them with care among people, history and everyday life. Her choices reveal her values — friends first, for their "kindness and companionship" made her life worth living; then the pageant of man's progress; and finally ordinary people, whose smiles make her happy, whose determination makes her proud and whose suffering makes her compassionate. She is wise and generous, turning her private longing into advice for the whole world: "use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind." Grateful, hopeful, thoughtful and deeply humane, she proves that one who 'cannot see' may yet see life more clearly than most.

The central message of the essay is that we should make the most of every sense we possess, because we realise the value of things only when we imagine losing them. The writer, who cannot see, cries out with longing to see the things her fingertips know, and imagines what three days of sight would show her. From that imagined gift she draws her one hint for those who can see: "use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind," and hear, touch, smell and taste everything as if each sense were about to fail. She knows from experience that "only when darkness had again descended upon me should I realise how much I had left unseen." The essay also shows that true happiness lies in simple things — a leaf, a sunrise, a friend's face, a smile at a street corner — which most people pass by without noticing. Its message is a call to gratitude and mindful living: glory in all the facets of pleasure and beauty that Nature provides, while we still can.

The essay teaches the value of gratitude — the writer treasures what she has, finding "hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch" instead of mourning what she lacks. It teaches appreciation of nature: she loves the symmetry of a leaf, the bark of trees and the first bud of spring, which sighted people rarely notice. It teaches love for people: she would spend her first day of sight with those whose "kindness and companionship have made my life worth living," and her last day watching ordinary people with sympathy. It teaches empathy — seeing suffering makes her compassionate, reminding us to care for others. It teaches mindful living: "Make the most of every sense" is her direct instruction to live each day as if it were a gift about to be taken away. Finally, it teaches courage: her longing never becomes bitterness; she turns it into wisdom for others. These values — gratitude, wonder, love, empathy, mindfulness and courage — make the essay a guide to a fuller life.

The writer's hint — "use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind" — can change my whole day. I can begin by actually noticing the sunrise, the leaves on the way to school and the faces of my family, instead of rushing past them glued to a screen. I can listen fully to a friend's voice, my teacher's lesson, birdsong and the rain, as if I might never hear them again. At meals I can eat slowly, tasting each morsel with relish and thanking those who cooked it. I can also practise empathy the way the writer does at the busy corner: noticing a classmate's serious determination and praising it, or seeing someone's suffering and helping, rather than looking away. Finally, I can support people with special abilities in my school and neighbourhood, remembering how rich her life through touch is, and how much courage that takes. Living each day as if my senses were borrowed for a while would make me more grateful, more attentive and kinder.

The writer would divide the period into three parts, and her plan shows perfect logic: from people, to the world's history, to the living present. On the first day she would see the people whose kindness and companionship have made her life worth living. She longs to look into "the heart of a friend through that 'window of the soul', the eye" — a thing her fingertips, which know only the outline of a face, have never done. On the second day she would arise with the dawn to see "the thrilling miracle by which night is transformed into day" and behold with awe the panorama of light that awakens the sleeping earth. She would then devote the day to a hasty glimpse of the world, past and present, going to the museums to see the pageant of man's progress — the condensed history of the earth, dinosaurs and mastodons, and man with his tiny stature and powerful brain. On the third day she would greet the dawn again and spend the day in the workaday world: the city, standing at a busy corner watching people go about the business of life, happy at their smiles, proud of their determination, compassionate at their suffering — until midnight, when permanent night closes in again.

The essay builds empathy in two ways. First, it lets us live, for a few pages, inside a life without sight: we learn that the writer knows her friends only "from the feel of their faces," and that her greatest dream is simply to look into a friend's eyes. This sharing of her inner world makes us respect the strength behind such a life rather than pity it. Second, it shows how she watches others — smiles make her happy, serious determination makes her proud, suffering makes her compassionate — teaching us to look at people with the same warm attention. Her advice, "use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind," also reminds us that anyone can lose an ability at any moment, so the line between 'abled' and 'disabled' is thin and demands humility. The essay urges us to be kind, patient and helpful — describing scenes aloud, listening carefully, providing support — and above all to treat people with special abilities as complete human beings who, like the writer, often 'see' life more deeply than the sighted.

Dear Diary, the clock is moving towards midnight, and I am sitting in the dark that will soon be my only world again. What three days these have been! The first day I shall never forget — the faces of those whose kindness has made my life worth living. My fingertips had told me their outlines for years, but today their eyes spoke to me — truly the windows of the soul. Yesterday I arose with the dawn and watched, with awe, the light spilling across the sleeping earth; no touch ever taught me that. In the museums I walked through the whole history of mankind, from the gigantic dinosaurs to man with his tiny stature and powerful brain. Today I simply stood at a busy corner and watched people — the smiles made me happy, the determined faces made me proud, and the suffering ones made me ache to help. I could not see all I wanted to see; the world is too full of beauty for three short days. But now, as darkness prepares to descend again, I finally understand what I have left unseen — and what a gift the sighted possess without ever noticing it. If only they would use their eyes as if tomorrow they would be stricken blind! Good night, dear world of light. — Helen