GMAT with CJ

A student booked a paid call with me after being rejected by the two B-schools he’d applied to. Initially, I asked him to cancel the call—I’m not an expert on interviews or admissions. But then he said he wasn’t looking for strategy. He wanted to talk about handling rejection. About failure. I agreed. During the call, we went through layers of the problem: Stammering during the interview ← triggered by performance anxiety ↔ reinforced by a negative self-image ↔ followed by harsh post-interview self-criticism ↔ feeding back into the anxiety and the stammering A vicious cycle. It was a deep conversation. What really causes us to stumble? Why do we punish ourselves for not doing what we couldn't do in the first place? And can compassion—rather than criticism—be the way out? Here’s the conversation: https://gmatwithcj.com/how-to-prepare/b-school-rejections-self-rejection-and-a-conversation-on-the-foolishness-of-calling-yourself-foolish/ https://gmatwithcj.com/how-to-prepare/b-school-rejections-self-rejection-and-a-conversation-on-the-foolishness-of-calling-yourself-foolish/

Why do we constantly chat about the mundane? Why do we feel compelled to mention things that are obvious or irrelevant? Perhaps because if we don't, we are left with silence. Why are we so uncomfortable with silence? Why does the absence of speech feel unsettling? Maybe because silence leaves us wondering if our connection with the other is still there. Each word spoken might be a subtle check - are you still with me? Are we still connected? Why do we need constant checks? Perhaps, because we are always unsure of our relationship. Perhaps, the relationships are quite fragile. We need to be constantly reassured that they are still there. Why are our relationships so frangile that they need constant reassurance? Could this constant need for reassurance reflect our own inner fragility? I believe that when we develop depth as individuals, our relationships seem to naturally embody that same depth. Such connections will not require constant verbal maintenance - they can breathe in comfortable silence. Someone who is internally settled creates more settled relationships. Someone carrying inner turbulence might unconsciously generate connections that need constant reinforcement through speech. What do you think?

Are you doing a job or your own work? If you're doing work that brings you joy - whether it's employment or business - that's your own work. But if you're doing it just for social approval or to accumulate wealth (which is another form of social approval), then it's just a job. A job for society. Only you know where your genuine needs end and where the hustle to prove your worth to society begins. You're working day and night. Could be for yourself. Or could be to prove your worth to those around you. So only you know whether you're doing a job, or your own work.

𝗤𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗕𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝗼𝗳 𝟲𝟳𝟬𝟬 𝗢𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗣𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗤𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 - With filters of difficulty levels and question types I have published a free GMAT prep resource that compiles over 6,700 official GMAT questions - essentially, links to those questions posted on GMAT Club. I've categorized the questions by section (Critical Reasoning, Reading Comprehension, Quant, Data Sufficiency, and Data Insights), and also tagged them by topic and difficulty level. The idea is to make targeted GMAT practice more efficient—whether you're focusing on hard-level DS questions, assumption-based CR, or science RC passages. Here’s the link: https://gmatwithcj.com/all-gmat-official-questions/ Would love your feedback. Happy to answer any questions or suggestions! https://gmatwithcj.com/all-gmat-official-questions/

My wife and I recently had an experience that made me think. She wasn’t feeling well, and her taste buds were off. We were eating a delicacy—something I was thoroughly enjoying—but she found it bland. The food was full of flavor, but because her taste buds weren’t functioning properly, she couldn’t experience it the way I could. It reminded me of something Eckhart Tolle shared about his moment of enlightenment. He was in deep suffering when he suddenly surrendered, and at that moment, the rays of sunlight entering his room felt like pure love pouring in. The sunrays were always there—what changed for him was his ability to experience them. And that made me wonder: What if life itself is inherently filled with love, joy, and beauty, but we don’t experience it that way because our "experience buds" are off? Maybe our worries, mental noise, and conditioned perceptions act like an illness, distorting our ability to feel reality as it truly is. And if there came a time when we became “healthy,” when our experience buds were healed, we wouldn’t just see life differently—we would inhabit a whole new world, even though the outside world remained unchanged.

A friend, Mohit (name changed), was recently surprised by something his mother told him: "I have never forced you to do anything you didn’t want to do." Mohit was astounded. He could recall countless instances where he had done things solely for her sake, even when he didn’t want to. He asked, “Don’t you get upset when I don’t do things you want me to?” She admitted that she does. Mohit then questioned, “Doesn’t that create pressure on me to comply with your wishes?” His mother thought for a moment and replied, “Perhaps.” Another friend had a similar experience. His bua (father’s sister) casually mentioned that his mother believes he and his wife always do whatever they want, without caring about her wishes. He was shocked. In his mind, he had sacrificed his own wishes many times to accommodate her. These conversations made me reflect on how dramatically perceptions can vary. Many of us go through life making compromises, adjusting to the expectations of those we care about. But what if, in the end, people still believe we’re simply doing whatever we want? If that’s the case, why not actually do what we want? At least one person will be happy in that arrangement :P On a serious note, though, rather than falling into this disconnect, we can consider: 🔹 Drawing clear boundaries – Being explicit about what decisions are ours alone to make versus where we are open to input. This clarity helps everyone understand where they stand. 🔹 Engaging in honest communication – Having the courage to say, "When you express disappointment, I feel tremendous pressure to change my decisions," can open the door to mutual understanding. What do you think? Have you ever felt this disconnect between your sacrifices and how others perceive them?

Most GMAT students think they know why they make mistakes. But often, the answer they settle on is superficial—and it keeps them stuck in the same cycle. In this video, I share a simple yet powerful Japanese technique I use with my students to uncover the real reasons behind their mistakes. One student had been preparing for 1.5 years before he finally realized what was actually holding him back. And it wasn’t what he thought. Watch the video here: https://youtu.be/FpbX2LgNPAk?si=IH9AgL8MHBJIsmaH If you’ve been telling yourself “I’ll just be more careful next time”, this might change the way you look at your takeaways. https://youtu.be/FpbX2LgNPAk?si=IH9AgL8MHBJIsmaH

I recently came across a video where a woman told her spouse that her anger was proof of her commitment to their relationship. She explained that if she ever stopped getting angry, he should be worried—it would mean she was withdrawing. This got me thinking about the relationship between anger and commitment. When we care deeply about something, we naturally feel strong emotions. But perhaps the real question isn't whether anger shows commitment, but what kind of commitment it reveals. Think of a garden you deeply love. When it's not thriving the way you want – perhaps the flowers aren't blooming as expected – you could respond with frustration and force, trying to make things grow your way. Or you could respond with gentle care, patient attention, and nurturing actions. Your commitment isn’t measured by how angry you get, but by how you choose to tend to it. While anger might indicate that we care, it often reveals more about our desire to control than our desire to nurture. When we’re angry, we’re essentially saying, “I’ll get my way, even if I have to use force.” But true commitment to a relationship might look different. If we keep justifying anger as proof of commitment, we set up a false choice: either be angry or give up on the relationship. But what if the deepest commitment shows itself through gentleness? What if staying calm and loving, even in difficult moments, demonstrates the strongest dedication to a relationship’s well-being? Consider this: When we’re angry in a relationship, are we truly committed to the relationship itself, or are we more committed to our own preferences and values? If we’re willing to harm the relationship through anger just to get our way, perhaps we care more about ourselves than the connection we share. The world is already filled with anger. Has all this anger created the beautiful, committed world we dream of? Maybe true commitment means choosing a different path—one where gentleness becomes our strength, and patience our proof of love. After all, if we’re genuinely committed to nurturing a relationship, wouldn’t we choose actions that help it grow—patience, understanding, and care—rather than actions that shake its foundations?

What is the difference between me and someone who would do whatever it takes to become popular? None, according to Gurbani (Sikh scripture). We both are "Man Tu Jot Sarup hai apna mool pachhaan" - we both are divine light, parts of the same whole. So, there is no difference. Is this perspective incorrect? It can't be, unless Gurbani itself is incorrect. But don't we differ at some level? Yes - though here we must carefully consider different levels of existence. At the most fundamental level (who we are - divine light), we are identical. At the next level too, we remain the same - we both seek fulfillment. Our differences emerge at the levels beyond. Where do we find our fulfilment? Here, our answers diverge. Even among those sharing the same answer, paths can differ. Consider two individuals, both seeking the same goal 'X'. One might believe Y is the path to X, while another sees Z as the way forward. These differences manifest in our daily lives. One pursues popularity, another authenticity. Yet at those two most fundamental levels, we remain identical - sharing both our existential essence and our core desire for fulfillment. All differences exist only at the surface. So, am I truly different from this individual? It depends entirely on where I choose to focus my gaze - on the surface or at the core.

This chart is from the book "Atomic Habits" by James Clear. One reason your GMAT score has plateaued is that you're not preparing the right way. However, even if you prepare the right way, improvement is not linear, as the chart shows. The majority of the improvement comes after you've practiced beyond a threshold. So, if you're preparing the right way and not seeing improvement in your score, don't worry. It'll come. Just persist through the 'valley of disappointment'.

I am amazed at how much nonsense one must engage in to be a part of the social fabric—birthday parties, visiting ill relatives (not to help them but to fulfil a social expectation), dinners, endless small talk. How much time do we waste in these lifeless engagements? Where is the time left to pursue an inner life, to know ourselves better, to know even a few people deeply? Everyone we know—we know superficially. Even our understanding of ourselves is superficial. We are disconnected from our deepest thoughts, fears, anxieties, and dreams. We are lost. We are just getting by, driven by fear all the time. Do we help others be their authentic selves? What kind of question is that? How can a lost person help someone find their way? If we knew how to find our way, we wouldn’t be lost. No? A world full of lost people, disconnected from themselves, regardless of their social and economic achievements. Hollow inside. Constantly hiding their hollowness, lest someone pity them. Of course, they don’t expect others to be compassionate—only pitiful. That’s the world they live in; that’s the kind of people they are surrounded by. Is there a way to break free? And if so, what does that journey look like?

Beyond Morality: The Case for Joy Life is not about morality; it is about pursuing joy. People fear that if everyone prioritized their joy, the world would descend into chaos. And it might—for a while. But only in the short run. At our core, we are not destructive beings. We are not inherently negative. If people truly pursued what brought them joy, they would add more positivity to the world, not less. The world is in chaos today not because too many have pursued their joy, but because too few have. The real culprit? The rigid moral and social codes that suppress joy, forcing people into roles and obligations that suffocate them. That doesn’t mean morality should be discarded overnight. It needs to loosen gradually. If we unshackle ourselves step by step, we might find that joy—not forced morality—is what holds the world together.

Commitment and Morality Are you truly committed to your relationship? If yes, then you should never think of leaving. If you are thinking of leaving, then you were never truly committed—you were only there as long as it served you. These are widely accepted thoughts. Let me challenge them. I can be deeply committed to a relationship, but my greatest commitment is to myself. I cannot be true to a relationship while betraying myself. Thus, stepping away from a relationship isn’t an act of betrayal; it’s an act of honoring my primary commitment—to myself. And anyone who calls me selfish for walking away is, in fact, acting in their own self-interest. By labeling my decision as immoral, they are trying to force me into something that benefits them at my expense.

"Sach kinare reh gaya, koor fire pardhaan ve laalo." (The truth stands quietly on the sidelines while falsehoods parade around, claiming authority.) Says Gurbani, the Sikh scripture. But what is sach (truth)? And what is koor (falsehood)? The first layer of falsehood lies in our very proclamations of truth—when we declare "This is true" without truly knowing. We often mistake our beliefs for knowledge. Consider this: How can anyone truly know? Is truth simply what resonates deeply within us? Is it found within ancient scriptures? But then, how do we know these sources are themselves truthful? The humbling reality is that we don't know. We can only believe. Yet here lies an even deeper irony—most people don't even realize they don't know. It's not just ignorance, but ignorance of ignorance itself. And so they proclaim. They pose with certainty. They parade their partial understanding as complete truth. While truth itself... stands quietly on the sidelines.

With Hindu-Muslim violence flaring up in different parts of the country, many of my friends feel strongly against a political party they believe is responsible for creating such division. I don’t find that party innocent or blameless. But I don’t spend time blaming it either. Maybe because I feel I can’t do much about it. And maybe because I’d rather focus on what I can do—my own growth as a human being, and perhaps helping others grow in whatever way I can. Let’s suppose, for the sake of this reflection, that the leaders of that party are indeed creating and inflaming divides for their political objectives. For me, it’s an example of how a human being can become so insensitive and degenerate that only his objectives matter to him—and not the misery of millions. And then I look within. I see so many occasions where I’ve been insensitive. Where I’ve cared only about myself, and not about the welfare of others. Where my own priorities mattered more than someone else’s pain. If I don’t like what those leaders are doing, I wouldn’t want even a trace of that tendency within me. They become, in a way, an example of what I don’t want to be—even in small measures. They remind me to keep working on myself. To expel all darkness within. To keep moving towards a place where the welfare of others matters deeply to me. Where their pain touches me so much that I can’t ignore it. I believe I’ve grown in that regard over time. The journey within has been rewarding. But there’s a long way to go. So, I see the news. I feel sad. I feel like taking action. And I do—by continuing to work on myself. Perhaps the world will one day see a human being devoid of such tendencies. And maybe, seeing that, the world will be reminded of its own potential to become such a human.

Popularity vs. Authenticity: What Matters More and Why? Stating extreme views is a way to get more engagement, more reach, and more influence on social media. So, does that mean I should start posting extreme views? If I don’t currently post extreme views, it means I don’t subscribe to them. But if I recognize their power and choose to post them anyway, doesn’t that mean popularity matters more to me than authenticity? I would be willing to post content that doesn’t reflect my genuine views—just because it generates more popularity. Why would popularity matter more than authenticity? I must believe that popularity is more beneficial to me. After all, why would I do something if I didn’t think it benefited me? But then, why do I think popularity is more beneficial? Perhaps it genuinely is. Maybe I do feel better when I am popular than when I am authentic. Or maybe popularity has been oversold to me by society. Even if I feel worse being popular and inauthentic than being non-popular but authentic, I still find myself chasing popularity—because that’s what I’ve been taught to value since childhood. And if I don’t feel good after achieving popularity? I question my own feelings. I must be wrong. Society can’t be wrong. Who am I to disagree with society? If I do, I must be wrong. But what if I’m right and the whole society is wrong? I have been quite open to this idea. And this openness has changed my life. P.S. I commonly use ChatGPT to refine my ideas and post. This time when I shared my draft, I originally wrote “popular and inauthentic.” But when ChatGPT refined it, it changed it to “popular but inauthentic.” That small change made me pause. I was fine presenting popularity and inauthenticity with "and", as if they could naturally coexist. But ChatGPT framed them as contrasting ideas—as if popularity is inherently good, so it must exist as a contrast to inauthenticity. It made me wonder: Why do we take it for granted that popularity is a good thing? What if popularity itself isn’t always good? P. P. S. Of course, I rejected the refinement suggested by ChatGPT and went ahead with my original "popular and inauthentic"

I wanted to write a post on the law of karma. I thought, "Most people understand it, but they don't fully grasp how it holds up against logical rebuttals." So, I decided to start with the rebuttals. I asked ChatGPT to list common objections to the law of karma. It gave me eight. At first glance, they all seemed different. But as I thought deeper, I noticed some were just variations of others. For a layperson who isn’t thinking deeply, all eight would appear distinct. I went through each one, forming my own counterarguments. Then I thought, why write everything from scratch? Let me ask ChatGPT for prevalent responses to these objections. It provided solid logical responses—some of which matched what I had already thought. That’s when I realized I didn’t need to start from zero. Then another question emerged: What are the counters to these responses? I asked ChatGPT again. And, of course, it had logical counters. So now, I had four levels of thinking in front of me: Level 1: Understanding the law of karma Level 2: The objections against it Level 3: The responses to those objections Level 4: The counters to those responses How many people think logically up to Level 4? Maybe 0.5%. What about the rest? Some don’t care about the discussion. Of the remaining, some believe in the law of karma, while others reject it. But both sides think they are logical. They reach a point where their reasoning "feels" complete and stop questioning further. Not because their logic is airtight, but because they lack the mental bandwidth or the determination to pursue it further.

Do you have a growth mindset or a fixed mindset? A growth mindset means believing that abilities, intelligence, and skills can be developed through effort, learning, and perseverance. A person with a growth mindset embraces challenges, sees failures as learning opportunities, and believes they can improve over time. A fixed mindset means believing that abilities, intelligence, and skills are static—you either have them, or you don’t. A person with a fixed mindset avoids challenges, fears failure, and often feels threatened by others' success. So, which mindset do you say you have? Notice that I’ve changed the question: from what you have to what you say you have. Does that change your answer? I think it might—for many people. Because the answer to the second question isn’t just about truth; it’s about benefit. If society values a growth mindset, you're more likely to say you have it. And perhaps, that’s why so many people claim they do. And once they’ve said it enough times, they start believing it. They might have 99 instances of a fixed mindset and only 1 instance of a growth mindset, yet they will highlight that one instance. Why? Are they trying to deceive themselves? No. Why would anyone try to deceive themselves? They are trying to protect themselves. They want to believe they have a growth mindset. Why? Because they need to project it. And if they don’t believe it themselves, they will be conflicted and unsure. And when you’re unsure, people sense it. That uncertainty can be harmful—in job interviews, social settings, relationships, and even self-image. So, what happens? The world becomes full of people with a fixed mindset who genuinely believe they have a growth mindset. Not just proclaiming it—actually believing it. Now, replace growth mindset with religion or spirituality. The same logic applies. People may say they are religious or spiritual because it benefits them—maybe it makes them appear wise, moral, or enlightened. And once they say it enough times, they start believing it. Not because they are deliberately lying, but because certainty is easier to live with than doubt. And maybe that’s how most beliefs—about ourselves and the world—are formed.

A student who joined me a few months back broke down in front of his mother. 27 years old. Works at a top management consulting firm. International experience. Promoted. Top performer. And yet, after 18 months of preparation—first for the GMAT and then the GRE—he found himself stuck. Still below the 90th percentile. His dream of a top 5 B-school feels impossibly distant. His question was simple: How could this happen to me? It's not an easy question to answer—because it does happen. Far more often than we acknowledge. But these stories rarely surface. We're inundated with success stories. "760 in my first attempt." "330 GRE score in two months." It's natural to wonder—what's wrong with me? Why am I struggling when others seem to breeze through? For every success story celebrated online, countless others struggle in silence, wrestling with self-doubt, questioning their worth. I've witnessed this reality repeatedly. A graduate from a prestigious US tech university watched his roommate score in the 99th percentile after a week of preparation. Despite six months of dedicated effort, he achieved only the 70th percentile. Devastated, he came to me hoping for a quick fix. Instead, it took him 18 months to reach the 98th percentile. Today, he's at a top 5 B-school. His journey wasn't quick or easy—but it led him where he wanted to go. Another student from IIT Kanpur—brilliant, thoughtful, disciplined—remained stuck at the 90th percentile despite multiple attempts. Eventually, a promotion redirected his path. He never pursued that MBA, but he moved forward nonetheless. These stories exist. They just don't get the spotlight. The uncomfortable truth is that we can't always explain why some struggle longer than others. We can do everything "right" and still not achieve what we want when we expect it. There are no guarantees. But there is always a choice: to take the next step. To persist—not because success is certain, but because what is the alternative? So if there's no guarantee, would you still take that step?

Does it really take 40 years to stop caring about others' opinions? I had a dream. I was speaking with a professor at IIM Ahmedabad, India’s top business school. She was from a regular college—no fancy pedigree. But she stated it plainly, without hesitation. No defensiveness, no need to justify, no insecurity. She didn’t seem to care whether I judged her unworthy of teaching there. Or perhaps, my judgment had absolutely no influence on her. And that’s what struck me—how was that possible? No insecurity? No fear of being seen as less? It made me wonder: What is insecurity, really? Why do some of us feel the need to prove ourselves, to hide certain aspects, to seek validation? And why do some people—like this professor—seem completely free from it? A blogger once shared that his 40-year-old friend had finally reached a point where he no longer cared about what others thought. Isn't it mindboggling that we have to waste half of our lives to get to that stage? But are our lives really wasted? Maybe calling it a "waste" is just another outcome-oriented mindset. Maybe the struggle, the growth, the process itself holds value—just as much as the outcome.