GMAT with CJ

I was thinking of meditating. Then a thought came—perhaps meditation will help me get a better GMAT score (I have been thinking of improving my present score of 735). That thought surprised me. Even here, I was framing meditation in terms of what I could gain externally. But if I think about it, the score itself has no inherent relevance—except that it can help market me. Marketing means I’ll be elevated in the minds of my customers, which means more business. People will think greatly of me. Essentially, these are the "benefits" of meditation. It amazes me how strong this tendency is—to evaluate everything in terms of financial gain or social perception. Perhaps these are my deepest, most ingrained beliefs. Everything else seems to stay at the surface level.

Strength Behind Meekness If you continue to express doubts about your understanding while others proclaim absolute certainty, you may appear meek. Not strong. Always unsure of yourself. But what if your meekness is actually a sign of greater strength—the kind that allows you to be vulnerable, to acknowledge uncertainty, even in a room full of seemingly powerful people? And what if the certainty of others is hiding a deeper meekness—the kind that fears coming face-to-face with doubt? True strength doesn’t come from never questioning yourself. It comes from having the courage to do so. Would love to hear your thoughts—how do you see the relationship between doubt and strength?

I've just published a new article on GMAT Verbal preparation: "How to Practice GMAT Verbal Questions: Moving From Hopeful to Deliberate Learning" After working with hundreds of GMAT students, I've noticed a pattern: many practice extensively but see minimal improvement. Why? Because they're engaged in what I call "hopeful learning" - practicing without a structured approach to actually learn from each question. In this article, I break down: • Why traditional practice methods often fail • The 8 different types of learning • A practical framework for deliberate practice • Common pitfalls that keep scores stagnant If you've been practicing GMAT questions but not seeing the score improvement you want, this approach might be the missing piece. https://gmatwithcj.com/how-to-prepare/how-to-practice-gmat-verbal-questions-moving-from-hopeful-to-deliberate-learning #GMAT #MBAprep #TestPrep #DeliberatePractice https://gmatwithcj.com/how-to-prepare/how-to-practice-gmat-verbal-questions-moving-from-hopeful-to-deliberate-learning

मैं अपने साथ हूँ। All anxiety is, at its core, resistance to certain outcomes. The more I resist, the more anxious I feel. But what if I had no resistance? What if, no matter what happened, I was fine? That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t take action. I still might—but only because I like doing certain things, not because I need a particular outcome to be okay. But then, does simply doing what I like lead to a good life? And what even is a good life? A comfortable one? A meaningful one? Here’s the paradox I find fascinating: There’s a subconscious belief deeply embedded in us—that if we just keep doing what we like, we’ll end up miserable. That sounds absurd at first. If I spend my life doing what I enjoy, why would it lead to suffering? And yet, we hesitate. Because we’ve been conditioned to believe that anything truly valuable must come through struggle and pain. We don’t just see pain as part of the journey; we see it as proof that we’re on the right path. And so, the idea of following what feels natural, what feels easy, feels… dangerous. Almost irresponsible. But here’s a thought that gives me a different kind of strength: "कुछ भी हो जाए, मैं अपने साथ हूँ। कोई भी मेरे साथ ना हो, भीख भी मांगनी पड़े, पर मैं अपने साथ हूँ।" (Whatever happens, I am with myself. Even if no one is with me, even if I have to beg, I am with myself.) This is comforting. But also intriguing. Because if I say “I am with myself,” it implies the opposite is possible—that I could be not with myself. And maybe that is what we fear the most. Not failure, not struggle, not discomfort—but the moment we look at ourselves and realize we’ve abandoned ourselves. Would love to hear your thoughts. Have you ever felt this paradox—the fear that doing what you love might somehow lead to suffering? And what does being with yourself mean to you?

I can be arrogant because I am sure about things. At the same time, I can look down on people who are sure about things—believing that their certainty stems from ignorance, whereas I am aware of my own ignorance. It’s interesting to observe this tendency within me—to constantly find ways to place myself on a pedestal, to consider myself above others. Even the understanding that I don’t know much can become a justification for superiority. As if knowing that I don’t know makes me better than those who are unaware of their ignorance. But where does this tendency come from? Why do I constantly seek ways to establish that I am superior while others are inferior? Why do I even want to do that? I don’t know. But perhaps this need to feel superior comes from a lack of inner fulfilment. Maybe I am trying to fill that gap by convincing myself that I am better than others. But why do I need to be better than others? How does it even matter? To some extent, I don’t fully know, but I can guess. If I am not better than others, I feel uncertain. I feel that I need to go out and achieve something. But if I am better, I can just be with myself. I can be at peace, finally. So perhaps this constant search for superiority is a deeper attempt to be at peace. And essentially, I have put a condition on myself—that I will not be at peace as long as there is something to achieve out there. And there will always be something to achieve, as long as I see myself as inferior in some way to others. This is something that is going on within me.

I remember watching a TV series where a husband and wife step out of their hotel room, all dressed up, heading toward an event where they’ll be meeting people. There’s obvious tension between them—the wife looks sad, almost lost in her emotions. The husband, without even glancing at her, looks straight ahead toward the crowd and, in an irritated tone, says, “At least smile.” The wife, still sad, tries to smile. I watched this moment unfold and thought—what’s happening here? The wife is clearly upset, yet she smiles. And why? Because her husband, who seems too irritated to even acknowledge her sadness, commands her to do so. It’s not a natural smile, not something that comes from within—it’s something she forces, something that isn’t hers but is expected of her. The dynamics here are fascinating. Two people have chosen to live together, yet this is how they interact. The husband isn’t just failing to comfort his wife—he isn’t even acknowledging her sadness. In fact, he seems bothered by it, as if it’s an inconvenience to him. Rather than offering support, he responds with frustration, essentially saying, “Don’t be so bad. At least smile.” And what does the wife do? She smiles. She’s sad, yet she tries to cover it up, not because she feels better, but because she’s supposed to. It’s as if her emotions don’t belong to her anymore; they are now something to be managed for the sake of appearances, or perhaps for the sake of keeping the relationship from deteriorating further. It’s unsettling from both sides. The husband’s irritation makes it clear that even for him, this relationship is in bad shape. He’s not invested enough to care about her sadness but is affected enough to find it annoying. And the wife—she’s not just sad, she’s suppressing it. She knows her sadness won’t be acknowledged, let alone healed. This whole scene made me wonder: how do people end up in relationships like this? Where sadness is not something to be understood but something to be tolerated—or worse, dismissed? How does a relationship reach a point where emotions are no longer shared, just managed? Maybe, at some point, both stopped expecting anything different. Maybe they’ve accepted that this is how things are—that the sadness will exist, and so will the pretence. And maybe, at some point, even that pretence will fade away, leaving only the silence of two people who once chose to be together but no longer know why.

Uncovering Self-Judgment in Learning: A Conversation That Went Deep In my latest article, I share a detailed conversation with a GMAT student. What began as a discussion about step-by-step problem-solving in Quant turned into an exploration of deeper patterns—fear of mistakes, self-judgment, and the emotional weight we often attach to our performance. We uncovered how the need for control often masks a deeper fear of failure and how self-rejection can quietly shape our learning process. This article also gives a sneak peek into what can happen in my private tutoring sessions :) https://gmatwithcj.com/quant/uncovering-the-layers-of-learning-barriers-a-coaching-conversation/ Would love to hear your thoughts! https://gmatwithcj.com/quant/uncovering-the-layers-of-learning-barriers-a-coaching-conversation/

Brené Brown talks about the difference between fitting in and belonging—they are not the same. Belonging is when you feel like a part of a community without changing who you are. Fitting in, on the other hand, is about changing yourself so that others accept you. If I change myself to be accepted, if I present a version of myself that is acceptable, where does that come from? I think it comes from a deeper self-rejection. I have already rejected myself, so I don’t even allow others to see the real me. The alternative is self-acceptance. If I show you my true self and you reject me, let it be. But if I don’t allow you to reject me—if I am bothered by your rejection—what option do I have? The only alternative is to reject myself first, so completely that I don't even show you myself. People often feel unseen, unheard. Of course, there is a problem with others not seeing us. But there is also a problem within us—we don’t see or hear ourselves either. Because what if what I see is too different from what society expects me to be? That thought alone can make me anxious, uneasy. So I avoid it. I stop listening to myself. I stop seeing myself. Because what’s the point of acknowledging something I will only have to suppress? That’s where we make a choice. Either we make peace with who we are, even if society rejects us. Or we suppress ourselves, not listen to ourselves, and reshape ourselves to fit in. Many of us have chosen the second option—perhaps subconsciously, perhaps unconsciously. What about you?

We often think we need to become something—stronger, wiser, more successful—before we can feel at peace. But what if we are already everything we need to be, and life is simply trying to uncover that? We resist, thinking we are protecting ourselves, but in reality, we are only delaying the inevitable. The barriers we build don’t keep us safe; they keep us small. And the more we fight against life’s unfolding, the more painful the process feels. But at some point, exhaustion sets in. We stop resisting. We surrender. And only then do we realize—we were never being destroyed, only being revealed. I explored this idea in my latest piece: Surrendering to Bloom: The Journey Home. Read it here: https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/03/surrendering-to-bloom-the-journey-home/ Would love to hear your thoughts. Have you ever experienced a moment where letting go led to something unexpectedly beautiful? https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/03/surrendering-to-bloom-the-journey-home/

We like to say that ideas matter, not the people who express them. It sounds fair—truth should stand on its own, regardless of who says it. But does it? We often complain that when influential people say something unimpressive, their words still carry weight. Meanwhile, when an unknown person says something profound, their words are often ignored. It feels unfair. Shouldn't a great idea be valued regardless of its source? And yet, we instinctively trust some voices more than others. Google does it when ranking search results (There's a concept of 'domain authority'). We do it when taking advice from a friend over an influencer—simply because we know our friend’s intent, while the influencer’s remains uncertain. This is why word of mouth is so powerful. People believe clarity is about having the right thought. But clarity isn’t about occasionally being right—it’s about consistently being right. A person without influence might say something valuable, but how often do they also say things that are off the mark? That’s why expertise matters. That’s why authority matters. This is also why I ask students to avoid non-official GMAT verbal questions. Many of them are good—some even surface errors that official questions do not. But many are flawed. I don’t want students spending time analyzing mistakes only to realize later that the mistake wasn’t theirs—it was in the question itself. I don’t want them debating whether they were wrong or the question was. So, I don’t mind that the world gives extra weight to certain voices. It isn’t perfect, but it serves a purpose. The problem isn’t that authority is valued—it’s that we sometimes forget why.

I used to keep checking Google Maps when driving my son to school, as if watching the ETA change would somehow get me there faster. It didn’t. It only made the journey more stressful. Then I noticed something even more interesting—on days with no traffic, I still rushed. I wasn’t racing against time. I was racing against something within me. I’ve shared my reflections on this in my latest blog post: "From Checking ETA to Checking In with Myself." https://gmatwithcj.com/how-to-prepare/from-checking-eta-to-checking-in-with-myself/ https://gmatwithcj.com/how-to-prepare/from-checking-eta-to-checking-in-with-myself/

When I go to my office at 8:45 AM, I often meet one of my cousins on the way. (At other times, I don’t meet him.) I notice a tendency within me to avoid meeting him—either by leaving home at a different time or taking another route. Do I dislike him? No, actually, I like him. Then why do I avoid him? Because I am introverted and don’t want to meet people? I don’t think so. Because I have this nonsense tendency that cannot be rationally justified? No. I believe every tendency of ours has a logic or reason; we may call our behavior irrational simply because our rationality is limited. Just because we don’t understand the logic behind our behavior does not mean that the logic doesn’t exist. So what’s the real reason? I’ve realized that what I actually avoid is not the meeting itself but my subconscious self-evaluation after the meeting. Should I have invited him home? Should I have asked about the health of everyone I am supposed to ask about? Did I show enough happiness while greeting him? These questions don’t linger for more than 2-3 minutes, but they make my experience of those moments unpleasant. Thus, I avoid meeting him to avoid the post-meeting evaluation. Now that I see what’s happening, I can attempt to let go of this self-evaluation the next time it arises. If I can do that successfully, I will likely stop avoiding him altogether. Have you ever found yourself avoiding something—not because of the thing itself, but because of the thoughts or feelings that follow? How did you deal with it?

Ever notice how we brush off mistakes as "silly" or blame them on "not reading carefully enough"? After coaching many test-takers, I've spotted something interesting: these "careless mistakes" usually aren't random at all! They're often revealing something specific about how we think - maybe we rush when we get anxious (exactly when we should slow down!), or our brains skip over words like "only" without processing what they really mean. Often we look at a solution and realize that we could have thought that. So, we mark the error as avoidable, or silly. However, why did we still get it wrong? Perhaps, because even though we had the right thought, we also had wrong thoughts in our mind. And clarity is not about having the correct thought; it is about having ONLY the correct thought. I just posted a deeper dive into this on my blog. I would love to hear if it resonates with your experiences! https://gmatwithcj.com/how-to-prepare/why-ill-read-more-carefully-is-not-the-right-takeaway/ https://gmatwithcj.com/how-to-prepare/why-ill-read-more-carefully-is-not-the-right-takeaway/

𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗣𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻𝘀: 𝗥𝗲𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗯𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗢𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁? Today, I found myself reflecting on a parenting pattern I’ve noticed. When my 5-year-old son hits his 3-year-old sister, and she bursts into tears, my instinctive reaction is almost always the same: I rush to reprimand him, leaving her cries momentarily unattended. This response has always felt automatic, but today I asked myself—why? Why does disciplining the "perpetrator" take precedence over comforting the "victim"? After some thought, I realized there are two reasons behind this pattern: 1. 𝗔 𝗟𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗥𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲 This reaction seems to stem from a belief I’ve internalized over time—that swift correction is essential to prevent future incidents. The idea is that the “teachable moment” with the aggressor is fleeting, while the victim’s comfort can always be addressed later. 2. 𝗘𝗾𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗝𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 On a deeper level, I’ve subconsciously equated delivering justice with providing comfort. There’s this underlying assumption that my daughter, seeing her brother being scolded, will somehow feel consoled. It’s as if I believe her emotional healing is tied to my addressing her brother’s behaviour. But when I pause and reflect on this response, it doesn’t sit well with me. My conscious mind tells me that comforting my crying daughter should come first. She needs to feel heard and supported in her moment of distress. Only after that should I have a calm, thoughtful conversation with my son—one that’s free of anger and focuses on helping him understand the consequences of his actions. The disconnect between my instinctive reactions and what I believe would be a more effective approach is striking. Acting out of anger or habit doesn’t help either child. My daughter needs comfort, not a front-row seat to “justice.” My son needs understanding and guidance, not retribution. Parenting is often a mirror, reflecting back the patterns we’ve absorbed over time. The challenge, I think, is in replacing those unconscious reactions with intentional responses—ones rooted in compassion rather than control. This isn’t easy. But maybe recognizing the gap between instinct and intention is the first step toward bridging it. Have you ever found yourself reacting in ways that don’t align with your conscious beliefs? How do you navigate that gap?

Who is responsible for my emotions? Most of us instinctively blame others when we feel bad. If someone said something hurtful, they caused my pain. If someone disappointed me, they made me angry. But is that really true? Our emotions aren’t just a direct response to a situation—they are shaped by years of conditioning, insecurities, and past experiences. The same situation can trigger different emotions in different people. So, is the other person responsible for how I feel? Or is there something deeper at play? In my latest article, I explore this question: https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/03/who-is-responsible-for-my-emotions/ Would love to hear your thoughts! https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/03/who-is-responsible-for-my-emotions/

My son was born in 2019 at 20:19. My daughter was born in 2022 at 20:21. When she was born, I jokingly wished she had arrived a minute later to create a neat symmetry with her brother’s birth. It wasn’t until later that someone pointed out an even more remarkable symmetry: The age difference between my son and daughter is 2 years, 2 months, 2 days, and 2 minutes. This incredible coincidence was only possible because she was born at 20:21, not 20:22. It was yet another reminder for me: I often hope for things because of the beauty I believe they will bring into my life. Yet, my understanding is limited. What may seem like a disappointment at first could be part of a far more intricate and beautiful pattern than I could ever imagine.

The reason for my success as a GMAT coach I don’t use words lightly. I chose the reason—not a reason—because this isn’t just one of many factors. It is the defining reason. I have succeeded because I have paid attention. Paid attention to how I read and how I reason. This attention has allowed me to teach my ways to students. Without it, I might possess the skills, but I wouldn’t be able to transfer them. I have also paid close attention to how students think and that requires immense focus. If I am not fully present, I will miss their chain of thought. I ask them specific questions to help them uncover flaws in their reasoning. Often, I end up questioning the reasoning behind their reasoning and asking whether they agree with it. Frequently, they don’t. When I make the subconscious conscious for them, they finally see what they were truly thinking. And once they see it, they can correct it. The reason I am able to pay this level of attention is simple: I genuinely enjoy it. I don’t pay attention because of the rewards it brings. I am deeply interested in understanding how students think. That’s why knowing the reason for my success won’t necessarily work for you. Why? Because if you pay attention just to succeed, your attention will always be a means to an end. And that keeps you mediocre. The deeper reason for my success is that I love what I do. My natural engagement allows me to reach a depth of understanding that others struggle to access.

Love Unreceived is Love Unfelt A scene in Rabindranath Tagore's The Home and the World struck me deeply. In it, a wife waits for her husband. When he arrives, he is preoccupied, searching for a key. He does not look at her. Desperate, she clings to his legs, but he shrugs her off and leaves. I thought, "His wife loves him dearly, but he is unaffected, consumed by his rush and irritation. Why does he not enjoy the immense love his wife has for him?" It made me think— love, no matter how immense, can only be cherished if we allow it to penetrate us. If the husband had let himself feel her love, he might have experienced something profound. But he didn’t, and so, to him, her love remained just an external fact—it existed, but it did not touch him. And isn't this how we sometimes experience life? Someone may love us deeply, and their love may improve our external conditions, but our inner experience remains tasteless without the flavour of love. This realization led me to an answer to my longstanding question: If God loves us, why do we never feel it? Because we do not love Him back. Could it be that divine love is ever-present yet unexperienced by those who never turn toward it? Perhaps, love is not just about being loved—it is about being open to love.

Is This Nonsense? Or Does It Make Sense? A relative of mine, a 45-year-old man, recently told me he had been coughing for the past seven days. He had been taking medicine, but then, without regret or concern, he added, the medicine hadn’t cured him because he eats ice cream twice a day. I found this fascinating. He knew that his habit was working against his recovery, yet he continued it without hesitation. At first, I thought—how nonsensical! Why would someone consciously engage in behavior that harms them? But then, I paused. Was it actually nonsense? Or does it follow its own logic? In those moments when he chooses to eat ice cream, the decision makes sense to him. The immediate benefits outweigh the known costs. Fine. But did it make sense in the long run? Maybe. Maybe the five minutes of enjoyment meant more to him than the discomfort of coughing for the rest of the day. Maybe, in his experience, the benefit outweighed the harm. Who am I to weigh his experiences? This made me wonder—how often do we label others’ actions as irrational when, in reality, they make perfect sense within their experience? What appears irrational from the outside might follow a deeply personal internal logic. We often judge others' choices through the lens of our own values and experiences, forgetting that their calculation of costs and benefits stems from their lived experience, not ours. What looks like nonsense from the outside often follows an internal logic. A logic we might not understand—because we aren’t living that experience. So next time we see someone making choices that seem illogical, maybe instead of asking "Why are they doing this?!", we can ask— "What are they experiencing that makes this choice make sense?" Would love to hear your thoughts—have you ever caught yourself making a nonsensical choice that actually made perfect sense to you?

What is inner work? It’s about knowing yourself. What does knowing myself mean? There’s a small part of me that I know what I am consciously aware of. The rest, a much larger part, remains outside my awareness. I may feel shy in some situations, outraged in others, and extremely afraid in others. Why do I feel such emotions in those situations? I may say I feel shy because I am afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. Why am I afraid of that? Because I fear being judged or laughed at. Why is that a problem? Because I agree with their assessment of me when they consider me inferior, I consider myself inferior. And when I consider myself inferior, I feel pain. That’s why I want to avoid it. Why do I consider myself inferior when others do? Because I value their assessment over my own. Why? Because I consider my judgment of myself inferior to their judgment of me. Why do I consider that? I don’t know. Where does it originate? I don’t know. However, when I realize that I fear their judgments because I judge myself when they judge me, I see that I have a choice: Can I stop judging myself when others judge me? Yes. Does unconditional self-acceptance mean shutting the doors to feedback and growth? No. It simply means that no deficiency will make me reject myself. I can still seek improvement, but not from a place of fear rather, from a natural desire to grow. As I work on my relationship with myself, I constantly see my tendency to judge and criticize myself. I have also realized that the way I treat myself is the way I treat others. And the way I treat others is the way I treat myself. There is consistency. Deeply, I am the same person the way I look at myself is the way I look at others. --- This is what inner work is. Layer by layer, making the subconscious conscious. And when that happens, things begin to change on their own. You don’t need lectures on what not to do. When you truly see what you’re doing when you become conscious of it you stop harming yourself naturally. --- Self-awareness may not come overnight. Many of these answers have come to me over days, months, even years. But today, I am more at peace. I fear criticism much less. I fear failure much less.