GMAT with CJ

Is Alisha Free? Alisha feels she is not free to do what she wants. Her father opposes her choice. So, she concludes—she is not free. But is she really not free? I think she is free, just as all of us are. Just that she is not willing to face the consequences of her choice. Her father's disapproval would lead to certain losses—perhaps privileges, perhaps affection. And this is what she is unwilling to let go of. She doesn’t want to pay the price, so she doesn’t make the choice. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t free. It just means that, for her, the cost of her choice outweighs the benefit. She may not see it this way. She may feel chained by her father’s expectations, blaming him for restricting her. But isn’t that just one way of looking at the situation, not necessarily the only way? A time may come when she will be willing to accept the consequences. And then, she will act. Until then, she will wish for a different reality—one where her father approves of her choices. Ironically, her father wishes the same in reverse—he wants her to approve of his choices, to see the sense in them, to realize what he believes she is blind to. She might call his love conditional, and she wouldn’t be wrong. But then, isn’t almost all love conditional? Every unenlightened person’s love carries conditions. Because an unfulfilled person needs things around them to be a certain way to feel okay. If you disrupt that, they push back. And that’s natural. Because an empty person cannot pour into others. A hungry person cannot feed another. So the real question is not—Is Alisha free? The question is—Is she ready to pay the price for exercising her freedom?

A few days ago, something interesting happened in our carpool. Just before leaving school, a child in the carpool had an incident that upset him. As we started our journey, he began picking unnecessary fights with my son, Fatehveer—something he normally never does. He’s usually playful and amiable, but today was different. I asked him directly, "Are you upset about what happened?" "Yes," he admitted. Yet, despite acknowledging it, he continued his behavior. Another ten minutes passed before he finally said, "That wasn't fine. I still feel bad about it." I told him, "That incident is not in your control anymore. The only thing you can control is whether you want to spend the journey playing or continue picking fights." He thought for a moment and decided to play instead. But by now, Fatehveer was frustrated. He had tolerated the irritation long enough and didn’t want to play anymore. The other child tried persuading him, promising not to bother him again. But Fatehveer wouldn’t listen—not even when I asked him to let it go. What happened next surprised me. Instead of sulking, the child remained patient. He continued asking Fatehveer to play, staying positive and persistent. It took 10-15 minutes, but eventually, Fatehveer agreed. From that moment on, they played together like before. Had the child lost patience earlier, they wouldn’t have played that day. Doesn’t this happen in our lives, too? People who are sullen, irritable, or distant are often dealing with something unresolved. But their unresolved emotions lead them to behave in ways that only push others away. And by the time they realize what they’ve done, the damage is already done—the people around them have left, or the relationships have become deeply strained. Unlike the child in the story, most adults don’t have the patience or positivity to repair broken bonds. Instead, they carry the burden of unresolved relationships, adding to their existing struggles. Maybe it’s time we pause to understand ourselves—and others—before we get trapped in this cycle. Maybe it’s time to recognize when someone’s irritation isn’t about us but about something deeper they are dealing with. Compassion and patience can go a long way—not just in maintaining relationships but in healing them.

I just wrote a new blog post exploring the thin line between self-love and selfishness—how the same behavior can be judged differently based on whose needs are at stake. I’d love to know your take—do you think the line is defined by our actions or by other people’s expectations? https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/02/selfishness-vs-self-love-where-is-the-thin-line/ https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/02/selfishness-vs-self-love-where-is-the-thin-line/

The 99 Kilograms We Carry in Relationships Imagine a table that can hold 100kg. It’s already carrying 99kg, and someone adds just 2kg more. The table breaks. Who's responsible for the breaking of the table? Our immediate reaction might be to blame the person who added those final 2kg. After all, the table was standing before they came along. Their action led to the collapse. But here’s what we often overlook: those 99kg were already there, silently pushing the table to its limit. This is the reality of many relationships today. We carry past hurts, unresolved traumas, and emotional baggage—our personal 99kg. We’ve held onto it for so long that it feels normal, like a backpack we've worn for years. We barely notice its weight. Then someone comes along. Maybe they make a thoughtless comment. Maybe they forget an important date. It’s a small thing—just 2kg of disappointment. But it’s enough to break us. And what do we do? We blame them. We point to that final straw and say, "You broke this." We focus on the 2kg while ignoring the 99kg we’ve been carrying all along. Because it’s easier, isn’t it? Easier to look outward than inward. Easier to blame someone else than to examine the weight we’ve been lugging from one relationship to the next. But, perhaps, beautiful relationships don’t come from finding people who never add weight. They come from doing the hard work of lightening our own load. What if, instead of carrying our 99kg from relationship to relationship, we started unpacking? What if we confronted the baggage we've ignored for so long? It won’t be easy. It means facing uncomfortable truths and breaking patterns we’d rather avoid. But with each kilogram we release, we create more space—for understanding, patience, and love. When we’re no longer burdened by 99kg, those 2kg setbacks won’t break us. Instead, they become what they were, perhaps, always meant to be—small challenges we can handle with clarity and grace. The strongest relationships aren’t the ones that never face pressure. They’re the ones built on a foundation strong enough to bear it. And that foundation begins with us.

For most of my life, I have lived in fear of what others might say. This fear has shaped me in many ways—it has made me precise in my communication, careful in my reading, and sharp in my reasoning. I never wanted to give anyone a chance to correct me. However, I have become increasingly clear that I want to change. I want to say what's on my mind and how I want to say it. It’s not about being rude or callous but about becoming authentic. Rudeness, after all, is just an outer expression of inner negativity. I have been working on my inner self and will continue to do so. I hope my authenticity will be built upon this inner work. A recent incident helped me see this transformation in action. In our school’s parents’ WhatsApp group, a parent shared that her first book had just been published. Everyone congratulated her, and I wanted to say *Wadhaiyan*—congratulations in Punjabi. Earlier, I would have hesitated, feeling the pressure to conform and reply in English, as everyone else did. But this time, I was completely comfortable writing it in Punjabi. It was a small but significant shift. Then, another thought came to me—a mischievous one. This parent had privately told me that she planned to upload a free copy of her book to a website that allows free downloads. I wanted to jokingly ask in the group, “Would you be sharing the link to the pirated copy as well?” For a moment, I felt nervous. Would this be seen as rude? Would it create unnecessary controversy? Part of me thought, "I don’t care what others think," but another part recognized the discomfort. Did I push myself past the nervousness and post it? No, I told myself. There is no rush. Right now, I am comfortable saying 'Wadhaiyan'. There will come a time when I am comfortable posting something bolder, too. When that time comes, I will do it. I am not in a hurry to improve, and why should I be? I am not trying to reach anywhere. I am fine with who I am and with the pace at which I change. There is no rush, no pressure, just natural, comfortable growth.

During a discussion, my cousin tried to make a point by asking his ten-year-old son a simple question: "What is light?" His son confidently answered, "Light is electromagnetic radiation that falls within the visible spectrum, with wavelengths between approximately 380 and 700 nanometers." As I listened, I found myself wondering—Is that what light is? If I were to define myself in a similar way: A human being, 5’8” in height, B+ blood group, wheatish complexion, average build—would that truly capture who I am? Are we defined by our measurable properties alone? Does light’s definition, as given by the child, capture what light is? How do we define things? * By their measurable properties? * By their purpose or function? * By some intrinsic essence that can't be measured? The physicist’s definition of light is useful—it allows us to study optics, build lasers, develop solar energy. But does it account for what light means in human experience? Does it capture its role in art, in emotions, in our understanding of reality itself?

You stand beside a tree. Someone asks you, "Do you know what it is?" You reply, "Yes, it's a tree." "No, I don't mean the species. Do you know it?" "Yes, it's a neem tree." "I am not asking about the type of tree. I am asking whether you know it." "What do you mean by that?" "If you stand beside a human and I ask you whether you know her, do you say, 'Yes, she is a human being'? And on further probing, do you say, 'Yes, she is a female'? Then, 'Yes, she is Kiran'? Does knowing all this mean you know her?" What does it really mean to know someone? Even the people with whom you spend your entire lives—your siblings, your spouse—do you truly know them? How much? Have you ever asked them how well they feel known by you? And beyond them, how much do you know yourself? Are you in touch with your feelings moment to moment? Are you aware of your thoughts, your motivations, your deepest fears and desires? If you are not in touch with yourself, can you truly claim to know yourself? Without paying attention to your own inner world, how do you know who you really are? You don't even know how much you don’t know. And once this awareness of your ignorance begins to seep in, you will begin to enter a new world. A new world, indeed. Do you dare to step into it?

How often do you fail to not be an emotional fool? Quite often, right? Well, that’s the case with all of us. But why? Why do we fail at this almost universally? Because we approach it the wrong way. We often manage our emotions like keeping a watchman beside explosive materials. We accumulate triggers, insecurities, and reactive patterns, then task our conscious mind to prevent them from exploding. Pour water as soon as there's fire. If the fire is small, we manage. If it's big, we fail. The strategy is fundamentally flawed. Why? Because we're focusing on controlling the explosion rather than addressing what makes us explosive in the first place. Our emotional volatility comes from two main sources: 1. Our state - how easily we get irritated, frustrated, or angry 2. Our perspective - how we interpret situations and others' intentions Let’s say someone calls you mean. Your reaction depends on your insecurity: * If you secretly fear that you are mean, it stings. It becomes psychological pain. * If you believe they’re deliberately trying to hurt you, you explode. * But what if you believed they spoke from their own pain? Or perhaps didn't intend to hurt us so deeply? Your response would be markedly different. The real solution isn't about strengthening our "watchman." It's about addressing our underlying insecurities and transforming how we interpret situations. Instead of asking "How can I control my reactions better?" try asking: - What makes me so reactive in the first place? - What insecurities am I carrying? - How can I develop more nuanced ways of interpreting others' actions? The way out is not about controlling our reactions, but about addressing the explosives themselves—our insecurities, our state of being, and the perspectives we carry about others. Because once the ingredients are gone, the explosion never happens. Right? What do you think? #EmotionalIntelligence #PersonalDevelopment #MentalHealth #SelfAwareness

Most students dutifully analyze their mistakes and create takeaways, yet struggle to actually follow them. Why? Through a student's experience, this article reveals how we often fail to think deeply about our takeaways, creating seemingly sensible but impractical strategies that ignore how our minds naturally work. https://gmatwithcj.com/how-to-prepare/the-learning-paradox-why-many-people-dont-follow-their-own-takeaways/ https://gmatwithcj.com/how-to-prepare/the-learning-paradox-why-many-people-dont-follow-their-own-takeaways/

Am I Doing It? Or Is It Just Happening? Lately, I’ve been questioning what it truly means to do something. When I pressed a button on my washing machine, did I really wash the clothes? The machine did the actual cleaning, relying on principles of physics and chemistry that I barely understand. When I drive my car, am I really driving, or am I just making small adjustments while a complex machine carries me forward? As a teacher, when my students grasp a concept, can I truly say I taught them? Or did I simply create the conditions where their innate capacity for understanding could flourish? It’s easy to overestimate my influence, to believe I am the primary driver of outcomes. But reality suggests a different picture. My role seems more like that of a catalyst in chemistry. A catalyst doesn’t create the potential for a reaction—it simply lowers the activation energy needed for it to occur. It works only when the right conditions and necessary components are already present. Without those preconditions, a catalyst remains ineffective. This metaphor clarifies my role as a teacher. When my students learn, I’m not installing knowledge in their minds. Rather, I’m reducing the barriers to learning, helping their natural capabilities express themselves more easily. They already possess curiosity, cognitive ability, and a drive to understand. My job is to facilitate, not to manufacture. The same applies to parenting. When I helped my child learn to walk, I wasn’t teaching him to walk. The ability to walk was already encoded in his nervous system, muscles, and bones. My role was to provide stability, encouragement, and safe conditions for practice. The real work—the adaptation, balance, coordination—was happening inside him. Now, when I accomplish something, I try to consider the web of factors that made it possible. This realization doesn’t make my contribution any less meaningful—it simply places it within the broader context of how change happens. I am neither a passive observer nor an all-powerful cause. I am a participant in processes that extend far beyond me.

What drives social judgment? After a recent experience stepping away from a group conversation, I found myself exploring the complex relationship between our choices, fears of judgment, and defensive reactions. These reflections led me to an interesting parallel with school bullying and how our fear of being judged might shape our behavior toward others. Sharing some thoughts on the psychology of social interactions and the hidden dynamics that might be at play when we judge or feel judged by others. https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/02/the-fear-behind-judgment-a-mental-exercise-on-social-dynamics/ https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/02/the-fear-behind-judgment-a-mental-exercise-on-social-dynamics/

The Reason I Cannot Truly Rest A major reason I cannot rest and feel compelled to keep doing something—whether it's fiddling with my phone or scrolling through Instagram—is that I've tied my worth to my productivity. Will my life be worth anything if I don't produce or do things? I have realized that subconsciously, the answer is no. I've linked my deservedness to live with my doing things. So, I cannot sit still. Even in a queue, I find myself incessantly checking whether there's some work or message that needs my attention. Recently, I went within to identify the source of this compulsiveness. One source was my lack of comfort with stillness. Why this discomfort? The thought emerged: there's something wrong with not doing anything. Aren't you missing out or being left behind in moments of inaction? Aren't you squandering time—your only resource—if you aren't constantly doing something? So, I realized, I see time as a resource. I see my life as a resource. Let's pause to absorb this. I see my life as merely a resource to achieve something. Not just the HR of my company—I see myself as a resource. If I view my life as a resource, then rest becomes wasteful, and joy becomes indulgent unless it serves a function. My existence is no longer its own justification; it must prove itself constantly. No wonder stillness feels intolerable. The obsession with productivity, the inability to just *be* without a sense of guilt or unease, stems from this very framework—the belief that worth must be earned through action, that time is not for living but for investing. And investments must have returns, right? The unease when I'm not doing anything isn't mere restlessness—it's a momentary crisis of identity. If my worth is tied to doing, then stopping feels like disappearing. For me, my life and my joy are not the ends. They have become means—resources to achieve something, anything that would earn approval in the outside world. I have subconsciously subordinated my own self—my life—to others, to earn their approval. This is fascinating, no?

Is it immoral to use morality to your advantage? Do you “really” know what is moral or do you want to believe in a particular version of morality because it serves you? Think about it. If you’re convinced that you truly understand what is moral, where does that understanding come from? What’s your source? And, more importantly, how can you be sure you’ve fully grasped that source? Are you absolutely certain, or do you cling to the belief because it justifies your actions and expectations of others? This thought has been unsettling me because morality is something we all invoke—constantly. We wield it in our arguments, use it to judge others, and often lean on it to validate our choices. But how many of us have sincerely pursued the knowledge of what morality really is? And how many have gone a step further to question our understanding of it? The more I think about it, the more it seems that morality is often a tool—a tool we use to get others to do what we want. Not necessarily out of malice, but perhaps out of convenience or habit. We may not even realize we’re doing it. But if you strip away the veneer of moral language, what’s left underneath? Our desires. Your desires. My desires. And that makes me wonder: is morality just a sophisticated way to disguise our wants and make them more palatable to others? Let’s say we drop the pretense and talk openly about desires—yours and mine. Imagine a world where we stopped saying, “This is the right thing to do,” and instead said, “This is what I want.” Would others still cooperate? Would they still meet us halfway? Probably not. And maybe that’s exactly why we keep using morality as a tool. It’s easier to invoke a higher principle than to admit, “I just want this because I want it.” But if we’re afraid to let go of morality because it helps us get what we want, isn’t that even more proof that we’re using it to serve ourselves? I’m not saying we abandon morality entirely. Maybe it’s necessary for society to function. But it’s worth asking whether our version of morality is an honest pursuit of what’s right… or a convenient way to satisfy our own desires. And if it’s the latter, maybe it’s time we stop pretending and start having real conversations—about what we want, what others want, and how we can find a middle ground without cloaking everything in moral righteousness.

Who We Are Is How We Parent As parents, we often worry about our children's struggles—whether it's fear of failure, lack of assertiveness, or excessive dependence on others. The instinct to intervene quickly can be strong, driven by the fear that these traits will shape their future. But what if our urgency to "fix" our children is more about our own fears than their actual growth? I've explored this idea in my latest blog post, sharing real-life examples of parents who, instead of panicking, trust the process. They intervene, but with patience—not pressure. They guide, but without making their child feel inadequate. At the heart of it, I believe our approach to parenting reflects our inner state. The more at peace we are with our own journey, the more space we can give our children to grow at their own pace. Would love to hear your thoughts! https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/02/who-we-are-is-how-we-parent/ https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/02/who-we-are-is-how-we-parent/

I was reviewing my sell orders today—ETFs I had sold a few months back. As I looked through the details, I realized that a portion of the ETFs was sold just 4 days before they would have turned one year old. Had I waited those few days, my tax liability would have been nearly halved. A few moments later, I became aware of what was happening inside me. I noticed I was feeling tense and silently repeating thoughts like: - “It’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes.” - “I’ve saved money through other decisions.” - “There are so many factors to consider when selling stocks. It’s natural to miss a few things.” When I caught myself doing this, I was surprised. What is going on here? Who is trying to justify to whom? If that part of me didn’t justify, what would the other part do? Would it punish the first part? The tension I was feeling suggested that one part of me was afraid of being punished and was frantically coming up with reasons to avoid criticism. What kind of mess is going on within me?! I thought. If I’ve made a mistake, I can learn from it—if there’s anything to learn. How would self-punishment serve any purpose? After all, I couldn't possibly harbor malicious intent toward myself. If there were malintent, perhaps some threat of punishment might be necessary. But that’s not possible. How can someone have malintent toward their own self? Given that, why was one part of me ready to punish the other, forcing the other part to argue desperately to avoid it? Mindblowing stuff going on! :)

“The reason I pursue wealth at all costs is because society values only wealth. Only the wealthy get respect, admiration, and love. So, the problem isn’t with me; it’s with society. I’m just adapting to it.” This is what some people say. I get it. You feel (or want to feel?) justified in what you're doing - wealth maximization. And I also get the problem with the society - it need not have put wealth on a pedestal and everything else down. But I don't get why you need to make the same mistake as the society. Because you want society's acceptance and praise? So, you prefer being wrong (like society) over being not accepted and praised. Do you realize that this is a choice you have made? I am not saying that you have made a wrong choice. I am just saying that you have made a choice. And in the future, you may make a differenct choice.

One thing that has helped me a lot is the absence of morality from my life. I don’t think in terms of what’s moral or what should be done. Instead, I try to understand things in terms of what’s helpful—both to me and to others. I’ve noticed that people often use morality as a tool to make me do what they want. They say things like, “You should do this. Any good person – a good husband, a good father, a good brother, a good son – would do it.” But when I try to hold them to similar standards, they respond differently. They tell me they don’t agree with my understanding of morality. They accuse me of trying to chain them with my expectations or even emotionally blackmail them. For a long time, this puzzled me. I kept asking myself: What is right? What should a good person do? And if there’s a disagreement about morality, how do we determine who is right? Eventually, I realized something important: morality is a tool people use for their convenience to make others act according to their wishes. It’s not some universal principle guiding everyone objectively. Instead, it’s deeply personal, shaped by individual desires. And, I think, it’s not “immoral” for them to use morality in this way. They’re simply trying to satisfy their own desires. Just like me. Just like everyone else. In essence, everyone is trying to fulfill their desires. And when those desires conflict, people start framing the situation in terms of what is “right” or “moral.” But the process of determining “right” is far from objective. Our own desires bias us. They influence how we define what’s “right” in any given situation. And since each person’s desires are different, they naturally come up with different versions of what is moral. Life becomes much simpler when we see this clearly. Instead of arguing over who’s morally correct, we could approach conflicts differently. We could focus on our needs and desires: This is what I want. This is what you want. And this is where our desires conflict. How can we resolve this? Not just this specific conflict, but also the bigger picture: how do we establish a process for resolving conflicts in general? Unfortunately, nobody seems to do that. Instead, people fight like cats and dogs, each convinced of their own righteousness and the other person’s wrongness. They don’t see that they’re simply two people trying to meet their needs. That’s all. If we could move past morality and righteousness and instead focus on understanding each other’s desires and finding ways to address them, we could avoid so much unnecessary conflict. It’s not about being “right.” It’s about finding a way to live together peacefully, with mutual respect and understanding.

If you can do something for 2 hours but not for 3 hours a day, isn't it obvious that you don't like that thing and are somehow just managing to do it for 2 hours? I don't think this is the case. For example, one can enjoy a pinch of salt in the food but not a spoonful. Or, think about reading an engaging book or an athlete training for their sport - there's often an optimal duration for meaningful engagement, beyond which the experience might become less fulfilling. This is something I've noticed in my relationship with my children. I deeply enjoy their company, listening to their stories, and playing with them for about 2 hours each day. However, when our time extends to 3 hours or more for an extended period, I find myself becoming less present, less engaged. I begin to long for time away from them. Does this mean I don't love them? I don't think so. I cherish their presence in my life deeply - it's a genuine pleasure to be with them. For those 2 hours each day. Some might say I love them only when it's convenient for me, that I'm treating them like toys - playing with them as I please and wanting to put them aside when I'm done. But I don't think that's accurate either. What I'm recognizing is that there's a certain duration where my engagement with them is most meaningful and fulfilling. This doesn't mean I won't be there to support them when they truly need me. However, it does mean that if they want me to play with them for 5 hours every day, I might need to set some boundaries. Does this make me selfish? I don't think so. It means I'm taking care of my own needs too. While the people around me are certainly my priority, I've learned that I must also prioritize my own well-being. When I support others in times of genuine need, it aligns perfectly with my values. However, when I consistently override my own needs just to meet others' wants - and this happens over extended periods - I feel diminished and de-energized. In other words, while I love people around me, my first and foremost love in my own being.

Teaching (a+b)(a-b) 15 years after graduating from IIMA made me question: "What am I doing with my life?" And that led to an even more fundamental question, “What determines the worth of my work?” Is it generating wealth and employment, as society emphatically suggests? Or is it the joy and peace I feel while doing it? Society has an answer, loud and clear: generate wealth, create jobs, and joy will dutifully follow. In fact, society goes a step further, hinting that prioritizing your own joy is little more than self-indulgent fluff, a slap in the face of logic and pragmatism. Because, really, what could be more disgraceful than an IIMA graduate – honed in the art of strategy and reason – succumbing to something as unsophisticated as feelings? However, as a sovereign individual, I hold the ultimate choice: to conform to society's expectations and earn its approval, or to follow my heart and pursue my own joy. I chose the latter, and when the question arose—what am I doing with my life?—a clear answer surfaced from within: I measure the value of my work by the joy and peace it brings me. I also recognized that the source of this question was the remnants of society still within me—after all, I can hardly expect years of societal conditioning to leave no trace behind. For me, the only measure of whether work is worthwhile is the joy I feel while doing it. If I approach it joyfully, I naturally bring joy to others as well. But if I’m miserable, all I have to offer is misery. So, did I just justify doing what I do? Yes, because deep within, I feel justified. By the way, during that session, we spent over 30 minutes exploring why (a+b)(a-b) = a²-b² and breaking down how to open the brackets. Did I feel impatient with a student taking so much time on something so fundamental? Not at all. In fact, I found her inspiring—her willingness to grapple with these basics at 25 years old was nothing short of admirable. So, you see, I don’t see my work as teaching basic math to adults but as helping inspirational people overcome their challenges. Who wouldn’t consider such work worthwhile?

The Violence in Valentine Valentine's Day has become an obligation rather than an expression of love. You have to do it. If you don’t, there are repercussions. And you have to do it well enough to satisfy the other person. So, you perform. But performance is just that—a performance. It is not love. We longed for humanity—a genuine outpouring of kindness, care, and joy. Instead, we settled for morality—a system of imposed behaviour that ensures people act ‘right’ not because they feel it but because they must. Morality provides a semblance of humanity, just as a performance provides a semblance of love. But neither is the real thing. Love cannot be forced. It can only bloom in freedom. And freedom comes with uncertainty. If you demand certainty, you settle for obligations, expectations, and performances. But why this need for certainty? Fear. The fear of being alone. The fear that if others were free, they wouldn’t love you. So, you force them. You make them stay. You bind them with unspoken rules and social obligations. Yet, forced love is not love. It is violence. A quiet, suffocating violence where both people become prisoners—trapped in expectations, playing roles rather than being. That is the Valentine of today. A day that was meant for love but now demands performances. But love was never meant to be an obligation. It was meant to be a choice. A free, joyful, uncertain choice. And if it’s not free, is it even love?