GMAT with CJ

Refocusing on GMAT Prep + A New Space for Broader Topics Hi everyone, quick update! As you know, this group was initially about GMAT prep. Over time, I've also shared a lot of my personal reflections on life and spirituality here, and I've appreciated your engagement. To make sure we're all getting the most relevant info, I'm going to refocus this Telegram group back to GMAT preparation. 🎯 I'll be continuing to share my thoughts on life, growth, and spirituality through a dedicated newsletter. If you'd love to continue exploring these broader topics with me, I invite you to subscribe to the new newsletter here: https://chiranjeevsingh.me/ (On laptop, the option to subscribe is in the left panel. On mobile, you need to click on the three horizontal lines in the header to open the panel that has the newsletter subscription form.) Looking forward to diving deep into GMAT prep with you all here! http://ChiranjeevSingh.me

Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Common sense, right? Diversification is wise. Concentration is risky. Maybe even immature. But here’s what I am thinking: What if carrying two or three baskets actually increases the chance of dropping them ALL? Managing multiple baskets often makes me less balanced, not more. More baskets = more things to focus on. More chances to slip. The original wisdom behind “don’t put all your eggs in one basket” probably came from watching someone careless. Someone not watching their basket. But if I am watching my basket carefully, if I know the road I’m walking, and I trust my grip, why wouldn’t I carry one basket? In life, we do this all the time: We commit to one romantic partner. We pursue one degree. We often work in one industry. No diversification in any of these. Right? I recently put all my equity investments in one mutual fund—PPFAS. A friend, who’s big into investing, was alarmed. “How can you be so concentrated?” I told him: “I’m not.

"I don't have the confidence that I will get 655 on the GMAT even this time," my student shared with me — her exam just a week away. She felt demotivated, and as a result, wasn’t making full use of the time she still had. Postponing wasn’t an option. I asked her, "If someone's chances of success are just 10%, should they still give their best?" She mumbled, "Of course." So — in theory — it's clear: We should give our best, regardless of our chances of success. Now it's time to put that into practice. Confidence is about the outcome — your perceived probability of success. But if you've already decided to give your best regardless of the outcome, then you don't need confidence. You don't need confidence to succeed. Success comes from giving your best — not from how confident you feel about your chances. And if you give your best regardless of how likely success seems, you'll succeed more often than you would otherwise. So, given where you are — one week from your GMAT — the real question is not how confident you are. The real question is: Will you give your best? Let go of the outcome. Let go of the need for confidence. Just give your best. And whatever is the best that can happen for you — will happen.

The Power of Deliberately Wrong Advice My father was a state bus driver. He once told me something his instructor said during training: “Treat everyone on the road as mad.” At first glance, that sounds wrong. If everyone on the road was genuinely mad, would you be able to drive? Of course not. You’d be frozen with fear. You’d never move an inch. So yes, the statement was wrong. But it served its purpose. None of the drivers took it literally. They understood what it really meant: Do your best, but don’t rely on others to do the right thing. And here’s what struck me— The instruction was factually wrong, but it was effective. Why? Because its extreme nature drove the point home. It shook them up. It made them pay attention. It created a mindset. Imagine if the instructor had said, “Drive carefully. Don’t expect others to do the right thing.” Would that have the same impact? Probably not. That’s the benefit of extreme statements. They grab you by the collar. They break through your filters. And they le

Do you feel embarrassed for having missed a simple thing? Let’s look at the following inequality: x^2 < 0 A student, while solving a question, arrived at this inequality. She asked me whether she could take the square root of both the sides. I asked her to relook at the inequality. After she spent another 10 seconds without progress, I asked her whether x^2 can ever be less than zero. She said, “I can sense that I am missing something that is right in front of me.” When I told her that x^2 can never be negative, she realised her mistake. After a few seconds, she shared, “I feel embarrassed. How could I miss such a simple thing!” I told her: Embarrassment is not a natural consequence of missing this simple thing. Embarrassment is a consequence of your decision to judge yourself. The moment you see the mistake for what it is - a mistake - learn from it, and refuse to define yourself by this mistake, you’ll not feel embarrassed. Embarrassment is essentially self-shaming - you are ashamed of yourself. “Oh! I made such a basic mistake! I deserve to be ashamed of myself!” My point is that you don’t deserve that. You never deserve that. You can choose to face your shortcomings with grace and self-compassion rather than self-judgment. Don’t you have that choice? And wouldn’t that choice make your life better? If yes, what’s stopping you from making that choice?

With age comes not understanding, but deeper misunderstanding. What really strikes me is that many times, the takeaways GMAT aspirants have are not just wrong. Not unhelpful—harmful. These takeaways often come from analyzing their mistakes. From reflecting on hundreds of questions. From the effort they’ve sincerely put in. In their minds, these are their learnings. This is the wisdom they’ve gathered through hard work. For example, one common takeaway I’ve seen after people practice dozens of CR questions is: “Don’t use common sense in CR questions.” Another one, especially in strengthen questions, is: “The correct option cannot mention anything not talked about in the passage.” Both of these aren’t merely unhelpful. They’re harmful. If followed sincerely, they will lower your score. We are supposed to use common sense in CR questions. If not common sense, then what? Formal logic? No. GMAT CR tests everyday reasoning, not formal logic. And in strengthen questions, the correct option is meant to bring in new information. Talking about something not mentioned in the passage doesn’t make an option wrong. ⸻ Similarly, in life, many people learn things that aren’t just unhelpful, but harmful. And if followed sincerely, these lessons take them further from happiness—and deeper into misery. As many people age, they keep piling up such harmful takeaways. They call it wisdom. Some are even on social media sharing their “wisdom” with the world. And so, we have a world full of confusion. And full of wisdom that leads people astray. Be careful whose “wisdom” you listen to or value. And be careful about your own learning. It may well be unhelpful. Or even harmful.

We're often driven by outcome goals – what we want to achieve. But how much thought do we give to our process goals – how we get there and the values we uphold along the way? In my latest blog post, I explore this dynamic: Why do we tend to prioritize outcomes, and could focusing more on the process actually lead to greater well-being and even redefine what success looks like? Curious to hear your thoughts. Read the piece here: https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/05/outcome-goals-vs-process-goals/ https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/05/outcome-goals-vs-process-goals/

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Cocomelon addiction Is it addictive? Or is it very engaging? And is it not the case that when something is very engaging, it can become addictive? So, what do we do then? Shut it down? Force them to change their content? The question isn’t whether they are wrong. The question is—why do kids find it so irresistible or addictive in the first place? Children constantly crave it because they have nothing else equally engaging. Can you engage them? Do you have the time? Maybe you don’t—out of necessity. Or, maybe you’re caught in your own race—running day in and day out. And when life isn’t giving them enough love, enough care, enough meaningful engagement, they will naturally reach for short-term highs. It’s not very different from what we see in other places. I used to judge people living on footpaths. I’d wonder—why do they beg and then spend on drugs or smoking? Why can’t they save and slowly work their way out of their hardships? But over time, I understood their condition. They barely have any highs in life. They are disrespected by everyone. They are looked down upon—sometimes they don’t even see themselves as valuable. People often treat them as if they’re a problem to be gotten rid of. When you live like that, it becomes extremely hard not to fall for short-term highs. Because there’s nothing long-term to look forward to. We’ve all heard stories—girls who carry shame around their bodies often overconsume chocolates. Not because chocolate will solve anything. But because they live with a deep discomfort. A feeling they constantly try to escape by giving themselves a little moment of pleasure. Is that wrong? Who am I to say? I’ve never walked in their shoes. And so, coming back to the kids— If their lives were filled with love, with care, with meaningful engagement, they probably wouldn’t find such content that irresistible. But without those things, of course they will . And when there’s demand, someone will cater to it. Blaming that someone may not help.

Happy Mother's Day! Thinking about the often unspoken weight of "mother's guilt" today. I've put some of my reflections and thoughts onto paper (or screen!) about this – discussing the high expectations and how we might find a different perspective from within these pressures – in my new blog post: "Mother's Guilt: An Inquiry This Mother's Day." Would love for you to read and perhaps share your insights: https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/05/mothers-guilt-an-inquiry-this-mothers-day/ https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/05/mothers-guilt-an-inquiry-this-mothers-day/

My 3-year-old daughter walked into my office yesterday (a separate room in our house), lay half-way on the chair at the entry, and softly said, “Why did you take away my cheeji (savory)?” A few minutes earlier, I’d seen her eat a toffee and then start munching on savory. I took away some of it from her. Her elder brother, who was sitting close by, asked for it, and I gave it to him. And now here she was, lying on the chair, sadness in her voice, asking me why I did that. This was the kind of moment I had often reflected on—how I respond to such situations and how I could do better. Earlier, I would have jumped straight into explaining: “It’s not good for your health.” “You want to be strong, no?” “Mumma has cooked dinner for you. It’s time to eat.” And I did say all of this. But this time— I said it 'later'. First, I walked up to her and asked, “Did you not like that I took away your savory?” She murmured, “Yes.” I said, “I’m sorry. I took them away because it’s not good for your health.” Then I asked, “Can I pick you up?” She opened her arms in response. I picked her up and took her to the dining table, where dinner was ready. She was still upset, so I apologized again. She seemed a little more comforted. But as soon as she sat down, she turned to her elder brother and asked, “Why did you take my savory?” Clearly, she was still holding on to what had happened. I stepped in and told her, “I gave it to him.” And then something shifted. She moved on to eating her dinner, and the conversation changed. --- On earlier occasions, I’ve realized my responses weren’t the most effective. I was often quick to explain why I was doing something— But I was slower to see how the kids were feeling. This time, I led with connection before correction. And it made a difference.

If you’re so certain that you’re right, why do you keep consuming content that only reinforces your beliefs? Isn’t the need for constant reinforcement a sign that, deep down, you’re not entirely sure? Why not acknowledge that what you believe is based on a limited set of experiences—things you’ve seen, heard, or felt—but that you don’t know for sure? Isn’t that the very thing you dislike about those on the other side? That they refuse to admit they don’t know. That they insist they’re right. That they dismiss you without truly trying to understand you, without empathizing with your emotions or validating your needs and concerns. How can you turn around and do the same? Someone has to break this cycle. Would you be willing to play your part in ending this cycle of hatred, of disconnection, of a lack of understanding? I’ll wait for your answer, dear. And if your answer is no—I won’t hate you. I’ll be sad, yes. But I won’t be angry. Because I want to play my part in breaking the cycle.

It takes 2 months to clear the GMAT. Where this misconception originates from, how this perpetuates, and what its implications are - I explore in the attached infographic.

My 2-year-old daughter was trying to open the sliding door in our balcony. But she was trying to open it the way she opens a normal door—by pushing. It did open a little, after a lot of effort. Not because of how hard she was pushing, but because some of her effort, by chance, went in the right direction. For her, it was a really hard door to open. So much effort. So little movement. For me, it wasn’t hard at all. Because I knew where to put the effort. Maybe that’s what I see with people too. So much effort to be happy. So little happiness. Maybe so much of the effort is wasted. So little of it is going in the right direction. Just like my daughter didn’t know how a sliding door works, maybe we don’t really know how happiness works. We’re striving hard. Some of us get a little happiness—not because of what we’re doing, but because something coincidentally moves in the right direction. My daughter was pushing the door. Not sliding it. Maybe we are too.

Subject: GMAT Negation Series - COMPLETE! Part 4: Practice Drill Now Live! The final piece of my 4-part GMAT Negation series is here! Part 4 is a comprehensive Practice Drill designed to help you apply everything covered: ✅ Core Definitions (from Part 1) ✅ Structures & Quantifiers (from Part 2) ✅ Negation vs. Contradiction (from Part 2) ✅ Handling Group Statements & Comprehension Pitfalls (from Part 3) This is your chance to solidify your understanding and get hands-on practice with a wide range of GMAT-style sentences, complete with detailed solutions. Check out Part 4 (Practice Drill) here: https://gmatwithcj.com/critical-reasoning/gmat-negation-part-4-comprehensive-practice-drill-solutions/ Missed any parts? Catch up on the full series: Part 1: https://gmatwithcj.com/critical-reasoning/gmat-negation-part-1-what-does-negation-really-mean-exercises/ Part 2: https://gmatwithcj.com/critical-reasoning/gmat-negation-part-2-handling-structures-avoiding-the-contradiction-trap/ Part 3: https://gmatwithcj.com/critical-reasoning/gmat-negation-part-3-avoiding-common-pitfalls-groups-comprehension/ Mastering negation is important for GMAT Critical Reasoning. Let me know how you do on the drill! https://gmatwithcj.com/critical-reasoning/gmat-negation-part-4-comprehensive-practice-drill-solutions/

There was a time when I realized how much I don’t know. And in that realization, I found something beautiful. A kind of humility, a quietness. That awareness felt deep and alive. Over time, though, I noticed something shift. I caught myself saying “I don’t know” more and more often. But it wasn’t coming from the same place anymore. It had become something else. A value I had adopted. A position I was holding. It felt better, even virtuous, to say “I don’t know” rather than to claim certainty. I could see how so many people seemed sure of what they knew, and here I was, saying that I didn’t know. And without realizing it, I had placed “I don’t know” on a pedestal. But the resonance wasn’t deep. It was starting to feel shallow, almost mechanical. Like I was saying “I don’t know” because I had decided that was the right thing to say—not because I was truly standing in the space of not knowing. Even the awareness of ignorance had quietly become an identity. And now, I feel less and less like saying anything at all. Why? Because I find myself trusting my words less and less. I say “I don’t know” and wonder—is this really true? Or have I just adopted this stance because it feels like the right one? And if there’s no truth in what I’m saying, then why say anything at all? And so, I’m receding into silence. Not because silence is better. Not because it’s more virtuous. But because if not the truth, why speak?

It took me 7 days of preparation to score GMAT 735, and it took me 7 years of practice after college to reach a level of fluency in spoken English that many people enter college with. So, am I a super-intelligent guy who could score 735 with such ease? or am I a dumb guy who took 7 years to achieve what people already have right after school? Given where I stand now, many people won’t believe that I had poor spoken English for such a long time. But, trust me, I had. Rather, my spoken English was so broken that I was rejected by all IIMs that had Group Discussions (that means all IIMs except IIMA, which decided to replace GDs with essays that year :)). The reason for rejection was quite clear: I just wouldn’t speak anything in the GDs. Why? Because by the time I would form a sentence in my mind, the discussion had moved forward. Hindi to English translation took time. So, who am I of these two - the genius or the fool? Either I am both or I am neither. I believe I am neither super-intelligent nor dumb. I am who I am. I am just a work-in-progress, and so is everybody else. We don’t need to identify ourselves with our successes or failures. Both of these will always be there. We just need to strive. With diligence and faith. And when we do so, our successes will eclipse our failures!

When True Understanding Arrives I was teaching fifth-graders about divisibility rules. After they correctly determined a number was divisible by 9, I told them: "Every number whose digits add up to 9 is always divisible by 9." Two students immediately nodded, "Yeah, makes sense." Their immediate acceptance surprised me. "How do you know?" I asked. One replied, "This number has a digit sum of 9, and it's divisible by 9." I clarified: "I'm not talking about just this number. I'm saying *every* number whose digits sum to 9 will be divisible by 9." That's when they paused. "Oh... but why is that true?" This moment of questioning revealed they had finally grasped what I was saying. The "But why?" signaled genuine understanding had begun. And it made me think: this is what happens when people read or listen to scriptures too. If there’s no surprise, no “How can this be?”, no “Why is it so?”—then they haven’t really understood what’s being said. They think they’ve got it. But they haven’t. They mistake fami

Some stories deserve to be told—not because they are dramatic or conventionally extraordinary, but because they reveal love in its quiet, beautiful, and yet formidable form. I want to share the story of two of my friends, Poonam and Prem (names changed), parents to a wonderful girl named Komal. Raising a child on the autism spectrum comes with unique challenges, but the way they navigate those challenges is deeply moving. Prem is a farmer who owns apple orchards in Himachal Pradesh. For three to four months each year, he is away from Delhi, tending to his orchards. But for the rest of the year, he is fully present for Komal, engaged in ways that are rare to see. Komal falls sick more often than other kids, and when she does, she clings to Prem. She wants to be in his *godi* (lap) constantly. It’s not easy. There are moments of exhaustion, of frustration. And yet, in all the times I’ve seen them with her, I have never once heard a bitter word. There is fatigue, yes, but never resentment. Instead, there is only love—and worry that they are not doing enough. I remember asking Prem once if he ever thought about having another child. His response has stayed with me ever since: "We haven't loved Komal enough to think of another child." That statement alone speaks volumes. It’s not that they don’t want another child—it’s that they feel they still haven’t given enough to the one they already have. And what makes this even more striking is that Prem is not someone who lacks time. He has plenty of it. And yet, despite all the time he spends with Komal, he still longs to do more. Watching them parent Komal is a humbling experience. They set the bar impossibly high for themselves, always wondering if they’re doing enough. And yet, from the outside, it’s so evident how much they are already giving—patience, compassion, and an unwavering, unconditional love. Komal is incredibly lucky to have them as her parents. And, in a way, I feel lucky too—for having the chance to witness such profound love in action.

Many GMAT aspirants who fall short of their target score despite working hard begin to doubt either the value of hard work or their own ability. But such doubts often arise from flawed conclusions. Hard work never loses its value. And ability is not fixed—it grows with the right kind of effort. The real issue, more often than not, is 'direction'. Just running harder won’t get you anywhere unless you’re headed the right way. So the key question is: Are you working hard in the right way? What is the right way to prepare for the GMAT? Given that the GMAT is used by top b-schools like HBS to evaluate candidates, what do you think it's really designed to test? Is it your mastery of shortcuts and tricks? Clearly, no. The GMAT is a test of comprehension, logical reasoning, and quantitative reasoning. And while tricks may sometimes offer speed, they don’t build understanding. Every time you come across a shortcut or technique, ask yourself: "Why does this work?" A concept becomes a trick when you don’t understand it. A trick becomes a concept when you understand its origin. When you ask such questions consistently and seek real understanding, you’re not just preparing for the GMAT—you’re also developing the mindset needed to thrive in an MBA program and beyond.