GMAT with CJ

I often feel that math, especially probability, is taught in a way that distances people from the core concepts. I wrote this because I believe ideas like 'independent' and 'mutually exclusive' events can be understood intuitively! My goal in this article is to explain them using everyday logic and examples, bridging the gap between formal definitions and real-world common sense. If you've ever found these terms confusing, I hope my perspective helps. https://gmatwithcj.com/quant/independent-vs-mutually-exclusive-events-an-intuitive-commonsense-explanation/ https://gmatwithcj.com/quant/independent-vs-mutually-exclusive-events-an-intuitive-commonsense-explanation/

Do I write for the sake of getting likes, comments, and shares? Even if I did, why would I admit it? If my goal were to gain popularity, wouldn’t admitting it undermine that very goal? This reminds me of a recent conversation. I was discussing with my friend an argument between me and my wife when he asked, "Are you open to changing your stance if you hear relevant counterpoints, or are you just closed off?" I replied, "Why would I ever admit that I am closed, even if I am? Who says that out loud?" You don’t have to ask someone if they are open-minded. You see it in their behavior—how they engage with counterpoints, whether they genuinely consider them or just look for ways to dismiss them. Coming back to writing—why do I do it? I write to express myself. I know that much of what I write will resonate with only a few. And that’s fine. If I wrote for popularity, I would feel disconnected from myself. Here’s how I see it: - Best case: I write authentically, and it connects with a large aud

Gurbani says: "You may enjoy the pleasures of hundreds of thousands of women and rule the nine continents of the world. But without the True Guru, you will not find happiness." Guru Sahib has the courage to make this claim in a world where pornography constitutes the largest segment of online content, where men spend a significant portion of their lives fantasizing about women's bodies, and where sex is often considered the most important part of marital relationships. A lot of life revolves around sex with just one person. And yet, Gurbani speaks of experiencing pleasure with hundreds of thousands of women—an indulgence beyond most people's wildest imaginations. And then, it goes even further. It claims that even such a life would not bring happiness. What? How can that be? Such a statement seems utterly absurd. These scriptures must be out of touch with reality, no? After all, spiritual people haven’t tasted the carnal pleasures of the world. How would they know how much happiness lies there? I understand this skepticism. It’s easy to dismiss Gurbani as an idealistic, detached philosophy. But then I pause and consider: Perhaps, Guru Sahib was not an ignorant person living in an illusion, unaware of what brings happiness to a man. Perhaps, there is truth in this verse—truth that I do not yet understand. But how can there be truth in such an extreme claim? Hundreds of thousands of women and still no happiness? That seems like complete falsity. Or perhaps, not. Maybe this is akin to something I often tell my students: You may memorize thousands of formulas, but you will not truly understand a thing. What is the difference between memorization and understanding? Depth. At one level, a person who memorizes formulas does have knowledge. But at another level, they lack comprehension. Perhaps, similarly, there are levels of joy—some much deeper than others. We can see this in our lives. The joy of eating chocolate is not the same as the joy of solving a problem once thought unsolvable. The pleasure of receiving a Rs 50 discount coupon is not the same as the fulfillment of landing a million-dollar deal. So maybe Guru Sahib is referring to a deeper kind of joy—one so profound that even indulgence in countless physical pleasures cannot reach it. Maybe the taste of a perfectly ripe mango can never be replicated by eating a hundred thousand cucumbers. Gurbani’s verse, then, stands not as a condemnation of pleasure but as an invitation to explore the vastness of human experience. It suggests that we often settle for pennies when millions are possible, for fleeting gratifications when deep ecstasies await. Perhaps, the spiritual path is not for the morally upright; it is for those who refuse to settle—for those who are truly greedy for the highest form of joy. It does not ask us to renounce pleasure but to ask: Am I settling for less?

Two Costly GMAT Negation Mistakes & How to Fix Them (Part 3) Even test-takers familiar with negation often stumble on these two issues, leading to lost points on GMAT Critical Reasoning. Part 3 of my GMAT Negation series covers: ✅ How to correctly interpret and negate statements about groups vs. individuals. ✅ Why accurate comprehension of the original statement is non-negotiable before attempting negation. Learn how to identify and avoid these common pitfalls: https://gmatwithcj.com/critical-reasoning/gmat-negation-part-3-avoiding-common-pitfalls-groups-comprehension/ https://gmatwithcj.com/critical-reasoning/gmat-negation-part-3-avoiding-common-pitfalls-groups-comprehension/

I used to fear being pickpocketed. Now, this fear has diminished, and it's not about having more money. I used to fear falling down in front of others. Now, this fear has faded. I used to fear standing near rowdy people, worried someone might hit me. Now, I walk with less apprehension. What has changed? The common thread connecting these fears wasn't about the incidents themselves, but about what followed. I feared being pitied afterward. "Poor thing! His pocket got picked. Poor thing fell down. Poor thing got hit for no reason." I dreaded being called a "bechara" - a helpless victim. Now, I largely don't. Why? When I questioned myself deeply, the answer became clear: Earlier, I saw myself as 'bechara.' And I was afraid that others would see it too—that my weakness would be exposed. Now, there is no 'bechara' to expose. I stand on my feet. Is it about confidence? I don’t think so. Is it about trusting my ability to handle things? Not really. It seems to have more to do with how I fundamentally see m

GMAT: Are You Learning the Game, or Just Memorizing the Moves? Hitting a plateau with your GMAT prep? It's a common frustration! Sometimes, the way forward becomes clearer if we think about it like mastering a complex video game. When faced with a tough game, you essentially have a few ways to approach it: 𝗨𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 '𝗖𝗵𝗲𝗮𝘁 𝗖𝗼𝗱𝗲𝘀' (𝗚𝗠𝗔𝗧 𝗧𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗸𝘀): This is like finding exploits or memorizing button combos for a quick power-up. On the GMAT, it's relying purely on tricks. Feels good momentarily, maybe solves one specific problem, but builds zero real skill and fails when the situation changes. 𝗠𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗢𝗻𝗲 𝗟𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗹 (𝗚𝗠𝗔𝗧 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁𝘀): You could learn Level 3 inside-out – paths, enemies, rules. Similarly, you might deeply understand isolated GMAT concepts or question types. It's much better, but what happens when you hit Level 4, or face a novel GMAT problem? That specific knowledge might not be enough. 𝗕𝘂𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗖𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗚𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗿 𝗦𝗸𝗶𝗹𝗹𝘀 (𝗚𝗠𝗔𝗧 𝗦𝗸𝗶𝗹𝗹𝘀): This is about developing strategy, adaptability, logic, and resource management – skills that work across any level or game. For the GMAT, this means building deep analytical reasoning and problem-solving abilities. This is how you learn to handle anything thrown your way. See the pattern? Relying on 'cheat codes' or only knowing 'one level' means you'll inevitably hit a wall in the game, and in your GMAT prep. You aren't equipped for real complexity or new challenges. That’s because the GMAT, ultimately, isn't testing if you know the 'cheat codes' or memorized 'Level 3'. It's designed to test those core 'gamer' skills – your analytical mind, your logical approach, your ability to strategize and adapt. These are the very skills essential for success in your MBA program and your career long after the test is done. So, if your prep feels stalled, consider your approach. Are you building those fundamental, transferable thinking skills, or just looking for the next trick?

We're often told to be rational, not emotional, especially in professional settings. But is this advice always helpful, or does it sometimes encourage a 'shallow rationality' that ignores the real source of our feelings? In my latest blog post, I explore why simply suppressing emotions like anger might not be the answer, and argue that true emotional maturity comes from understanding and addressing their roots – often our own hidden insecurities. Read my thoughts here: https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/05/why-be-rational-not-emotional-is-flawed-advice/ What's your take on navigating emotion vs. rationality? https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/05/why-be-rational-not-emotional-is-flawed-advice/

Commitment to Joy: Rethinking Relationship Dynamics I've been reflecting on what it truly means to be "committed" to a relationship. I think that my sole “commitment” is actually to my own joy and well-being. This sounds selfish, but I've realized this is how we are wired - to pursue our joy. What does being "committed to a relationship" actually mean? Does it mean staying in the relationship regardless of whether it serves our wellbeing? Why would we choose this? Why would we want it for anyone we care about? Every social construct exists to serve human needs; we don't exist to serve social constructs. Human joy and fulfillment are the main goals; everything else is simply a means to those ends. When we prioritize relationships over the people in them, aren't we reversing the natural order of things? Relationships are valuable precisely because they can bring connection, growth, and happiness. But when they stop serving these purposes, what meaning does commitment have beyond obligation? This isn't about promoting selfishness or abandoning responsibility. It's about honesty - with ourselves and with others. It's about creating space for authentic connection rather than performing roles that no longer fit who we are. True commitment might look more like this: a dedication to honesty, to personal growth, to supporting others in their journey toward fulfillment - even when that journey takes them in directions we didn't expect. Perhaps relationship health isn't measured by longevity but by how well it nurtures the human spirits within it. Perhaps the most loving commitment we can make is to honor both our own joy and the joy of those we care about, even when those paths diverge. What might our relationships look like if we approached them with this kind of radical honesty? What conversations would we have? What possibilities might open up when we free ourselves and others from expectations that no longer serve us? I don't have the answers, but I'm here to share some questions.

We often give reasons that sound reasonable but aren’t our real reasons. The other day, I went to a park near my house with my daughter. It had been locked for a while because, over time, it had become a gathering place for unwanted elements. To enter, I had to get the keys from an RWA member. The caretaker, who also doubled as the cleaner, tried hard to convince me to go to another park instead. His reasoning? - The other park was cleaner. - More children played there. - This park had “wrong” people coming in. But at that moment, the park was spotless. And empty. His reasons didn’t quite make sense. Perhaps his real concern was different—if I, as a resident, started using the park, others (including those he considered unwanted) might start demanding entry too. And then, he would lose the ability to turn them away. If the park remained locked and empty, he could always argue that some work was going on. But he didn’t say that. Instead, he kept giving reasons that might seem more acceptable to me. It was only later that I realized—maybe if I had created a space where he felt safe sharing his real concern, we could have found a way to meet both his needs and mine. This isn’t just about a park. How often do we do the same in our own relationships? We argue using "reasonable" justifications, but our real reasons remain hidden. Maybe out of fear of rejection. Maybe because we think they won’t be considered valid. We rarely express our deepest desires and fears, instead debating logical points that miss the heart of the matter. The true reasons remain protected, sometimes even from ourselves, because they feel too vulnerable or too difficult to acknowledge. And so, conversations become an exercise in convincing rather than understanding. We go in circles, debating surface-level reasons while the real ones stay buried. But real conversations—the kind that actually lead to solutions—can, perhaps, only happen when we feel safe enough to bring our true reasons to the table.

“Do you think I can ever crack the GMAT?” Over the past few months, a few students have asked me this question. It usually comes from a place of deep despondency—after trying hard and still falling short. Lately, I’ve started responding with a question of my own: “What if I say, ‘No, you can never crack the GMAT’? What would you do then?” That question makes them pause and reflect. And in that moment of introspection, many realize that even if I were to say ‘No’, there’s still a stubborn flicker of hope inside them. It refuses to go out. It’s as if their hearts already know: *this is not impossible*. That’s the real reason I ask that question. Nothing is truly impossible for a human being to achieve—especially something that so many others have already done. It’s only a matter of time and direction. If you're willing to put in the time, and if your direction is right, you'll eventually get wherever you want to go—no matter how far it seems right now. The distance from your goal only determines how long the journey will take. It does not make the journey impossible. So believe in yourself. And when in doubt, look deep into your heart— it already believes in you.

One of my students DID NOT get a SINGLE question right that he attempted in the last 18 minutes of his test. Why? With 11 questions left and time running out, fear took over. He skimmed each problem, not doing justice to any. The result? All 11 wrong. If he had attempted 6 questions well and randomly marked the remaining 5, the result would have been quite different. It’s a classic test-taking mistake. But also a classic mistake in life. We spread ourselves thin, trying to do everything, and end up excelling at nothing. Wouldn’t it make more sense to focus on fewer things and do them well? A professor at IIMA used to say—“Strategy is the art of closing doors.” Most people fear closing doors because they want to "keep their options open." But that’s not strategy. That’s FOMO. And FOMO leads to mediocrity at best and failure at worst. This same idea applies to diversification—whether in financial markets or in life. "Don’t put all your eggs in one basket" is sound advice only if you’re unsure abo

One of the trickiest parts of GMAT negation? Knowing it's NOT always just the "opposite" or a simple contradiction. How you handle specific structures also matters hugely. Part 2 of my deep dive into GMAT Negation covers: * Correctly negating tricky structures like "All," "Some," "If...then," "Only if." * The essential Negation vs. Contradiction distinction explained clearly. Stop falling into common traps – read Part 2: https://gmatwithcj.com/critical-reasoning/gmat-negation-part-2-handling-structures-avoiding-the-contradiction-trap/ https://gmatwithcj.com/critical-reasoning/gmat-negation-part-2-handling-structures-avoiding-the-contradiction-trap/

Whenever there is a potential conflict with a loved one, I feel tense. Why? At first, the answer seemed simple: conflict is unpleasant. Naturally, I resist it. But as I probed deeper, I found another reason—one that was less obvious but more powerful. I realized that in conflicts, I often don’t behave in ways I consider the highest ways of living. And when that happens, I feel lowered in my own eyes. I start questioning whether I have grown enough, whether I deserve what I aspire for. In those moments, my self-worth takes a hit—not because of the conflict itself, but because I didn’t act in the best way I could imagine. And so, I avoid conflicts—not just to escape discomfort, but to avoid the eventual self-doubt that follows. But here’s what I’ve noticed: when I become more patient with my own growth, when I accept that I will make mistakes along the way, my resistance to conflict lessens. The pressure to always embody an ideal self starts to ease, and with it, the fear of what a conflict might reveal a

“The sooner you want to get done with it, the longer it takes.” This was my response to a girl who came to meet me for GMAT preparation and said she wanted to get done with GMAT "as soon as possible." An achiever throughout her life, she wasn't used to the kind of struggle the GMAT was putting her through. I come across such people frequently — people who are tired of their GMAT struggle, people who are frustrated at not seeing the fruits of their efforts, people for whom the GMAT becomes a reminder that they might not be as talented as they once thought. Most of them are restless and want to get done with the GMAT ASAP. However, I have seen that such a mindset actually hinders — and thus elongates — the learning process. Learning takes time, and when the mind just wants to get done with it, it starts seeing the learning process as a hurdle rather than the pathway to the goal. The way out of this restlessness is to be patient with yourself. Taking time does not mean you are not intelligent. In fact, intelligent people are intelligent because of their past struggles. Even if application deadlines loom, recognize that impatience will not speed up your journey. Take a deep breath. Enjoy the process of learning. You’re getting closer to your goal!

The Illusion of Control I greeted a loved one with “Sat Sri Akaal.” They barely looked at me. Barely nodded. Continued what they were doing. The thought that crossed my mind: “Jo bhi ho. Jeeunga to main apne tareeke se hi.” (Whatever happens, I will live my way.) Later, I wondered—why did this thought even come to me? Because I saw their response as an attempt to control me. So, I was resisting it. Reasserting my autonomy. But why did I see it that way? I know they are upset with me. And I know why. For a long time, I have adjusted to the expectations that come with different roles—family, relationships, society. But now, I have started living by my own rules. And that change is unsettling for them. So, when they ignored my greeting, I didn’t just see it as an expression of their emotions. I saw it as a way to make me feel guilty, to pull me back in line. Because that’s how I’ve been controlled before—through silence, disappointment, withdrawal. But then, a thought struck me. Maybe I am mistaking imp

In my latest blog post, I’ve shared a reflection that grew out of a small but meaningful moment during a conversation with a student. It started with something as simple as wondering whether I should smile more during an intro call — and it unfolded into a deeper exploration of authenticity, integrity, and the subtle line between expressing genuine warmth and performing for approval. If you've ever wrestled with the tension between being true to yourself and making others feel comfortable, you might find something of yourself in this reflection. Would love for you to read and share your thoughts. https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/04/on-smiling-praising-and-the-desire-for-integrity/ https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/04/on-smiling-praising-and-the-desire-for-integrity/

A kid talks rudely to our son, and he comes crying to us. I feel anger rising within me. I want to tell him to go back and respond just as rudely. Why does he come to me, crying about this? Of course, I hold myself back. I console him and tell him to be assertive. That’s what I’ve learned. But deep down, I feel the urge to tell him something else. Why do I get angry? Because my son seems weak. Another kid was more powerful than him. He didn’t even fight back—just came running to me in tears. So weak. I don’t want him to be weak. I want him to be strong. That’s why I’m angry—because my need is not being met. But anger doesn’t arise just from an unmet need. It also comes when I perceive that someone is standing in my way. And in this case, my son—by not fighting back—is the one denying me my need to have a strong son. If he does this again tomorrow, and the next day, I know what will happen. I’ll get frustrated. I’ll snap. *How can he keep denying me my need?* But why is it my need

What's the biggest mistake I see students make during test prep? 🤔 The lack of a structured approach and a premature focus on speed, leading to frustration. Building foundational skills methodically first is crucial. My latest article breaks down an effective preparation journey into clear stages – from untimed accuracy/clarity building (addressing Process/Skill issues) to timed strategy and mocks. It also dives into the vital 'Metric vs. Driver' distinction. Read the framework and share your thoughts: https://gmatwithcj.com/how-to-prepare/the-stages-of-test-preparation/ What stage do you find most challenging? 👇 https://gmatwithcj.com/how-to-prepare/the-stages-of-test-preparation/

If 90% of our life is going well, why do we focus so much on the remaining 10%? Not only do we focus on it, but we resist it. We believe it *should not* be the way it is. That it is wrong. And resistance creates suffering. What’s the alternative? One possibility: we can *lovingly* try to change that 10%, not out of frustration, but out of gratitude for the 90% that is already going well. However, if we are filled with gratitude, would we even want to change that 10%? Maybe. But the panic, the rush to change it, wouldn’t be there. We’d be fine if things remained the same till the end of our lives. But right now, we’re not fine if they remain the same even tomorrow. Why? Why do we resist the 10%? Is it because something is lacking inside, and we are trying to fix the outside? That feels like a convenient answer, but I am not sure. What I do see clearly is this: Our tendency to resist the 10% is much stronger than our tendency to be grateful for the 90%. Why? I don’t know. It’s as

You don’t need more practice. You need right practice. Over and over again, I see this with GMAT aspirants: when they don’t hit their target scores, their first instinct is to practice more. They assume they just need to do more of what they’ve already been doing. It’s only after failing a second or third time that it even occurs to them — maybe they don’t need more of the same. Maybe they need something different. What they actually need is right practice. Practice doesn’t help if it’s not done the right way. The right way is to analyze every single question thoroughly — to understand not just why the correct option is correct, but why each incorrect option is incorrect. And not to stop after finding a flaw in a wrong option — but to play with the wording: could changing a few words make the wrong option right? Could tweaking the right option make it wrong? This kind of practice takes more time per question. You’ll do fewer questions. But you’ll learn a lot more. And in the end, it’s not the number of questions that gets you your score. It’s how much you learn from each one. So, yes — practice. But more importantly — practice right.