GMAT with CJ

Finding Peace: My Relationship with Wealth and Happiness I notice a pattern within myself: when I see wealthy people, I often look for signs of sadness, tension, anxiety, or anger. Why do I search for negativity in their lives? Let me explore this tendency. When I see negativity within them, I repeat to myself: "paise mil jaane se sukh nhi milta" (money doesn't bring happiness). So, it seems that I’m trying to prove to myself that wealth doesn't lead to happiness. But why do I need this constant reassurance? I've heard this wisdom throughout my life and have followed it, finding peace in this approach. But why do I need to repeatedly remind myself of its truth? What drives this need? Perhaps somewhere deep inside, I'm unsure. What if wealth actually does lead to happiness? This uncertainty creates discomfort because it suggests I might need to change my life. While I'm content with how I live now, what if pursuing money could make me happier? I resist exploring this possibility. Why? Because it threatens my sense of peace and grounding. If I discovered that accumulating wealth leads to greater happiness, I would question whether I'm making the right life choices. This doubt would create constant tension within me. To protect myself from this unsettling possibility, I look for evidence that wealthy people aren't happy. I selectively focus on their negative emotions to reinforce my belief system and validate my choices. I think I've uncovered why I do this: it's about preserving my peace of mind and protecting myself from the uncomfortable possibility that I might not be optimizing my happiness. This realization helps me see how I create narratives that support my existing worldview rather than remaining open to different perspectives.

Is your detailed GMAT prep plan really a strategy, or just a schedule? If your score isn't improving despite consistent effort, the way you're approaching learning might be the issue. Activity ≠ Improvement without the right framework. My latest post dives into why typical GMAT plans fall short and how to build a real strategy focused on deep learning, root cause analysis, and results. Learn more: https://gmatwithcj.com/how-to-prepare/why-your-gmat-prep-strategy-isnt-really-a-strategy-and-what-to-do-about-it/ https://gmatwithcj.com/how-to-prepare/why-your-gmat-prep-strategy-isnt-really-a-strategy-and-what-to-do-about-it/

Moments of Frustration: Why My Son's Bathroom Break Made Me Angry I was driving with my 5-year-old son when he asked me to stop the car to take something from his bag. I felt irritated. Stopping would waste time, but not stopping meant he'd keep asking. I argued we should wait until we reached our destination, just 15 minutes away. When he explained he wanted an apple, I understood - he could eat while we continued our journey. So I pulled over and handed him his bag. Just two minutes later: "Bot tez sussu aaya hai" (I urgently need to use the bathroom). I felt a wave of frustration rise within me. "You can wait until we reach," I told him. He insisted I stop the car. I reminded him we had just stopped moments ago - couldn't he have mentioned this then? He didn't respond, becoming absorbed in conversation with his friends. A few minutes later, he repeated his urgent need. At that moment, I paused to notice the anger bubbling inside me. Why was I so upset? My need to avoid wasting time and reach home efficiently wasn't being met. I had judged his requests as non-genuine - deliberately wasting time with bad intentions. This combination - unmet needs caused by someone's perceived bad intentions - triggered my anger. I realized something important: if I had seen his needs as legitimate, would I have felt angry? Probably not. Looking at the situation more objectively, we only took an extra three minutes. Did those three minutes truly matter? No. Yet in the moment, I felt deeply upset. How interesting that our emotions can disconnect so completely from reality. When he asked to stop again, I took a moment to acknowledge my unmet need for efficiency. I sat with it, understood it, and gave it space. As I did this, my frustration began to fade. I could respond to my son from a place of peace rather than anger. It's remarkable how small incidents trigger such big emotions with our children. I think several things happen simultaneously: 1. A sense of helplessness - feeling forced to accommodate their wants or suffer consequences 2. A question of fairness - why should my plans be derailed by seemingly trivial requests? 3. Self-judgment - questioning why I react so strongly to minor interruptions, wondering what this says about my spiritual growth and emotional maturity What do you think?

What Does Negation Really Mean on the GMAT? "Is it just the opposite?" "Do I just add 'not'?" 🤔 If you've asked these questions about GMAT negation, you're not alone! It's a concept that trips up many students. To provide clarity, I've started a 4-part series diving deep into GMAT negation. Part 1 covers the absolute basics: the correct definition and initial practice to solidify your understanding. Check out Part 1 and let me know your biggest negation challenge! https://gmatwithcj.com/critical-reasoning/gmat-negation-part-1-what-does-negation-really-mean-exercises/ https://gmatwithcj.com/critical-reasoning/gmat-negation-part-1-what-does-negation-really-mean-exercises/

One of my friends scored a 540 on the GMAT after several months of intense prep. He had poured in the hours, followed the plans, done everything “right.” But something clearly wasn’t working. Instead of giving up, he took a step back and reevaluated. Three months later, he scored a 710. When I asked him what made that kind of leap possible, he said something that stuck with me: “Simply put, the moment I strayed away from the score and started focusing on the improvement, the results came.”

I cannot stop thinking. Why? If I don’t think, what do I do? Nothing. Isn’t that a waste of life? How can I do nothing? For how long? And if I can’t do nothing for long, then why do it at all? Doing nothing must be a waste of time. If it were truly valuable, wouldn’t I be willing to do it all the time? But am I willing to do nothing indefinitely—assuming the practicalities of life are taken care of? As I reflect on this, I find no clear thoughts, though the question itself unsettles me. Something feels off. Am I born to do nothing? How can anyone just do nothing? Perhaps doing nothing is better than doing something useless. But doing useful things must be better than doing nothing. So, why not engage in useful things all the time, given that they sit at the top of the hierarchy? Or is it that useful things are not necessarily better than nothing? Perhaps they exist at the same level. When there is a deep yearning to act, then doing something is meaningful—better than nothing. But in the absence of

For the past two years, my child has been attending Aarambh—a small Waldorf school in Delhi. When we were choosing a school, I knew I didn’t want them in a system built around comparison, memorisation, and rush. What we found instead was a place that honours rhythm, play, emotional safety, and the quiet unfolding of each child. This post is not a review. It’s a reflection—on what I was looking for, what we experienced, and what I’ve come to deeply value. If you’re exploring alternative schools, or simply thinking about what education means today, this might resonate. https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/04/my-story-of-admitting-my-kid-to-an-unconventional-school/ https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/04/my-story-of-admitting-my-kid-to-an-unconventional-school/

When the Experts Are Lost Experts always write like… experts. This is what you should do. Keep this in mind. Follow this path to success. Avoid this path to failure. But what if the experts themselves are lost? What if their depth is shallow, though they don’t realize it? Having worn the hat of an expert for so long, they’ve forgotten how to wear the hat of a student. I see this in the GMAT world. So many experts. So much advice. Much of it contradicts. What works for some students doesn’t work for others, even though those students keep trying for months—sometimes years—without real progress. Some expert recommendations, if followed sincerely, are actually harmful. Fortunately, people don’t follow any advice too sincerely because they hear so much contradictory advice. So they keep juggling, never settling, never knowing what truly works. For them, nothing seems to work. I don’t know if this is just a GMAT story or a life story—because what plays out in the GMAT field also plays out in life.

She sat across from me on Zoom — tired eyes, tense voice, rushing through her plan to finish the GMAT syllabus in record time. I paused her and said gently, “You know, GMAT prep isn’t a sprint. It’s a marathon.” She was doing everything she could — and more — but it was coming from a place of fear. Fear of not meeting her deadlines. Fear of falling behind. There’s a difference between giving your best and doing everything out of panic. The former builds momentum. The latter drains energy. The reality is: we don’t get to fully control how quickly we reach our target score. Progress doesn't always follow our timelines. What we can control is the quality of our effort — how consistently, patiently, and intelligently we show up every day. But if we keep pushing ourselves past our limits in the hope that we’ll get there faster, we’ll run out of fuel halfway through. Not every part of this journey has to feel like a final exam. Sometimes, it helps to ease up a bit — to breathe, to trust, to allow room for growth. Ironically, the more relaxed we are, the more we learn — and the faster we improve.

Is the way you're living your life justified? If you abandon your individuality entirely and live strictly by social scripts, you will be completely justified in others' eyes. The more you pursue your unique path, follow your distinct desires, invest time in what truly fulfills you, and define your own priorities—the more likely you'll be labeled as strange, living a life that appears unjustifiable to others. When this inability to justify your choices bothers you, you engage in an exhausting mental battle to validate yourself to others. At times, this struggle becomes so draining that you might surrender your authentic choices for those society deems acceptable. What if you stopped justifying your choices to others? This might be your most "unjustifiable" act of all—not even attempting to explain yourself. This decision will have consequences. Others will suddenly feel powerless to shape you according to societal norms, which they consider the safe path, and they won't easily accept this loss of influe

एक चित्र बनाना था। सोचा, एक क़लम ले ली जाए और एक पन्ना। क़लमें बहुत तरह की थीं। कुछ साधारण, तो कुछ बेहद सुंदर। मन हुआ कि सबसे सुंदर क़लम ही ली जाए। लेकिन जब कीमत सुनी, तो लगा कि इतनी महँगी क़लम लेना अभी संभव नहीं। पर पैसा तो कमाया जा सकता है। मैं पैसे कमाने में लग गया। दिन-रात मेहनत की। और फिर एक दिन, वह सुंदर क़लम ख़रीद ली। क़लम हाथ में थी, दिल में खुशी थी। अब तो चित्र बन ही जाएगा। लेकिन तभी रास्ते में किसी और के हाथ में एक और भी सुंदर क़लम दिखी। मन डगमगा गया। पूछा, “ये क़लम कहाँ से ली? कितने की मिली?” उत्तर मिला, और उसके साथ ही एक नई लालसा जाग उठी—इससे भी सुंदर क़लम चाहिए। पर उसके लिए और धन चाहिए। फिर से कमाना शुरू किया। कुछ समय बाद वह क़लम भी ख़रीद ली। पर तभी किसी और के पास एक और अद्भुत क़लम दिख गई। बस, इसी तरह क़लमों की दौड़ चलती रही। हर बार लगा कि इससे बेहतर क़लम हो सकती है, हर बार एक नई चाह जागी। मैं धन इकट्ठा करता रहा, क़लमें ख़रीदता रहा। पर चित्र? जिसके लिए यह सब शुरू किया था, वह चित्र कभी बन ही न सका।

Breaking the Chains From an early age, we are taught to ignore our emotions. Logic, productivity, and external success take center stage, while the most real part of our experience—our emotions—is dismissed as a distraction. But if we silence our emotions, what remains? A machine designed for efficiency, not a human being. The world isn’t interested in truly knowing you. And so, you stop being interested in knowing yourself. Instead, you seek safety. You seek approval. You follow the same patterns as everyone else, believing that self-inquiry is a lonely road. You don’t want to be alone. That fear keeps you in place. But what are you afraid of? Losing this misery? You assume that stepping outside the familiar will make things even worse. That fear is what keeps you chained. But for how long? There comes a point where the suffering becomes unbearable. And in that moment, you stop clinging. You stop negotiating with your fears. You break free. The sad truth is that, for many of us, suffering has to become strong enough to push us toward freedom. The universe seems uninterested in our comfort—it is interested in breaking our chains. And if we don’t let go willingly, it will deliver whatever is necessary to force us into freedom. But must we really wait for suffering to reach its peak? What if we started breaking our chains now—before the pain becomes unbearable?

Are you trying to hit 650+ by solving 2000+ questions? A common question I hear from GMAT students: “How many questions do I need to practice?” And the most common mistake? Focusing on 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 instead of 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭. Practicing questions is not an end in itself. It’s just a means to an end — that end being learning. I find this equation helpful: 𝗟𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 = 𝗡𝘂𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗤𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 × 𝗟𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗽𝗲𝗿 𝗤𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 So, the number of questions you need to practice depends on two things: * How much learning you need to hit your goal, and * How much you’re learning from each question. And that second part is where most people fall short. If you're not taking the time to analyze every question — especially the ones you’re unsure about or got wrong — your learning per question is low. And when that happens, no matter how many questions you solve, your score b. I’ve seen it happen too often: people doing thousands of questions without any meaningful improvement. They’re working hard, but not learning deeply. So instead of asking “How many questions should I do?” Try asking “How much am I learning from each one?” Chase insight, not volume.

A friend recently sent me this quote: "I hate who steals my solitude without, in exchange, offering me true company." — Friedrich Nietzsche It led me to reflect. If you take away my solitude, at least offer me true company. But what is true company? It’s not just being in the same space, exchanging words, or discussing surface-level things. True company means a genuine connection—where we open ourselves to each other, where the conversation touches something real, something that matters experientially. Yet, why would someone not offer true company? Why would they be content with a superficial connection? Perhaps because they don’t have true company even within themselves. How can they offer others what they don’t have? They have never sat down with themselves to understand their deeper thoughts, feelings, fears, or insecurities. They have numbed them, ignored them, or dismissed them as inconsequential. They have considered their deeper self unimportant, their own experience of life secondary to what society has asked them to prioritize—careers, wealth, intellect, achievements. But why have they prioritized society’s expectations? They don’t know. And as I said, it’s not their priority to figure that out. Yet, this disconnect between them and their deeper self will gnaw at them. It will prod them. It will show its face in unexpected ways. For how long can they run from it? Eventually, they will have to confront it. And when they do—when they begin to understand themselves, when they find their own true company— then will they be able to offer me their true company.

At first glance, it seems completely illogical that something as stiff and unyielding as a bud could transform into something as delicate and soft as a flower. If we only rely on what seems immediately reasonable, we might conclude that such a transformation is impossible. And if we extend our logic further, we would say that such a transformation requires effort. That without intervention, the bud would remain a bud or wither away. Because in our everyday experience, if we want something to improve, we must work for it. This is the logic of control—the belief that progress happens because of our active participation. Without effort, we assume, things decay rather than bloom. Yet nature does not seem to operate entirely by this logic. Flowers bloom, seasons change, rivers carve valleys—not by force or effort but by an underlying rhythm that we often fail to grasp. Within the seemingly dormant bud, cells are dividing, nutrients are flowing, genetic instructions are unfolding in precise sequences. All without anyone's effort. The mystics have spoken of this rhythm as surrender, as trust, as non-action. To us, this sounds absurd, because it contradicts the logic we live by: If I don’t act, nothing will change. But perhaps this is only a limitation of our perspective. Perhaps action and non-action are not as opposed as we think. Perhaps the flower blooms not because it “tries” but because it aligns with something deeper. Perhaps the effort we exert in controlling life is, in some ways, the very thing that keeps us from seeing how life unfolds on its own. Our inability to see this does not necessarily mean it is not true. Just as we might once have lacked the tools to see cellular activity within the bud, there may be dimensions of reality and transformation that remain beyond our current understanding. Perhaps, it means we have not yet learned how to see.

During a recent GMAT tutoring session, Alex (name changed) asked me to explain a "rule" about absolute value inequalities he saw in an online course: ∣a+b∣=∣a∣+∣b∣ holds if and only if a and b have the same sign or at least one of them is zero. For Alex and Mia (name changed), before our sessions, this would have been a "math rule" to memorize. But I’ve been encouraging them to understand rather than memorize. So this time, they wanted to know why this was true. I asked Mia to share her understanding. She picked a few numbers and showed that the equation held for those cases. That’s a common approach—if something works for a few examples, it feels true. But does that mean it MUST ALWAYS be true? In addiiton, is this equation really a rule to be memorized, or does it naturally follow from the definition of absolute value? I drew a parallel to something simpler: 3+2=5. We don’t memorize this as a rule. We understand it—3 increases by 1 to 4, then by 1 again to 5. That’s the meaning of 3+2, and that meaning naturally leads to the answer, 5. Similarly, the absolute value equation above isn’t something to remember—it can be derived from the meaning of modulus. So, we derived the equation together, step by step, using logic from the definition of modulus. Learning math isn’t about remembering a bunch of rules. It’s about seeing how complex relationships emerge from simple ones through reasoning and creativity. And in the process, we don’t just get better at math—we build problem solving skills that can help us tackle any problem.

1 is not a prime number. Why? You may be quick to pull out the definition: “A prime number is a whole number with exactly two distinct positive divisors.” But then I ask you: Why is that the definition? Why exactly two distinct divisors? Is it an attempt to exclude 1 from the list of prime numbers? This short video began with that curiosity — and took me through the history of the definition of prime numbers, how Pluto lost its planetary status, and how mathematics, like language, sometimes reshapes itself not just for logic… but for elegance. https://youtu.be/VUsUXn8O3GY If you’ve ever wondered about the why behind basic math — or just enjoy a good story hidden behind a short sentence — you might enjoy this one. https://youtu.be/VUsUXn8O3GY

We have four clocks at our house - of course, in different rooms. They all show the same time. Recently, when I checked my phone—I realized it was two minutes behind. For a moment, I thought, my phone must be slow. But almost immediately, I realized the truth: my phone is synced with the internet clock. So, it must be accurate. The clocks aren’t correct; they are all two minutes ahead. Yet, because there were four clocks - all showing the same time, I ‘naturally’ thought they were correct. and the one that differed from them - the one on my mobile - must be wrong. This incident made me wonder—how often do we mistake what we see most often for what is true? When an idea, a belief, or a perspective is reinforced around us, it starts to feel true. And when we encounter something different - perhaps, the truth - we instinctively doubt it. While the truth does not depend on what we repeatedly encounter, our perception of truth—what feels right, what seems normal, what we instinctively trust—is powerfully shaped by repeated exposure. This may extend far beyond clocks. Consider how our understanding of "normal" is constructed by the communities we inhabit, the media we consume, the conversations we repeatedly have. We may know intellectually that other perspectives exist, but what 'feels true' to us is inevitably shaped by what we encounter most often. When our perception of truth begins to shift, how do we maintain alignment with objective reality? How do we remind ourselves that majority opinion—even unanimous opinion among four clocks—doesn't necessarily reflect accuracy? And more importantly, in matters where objective truth is elusive or complex, how conscious are we of the forces shaping our perception of what feels true?

Yesterday, I noticed another instance of the cycle I had reflected on earlier - the cycle of expectation of suffering -> resistance -> suffering. As I was about to enter Gurudwara Sahib, I heard kirtan that sounded akin to SK's voice. I had wanted to listen to someone else’s kirtan, so the moment I heard it, my mind reacted: Oh no. Kismat hi kharab hai. In that instant, I had already decided that I would not enjoy the experience. This expectation created resistance, which itself would act as a filter, limiting my ability to immerse in the kirtan. Thus, the chances would be higher that I wouldn’t enjoy kirtan. A self-fulfilling prophecy. This made me reflect further why I expected not to enjoy it. Because I had a preference. I had an idea of how things should be. And when reality did not align with that expectation, I resisted it. And this resistance, in turn, led to a self-fulfilling situation. Here’s what I thought: was SK’s kirtan itself the problem? Or was my resistance to it the problem? Had I not resisted, would I not have enjoyed it? This aligns with my earlier reflection: suffering often doesn’t come from the situation itself but from resisting what is. And resistance comes from expectation expecting something to be a certain way and rejecting it when it isn’t. So, a question: Can I experience something without resistance, without labeling it as good or bad before even experiencing it? Can I let go of my expectations and simply be present?

I recently wrote a short reflection on how our responses to our children's emotions can shape their development. It's something I've been thinking about lately in my own parenting journey. Here's the link: https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/04/how-our-responses-shape-our-children/ https://chiranjeevsingh.me/2025/04/how-our-responses-shape-our-children/