GMAT with CJ

I recently noticed a pattern in my thoughts—I keep trying to prove that the way I have chosen to live is superior to the way others live. For most of my life, I lived in alignment with the people around me. But now, I have chosen a different path. And with that change has come this unconscious need to justify my decision. Why do I constantly build these arguments to prove my way of life superior? Because at some level, I feel that if I couldn’t justify it, my choice would be questioned. So, I keep building mental arguments, proving (even to myself) that my way is better. Recently, I questioned myself: What if I didn’t need to justify? The answer that came from within was clear—then I wouldn’t even care whether my way is superior or not. The very need to establish superiority was born out of the need to justify. If I let go of justification, the desire to prove myself right naturally fades away. What remains is simply living—not to be superior, not to be right, but just because this way resonates with me. All this noise within me—the endless mental arguments, the constant need to establish my way as the “better” way—is nothing more than a byproduct of this compulsion to justify. If I choose not to justify, I don’t need to prove anything. I can just live my life and let others live theirs, without getting into who is right and who is wrong. But the moment I step into that right-and-wrong mindset, I find myself trapped in an endless loop of proving, debating, and defending. Why not step out of it altogether? In any case, others won’t truly understand my reasons. And that’s okay. Trying to make them understand will only drain my mental energy—a pointless exercise, an unnecessary drama, an inconsequential use of time. This way of living—free from the need to justify—seems much better. Lighter. More peaceful.

This happened in a school where my friend’s daughter studies. She is five years old. The teacher asked the students to write an essay on "Myself." And then, of course, the teacher dictated the five sentences they were supposed to write. How can the teacher let the students write on their own? They may not write well. They may end up writing absurd things. No, no, no. The output should be good. The essays should turn out well. That’s the priority. Children’s creativity, imagination, or figuring things out on their own—that doesn’t matter. Of course. We are a society focused on outcomes, no? So, the teacher told them the five sentences they were to write in their essays on "Myself." Most students ended up writing the first three sentences. They forgot the last two. However, one girl wrote all five. The secret sauce to her success? We will get to know shortly. When school was over, this girl’s mother asked her at the gate what had happened in school. When she got to know of the exercise, she checked the girl’s essay right then and there. And she started screaming at her. Why? She had missed a couple of words. When you can get such a scolding for missing a couple of words, of course, you cannot dare to miss a couple of sentences, as the rest of the students did. This was the secret sauce of this girl’s excellence. The mother’s magic was clearly working. I am sure that after one or two more instances, the girl wouldn’t even miss a couple of letters, let alone commit the sin of missing a couple of words. She would surely start topping the class. Or perhaps, in my ignorance, I forgot that she might already be a topper. Can she dare not top the class when the secret sauce of excellence lies in her house? What about this girl’s self-esteem? What about her childhood joy? What about her own preferences in life? Oh no, no. When survival is at stake, how can we talk about such luxurious things? We are all in a mad rush to survive. If we don’t succeed, we fail. And the world doesn’t treat failures well. So how can the mother let her girl fail? No, that would be her failure as a mother. And she cannot fail as a mother. She might have failed in many aspects of her life, but now she cannot fail as a mother. She has to succeed. And she seems to be. For now. But perhaps, someone is failing. Who? I don’t know. But it seems to me that someone is failing.

“I don’t know why I keep thinking about failing,” a student said. Our minds keep returning to failure, not because we want to fail but because failure feels more intense than success. In this piece, I’ve tried to understand this pull—and what it takes to break free from it. https://gmatwithcj.com/how-to-prepare/why-we-keep-thinking-about-failure-and-how-to-break-free/ https://gmatwithcj.com/how-to-prepare/why-we-keep-thinking-about-failure-and-how-to-break-free/

I caught myself thinking that once my relatives know I won't engage in social chitchat or functions, I will be at peace. Then I wondered: why am I not at peace right now? Why will I be at peace then? Because then no one will ask me to do things I don't enjoy, things that feel like a burden. I will feel free, at ease. But at this very moment, no one is asking me to socialize or engage in small talk. I am sitting alone, basking in the sunlight. Why, then, am I still not at peace? Because I am looking for certainty—the assurance that I will never have to do those things again. Right now, the potential still exists. But why does the mere potential of something disturb me? Why can I not be at peace right now? Because I resist the possibility of those situations ever happening. So, in essence, this resistance is the thread tying me to those potentialities. If I release the resistance, I can be at peace right now, even though those potentialities may continue to exist. But why do I resist? Because I suffer in those situations. Does resistance automatically arise in situations that induce suffering? Or is resistance a separate phenomenon? Is it possible to become non-resistant to situations that induce suffering? Is resistance to anything fundamentally resistance to suffering? And now I wonder—isn't suffering itself a product of resistance? When I resist what is in front of me, I suffer. If I let the present unfold as it does, I do not suffer. So perhaps resistance is the primary force, and suffering is the secondary one. Once suffering arises, I resist suffering too, deepening the cycle. But then, why did I resist the situation in the first place? Perhaps I expected it to create suffering. My expectation created resistance, and this resistance created suffering. In a way, my expectation of suffering created suffering. Why did I expect the situation to lead to suffering? Perhaps because of past experiences. Or perhaps my self-concept leads me to believe that those situations do not align with who I am. I expect not to enjoy them. And because I expect not to enjoy them, I resist them. And because I resist them, I suffer. And when I am in those situations, I want to escape them. And so, the cycle continues.

Most people only see the final score—rarely the inner journey behind it. This student took over 2 years, navigated self-doubt, battled anxiety, and still chose to keep going. Their story isn’t just about scoring 700 or making it to ISB. It’s about letting go of shortcuts, embracing learning over performance, and allowing genuine growth to happen. I’m so glad I got to witness this transformation up close. https://gmatclub.com/forum/my-isb-admit-story-2-years-4-attempts-and-my-support-443453.html https://gmatclub.com/forum/my-isb-admit-story-2-years-4-attempts-and-my-support-443453.html

The Speed-Precision Paradox in Learning A student recently shared a common frustration with me: "I can solve problems correctly when untimed, but under time pressure, I make mistakes I wouldn't otherwise make." I offered him this analogy: When you're driving to the airport with plenty of time, you cruise comfortably at perhaps 40 KMPH, noticing the scenery and maybe even fiddling with your music. Now imagine you're running late. Do you drive so fast that you crash into other cars? No. Right? You drive at your fastest controllable speed. You constantly assess whether you're maintaining control of the vehicle, and you adjust accordingly. The same principle applies to solving questions under time limits. You need to constantly calibrate: Are you comprehending as you read? Are you solving accurately as you calculate? If not, slow down. It's never about maximum speed; it's about maximum controllable speed. — You may feel limited by what seems like your natural ceiling. Some people appear to maintain control at 100 KMPH while you struggle beyond 60. You repeatedly try to push past your limit, but each attempt ends in loss of control. Eventually, this can lead to self-doubt: "Maybe I'm just not capable enough. Maybe I can drive only at a maximum of 60 KMPH. Maybe I can solve a question correctly only by taking three minutes.” But this ceiling isn't fixed—you simply haven't discovered the right approach to raise it yet. How do we increase our maximum controllable speed? A brilliant senior of mine at IIMA shared wisdom that answers this question perfectly (see attached image). In essence: "Don't learn to drive fast. Learn to drive precisely, and speed will come." Our emphasis on being a "fast learner" often creates shallow foundations. Complex concepts deserve patient, deliberate practice focused first on precision, not speed. Perhaps, as Abid says, it's time we change our goal from being "fast-learners" to becoming "proper-learners."

Following is always blind. No? If it is not blind, is it truly following? If you are deciding when to follow and when not to, are you really following? I don’t think so. You might be learning a few things, taking bits of wisdom that resonate with you. But that’s not following— that’s choosing. And when you choose, you become the decision maker. You filter ideas through your own understanding, your own sense of right and wrong. If your growth depends on what makes sense to you, then it’s limited by your current understanding and beliefs. Do you trust your sense so much that you’re willing to bet your entire life on it? And if you don’t trust your own judgment, then the only alternative is to blindly follow someone you believe knows better. To surrender your decision-making entirely. But even then, you decide who to follow. You use your sense to evaluate them, to judge their credibility, and to determine whether they’re worth following. In a way, even when you follow blindly, you’re still tied to your own judgment. Thus, you are perpetually bound by your sense. Whether you choose to follow or not, your sense remains the silent puppeteer. An inescapable cycle. But perhaps recognizing this cycle is a step toward becoming more aware of oneself.

It's a common complaint among my students that the way I question them makes them doubt their reasoning. But doesn't that questioning simply uncover doubts that were already there, just waiting to be noticed? When someone "makes me" frustrated or angry, aren't they performing a similar function? They haven't created my anger; they've simply provided the circumstances for what lies within me to emerge. If that emotional potential weren't already present, no external catalyst could bring it forth. If you squeeze a lemon, you get something sour. If you squeeze an orange, you get something sweet. The nature of what emerges isn't determined by the squeezing—it's determined by what dwells within. What might shift in our interpersonal dynamics if we approached moments of provocation not as impositions but as revelations? What if, instead of asking "Why are you making me feel this way?" we asked "What does my reaction reveal about what I value, fear, or hold dear?" Our emotional responses under pressure—whether in professional disagreements, classroom dialogues, or personal relationships—offer us a mirror. The question is whether we're willing to look at our reflection with curiosity rather than judgment.

There’s a side to GMAT prep we don’t talk about enough—the emotional side. The pressure to succeed, the fear of failure, the self-doubt, the frustration of making the same mistakes again and again… they’re as much a part of the journey as the concepts and strategies we study. In this article, I’ve shared some reflections on the emotional experience of preparing for the GMAT—what it feels like, how it shapes our mindset, and why acknowledging it is important Would love to hear your thoughts. https://gmatclub.com/forum/the-emotional-side-of-gmat-prep-331839.html https://gmatclub.com/forum/the-emotional-side-of-gmat-prep-331839.html

A friend has been facing legal issues ever since buying a new house. Recently, she mentioned that vastu misalignment might be the cause of her struggles. She had seen an instagram reel on this. It struck me how easily we start connecting dots based on what we consume—even if it’s just a casual reel. It’s fascinating how the mind works. A passing thought, a brief video, a random piece of content—none of it is truly neutral. Every interaction subtly influences how we interpret our experiences. We think we’re just scrolling through social media, but in reality, our minds are absorbing ideas, narratives, and explanations that shape how we see the world. Seen through the lens of Gurbani, the solution to her problem will be found in her focusing on her actions (karma), purifying the mind, and practicing mindfulness. From the lens of that vastu reel, the solution lies in her making changes in the house or buying a new one. It’s not about whether vastu is real or not. My question is: What narratives are we unconsciously building? Is she even aware that she is determining the cause of her current predicament from an instagram rell she saw rather than from what her scripture says? Is she consciously choosing an instagram reel over her scripture? We consume so much information without realizing its impact. And before we know it, our thoughts, beliefs, and explanations are shaped by digital fragments that were never meant to be more than passing entertainment. Are we choosing our perspectives, or are they being chosen for us by the content we consume?

Does love mean taking responsibility for another person and their emotions? I’ve come to believe it doesn’t. Each of us carries the primary responsibility for our own emotional landscape. To suggest otherwise is to diminish the agency that makes us fully human. Love, in its most authentic form, is about bringing forward the sweetness that dwells within you and offering it to another. This offering is fundamentally voluntary—not an obligation, not a right to be claimed by another. The moment someone asserts ownership over your sweetness or love, something essential shifts. The relationship may persist, but love itself begins to transform. When sweetness is shared from a place of obligation rather than choice, it inevitably sours. First into disappointment, then into bitterness. For sweetness to remain true to its nature, it must flow freely, unburdened by expectation or demand. Love, perhaps, is found in the delicate balance of being present while honoring the boundaries that allow both people to deal with their own emotional responses.

I’ve been reflecting on the dynamics of self-assertion, impact on others, and the underlying motivations for helping. When we assert our worth or make choices that align with who we are, the intention may not be to harm anyone. Yet, it can still impact others psychologically. It makes me wonder: Where does responsibility lie? With the one expressing themselves or with those interpreting it through their own insecurities and experiences? I noticed an interesting pattern within myself—when I see a dear one affected by my self-expression, I feel the urge to help. But then I asked myself: Why do I feel the urge to help? The answer was revealing: Somewhere deep within me, I hold this belief that I am more powerful or more capable than the other person. Maybe even that I am more ‘blessed’ or ‘favored’ in some way. And from this belief, the desire to help emerges—not purely from compassion but from a subconscious sense of superiority. But then a part of me reminded me of the truth I have learned from spirituality, from Gurbani: **God is as much with them as God is with me.** There is no disparity in the divine presence that supports each of us. This realization changed my perspective. I may still choose to help, but the act of helping will no longer come from a place of superiority. The act will be borne out purely of compassion, not of superiority. The action might look the same on the outside, but the motivation is fundamentally different. In a way, it shifts from ego to empathy, from condescension to compassion. The fact that I can help someone in need or that someone is in need while I am not will cease to mean that I am more blessed than they are. This way, I will be more connected with the divine than I was earlier.

‘Out of scope’ is one of the most commonly cited reasons for eliminating answer choices in GMAT Critical Reasoning questions. However, in my interactions with GMAT aspirants, I’ve consistently noticed a lack of clarity about the scope of an argument. If we don’t clearly understand the scope of an argument, it’s only natural that we’d also misjudge what lies outside that scope. As a result, many aspirants reject the correct answer, labeling it as ‘out of scope’, when, in fact, it was perfectly valid. (Has this happened to you?) In this article, I break down what defines the scope of an argument and how a clearer understanding can help you avoid this trap: https://gmatwithcj.com/critical-reasoning/what-defines-the-scope-of-a-cr-argument/ https://gmatwithcj.com/critical-reasoning/what-defines-the-scope-of-a-cr-argument/

I find it fascinating how miserable people often have strong opinions on how others should live their lives. These people are already living life on their own terms—and yet, they are miserable. Still, they want others to follow their lead. How suprising! If you have failed, what right do you have to force others to live by your standards? Not just advise, but force. And yet, this happens all the time. Perhaps, people intuitively understand all this. That is why they wear a mask of happiness—so that others don’t see how miserable they truly are. If people saw through the mask, two things would happen: 1. Others would pity them, which they don’t want. 2. Their influence would fade. After all, why would anyone listen to someone who is visibly unhappy and defeated? Maybe that’s why so many people go to great lengths to appear successful. They don’t want to lose the power to dictate how others should live.

I ordered a masala dosa yesterday for Rs 300. I could have waited a bit longer for my maid to come and cook, but I chose not to. Right after, I wondered if I was spending too much. And then, I found solace in the thought that my cousin spends a lot on unnecessary litigation. At least, I am not wasting money on that. I rented an office space but didn’t go there for a month. I felt tense about the wasted expense. But then, I comforted myself by recalling a friend who rents a house but often goes to his native place for more than a month, paying rent without using the space. I realized that when I felt guilty, I found someone around me who was doing the same or worse, and then, I felt okay. I wondered why. Perhaps, I cannot accept myself to be the worst. If someone else is equally bad or worse, I’m fine. Why cannot I accept myself to be the worst? There is a fear of being alone. If someone is equally bad as me, I will, at least, have some company. But then, I realized that there is another layer to this: If I were excluded or became alone for being curious or spiritual, I wouldn't mind as much. But if I were rejected for not being financially wise enough, I would be terribly hurt. Why so? Because, in this case, I would agree with the reason for rejecting me. I would think that the society or others have a “valid” reason for rejecting me. I would ascribe validity to their reasoning for rejecting me, which I would not do if I were being rejected for being questioning. Thus, in this case, by accepting the validity of their rejection of me, I would reject myself. This self-rejection hurts profoundly. Because, in this case, I would be truly alone, even without my own self by my side.

I understand that my reason for doing X doesn’t make sense to you. I acknowledge that. You seem to be waiting for me to either provide a different reason or to assure you that I won’t do X anymore. I want to be clear—neither of those things will happen. I will continue to do X for the reason I have shared. The fact that you don’t understand my reasoning does not mean that my reason is flawed. It simply reflects the current limits of your perspective or reasoning capabilities. Therefore, I don’t need to change my actions or my reasoning. If you wish to understand me better, it’s on you to expand your perspective or reasoning skills. I wish you the best in that endeavor. — Do you find the above thought process arrogant? What about the thought process of a person who expects me to either provide a justification that makes sense to them or change my actions? Isn’t that supremely arrogant? In any case, I don’t believe in these moralities. Where exactly do draw the boundaries BETWEEN clarity and resulting confidence AND arrogance? I think people draw it per their convenience. So, I find this whole debate around arrogance pointless.

I’m taking the GMAT this evening. 6th attempt. And I’ve made up my mind — If I don’t get a perfect 805 this time, I’m quitting GMAT tutoring. . . . . . . Happy April Fool’s Day! 😄

What can a GMAT aspirant learn from the story of a bamboo tree?

Is Technology Really to Blame for Our Echo Chambers? We often hear that social media and technology have trapped us in echo chambers. But I've been wondering: is technology truly the culprit, or merely a convenient scapegoat? Technology doesn't force us into echo chambers - it simply makes it effortless to stay in them. The same tools that can seal us in bubbles of like-minded opinion can just as easily transport us to opposing viewpoints. Finding contradictory perspectives has never been simpler - no need to travel across town or search for credible sources with different views. Just type a few words in a search bar. So why don't we seek out these contrary opinions when doing so is remarkably easy? Perhaps it's not a technology problem at all, but a consciousness one. We've cultivated a society that values binary thinking - right versus wrong, us versus them - rather than embracing complexity. We prefer confidence over clarity. Certainty over curiosity. Validation over understanding. When we blame technology for our echo chambers, we're avoiding the harder conversation about what we truly value. Technology merely amplifies our existing tendencies. If we wanted to understand diverse perspectives, our devices would help us do that brilliantly. Instead, we use them to fortify our existing beliefs. The most insidious echo chambers aren't built by algorithms but by our own reluctance to be uncomfortable - to have our views challenged, to admit uncertainty, to exist in the gray area between absolute positions. What if, instead of demanding that technology fix our echo chambers, we examined why we're so comfortable staying in them? What if the path to greater understanding isn't changing our technology, but changing what we ask of it - and of ourselves?