Striving towards Excellence

-Karthik Gurumurthy

I currently work with about fifteen twenty students on SAT /ACT  and MCAT exam preparation, focusing specifically on helping them improve their math or science scores. This role has become one of the most rewarding aspects of my professional life. I consider myself incredibly fortunate and blessed to collaborate with such talented and gifted students from around the world—young minds from diverse backgrounds, cultures, and educational systems, each bringing their own unique perspective to our learning sessions.

What strikes me most profoundly is that no two students are exactly alike. Each brings their own constellation of strengths, learning preferences, academic backgrounds, and personal challenges. Some excel at algebraic thinking but struggle with geometric visualization. Others have an intuitive grasp of statistical concepts but find trigonometry daunting. This beautiful diversity is precisely what makes each student special and what keeps my work endlessly fascinating.

This individualized nature of learning means I cannot rely on a cookie-cutter approach—a lesson I learned early in my tutoring career. What works brilliantly for one student may completely confuse another. Instead, I must carefully craft personalized teaching strategies based on each student's individual strengths while methodically identifying and addressing their specific areas for improvement. Some students are visual learners who need diagrams and charts, while others are kinesthetic learners who benefit from hands-on problem-solving approaches. Some thrive on encouragement and positive reinforcement, while others respond better to direct, no-nonsense feedback.

Through years of working with students, I've come to understand a fundamental truth about academic achievement: success ultimately belongs to the students themselves. The ones who consistently improve are those who take genuine ownership and accountability for their learning journey. They come to sessions prepared, ask thoughtful questions, complete practice problems between meetings, and view mistakes as learning opportunities rather than failures. These students understand that I can provide the roadmap, but they must walk the path.

Recently, one of my students became visibly upset with her practice test score and immediately shifted into blame mode—questioning my teaching methods, the test format, even the validity of standardized testing itself. While I empathized with her frustration, this incident reminded me of an important professional boundary I've learned to maintain over the years. I am deeply invested in each student's success and genuinely celebrate their achievements, but I've learned that I cannot and should not take responsibility for their ultimate outcomes. My role is to guide, support, encourage, and provide them with the mathematical tools and test-taking strategies they need, but the effort, commitment, and mental discipline must come from them.

This boundary isn't about avoiding responsibility—it's about empowering students to recognize their own agency in the learning process. When students understand that their success depends primarily on their own efforts, they often become more motivated and engaged. Conversely, when they believe their results are entirely dependent on external factors, they may become passive participants in their own education.

Over the years, I've observed a fascinating and sometimes heartbreaking phenomenon among my students that perfectly illustrates this principle. Some students approach even the smallest piece of guidance as if it were a precious treasure. They absorb every insight I offer, take detailed notes, practice problems diligently between sessions, and somehow transform modest input into significant growth. These students ask follow-up questions, seek additional resources, and often surprise me with their creativity in applying concepts we've discussed.

On the other hand, I've worked with students who, despite being offered comprehensive resources, extensive one-on-one attention, detailed feedback, and carefully crafted lesson plans, treat these opportunities as insignificant or insufficient. They may skip practice sessions, arrive unprepared, or constantly seek shortcuts rather than engaging with the fundamental learning process. The irony is that these students often have tremendous potential—sometimes even more raw talent than their more successful peers.

The difference between these two groups rarely lies in their inherent mathematical ability or intelligence. Instead, it stems from their mindset, their willingness to embrace challenge, their relationship with failure, and their understanding of what genuine learning requires. Those who succeed understand that improvement is a gradual process that demands patience, persistence, and a willingness to be uncomfortable while mastering new concepts.

This work has taught me that true education is indeed a partnership—a collaborative effort between teacher and student. However, like any partnership, both parties must be equally committed to the shared goal. I bring my expertise, experience, patience, and dedication to each session. My students must bring their curiosity, effort, openness to feedback, and willingness to persist through challenges.

Perhaps most importantly, this experience has reinforced my belief that the most valuable thing I can teach my students isn't just how to solve integration problems or interpret data from graphs—it's how to approach learning itself with resilience, accountability, and an understanding that growth requires genuine engagement with the process, not just the desired outcome.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

Three decades ago, when I was pursuing my graduate studies, the digital landscape looked vastly different from today. Social media platforms simply didn't exist, and the internet was still in its infancy. When I first arrived in this wonderful country to begin my academic journey, I didn't even own a personal computer—a luxury that many students couldn't afford at the time.

My connection to the online world came through regular visits to the university library, where I would patiently wait for my turn at one of the shared computer terminals to check email and browse the early web. During those graduate school years, I developed a routine of visiting  Late Ramesh Mahadevan's website and eagerly reading articles by Vijaysree Venkatraman, a talented writer /scientist who had also made the journey from India to attend the same institution. These digital encounters became a cherished part of my academic routine, offering both intellectual stimulation and a sense of connection to the broader Indian academic community abroad.

The years passed, and life took us all in different directions. So imagine my delight a few days ago when I received an unexpected email notification—Vijaysree had discovered my website and left a thoughtful comment. After decades of silence, this reconnection felt like stumbling upon a long-lost friend. It was one of those serendipitous moments that remind us how small our interconnected world truly is.

I've always been captivated by Vijaysree's distinctive writing style—eloquent yet accessible, scholarly yet engaging. Her intellectual curiosity knows no bounds, and she seamlessly weaves together an extraordinary range of subjects. One day she might explore the intricacies of chemical processes, and the next she's painting vivid portraits of life in Chennai. She can transition effortlessly from celebrating the groundbreaking discoveries of Marie Curie to capturing the cultural richness of Madurai. This remarkable versatility makes every piece a delightful surprise.

I cannot recommend her work highly enough. Whether you're interested in science, culture, travel, or simply beautiful prose, her writings offer something meaningful for every curious reader. When you get a chance, please check out her writings here.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

We often reserve our finest courtesy and admiration for those beyond our inner circle, while inadvertently taking for granted the very people we see daily. There's a peculiar irony in how the world outside our home can appear filled with fascinating lives and exciting pursuits, while we overlook the richness that exists within our own household.

This phenomenon reveals something profound about human psychology and the way familiarity shapes our perception. When we encounter colleagues, siblings, or even strangers, we're naturally inclined to present our most polished selves. We listen more attentively to their stories, ask thoughtful questions about their experiences, and genuinely celebrate their achievements. There's an energy and intentionality in these interactions that we rarely bring to our kitchen table conversations.

Meanwhile, the people who know us best—our family members, long-term partners, or the people who attend to our daily needs—often receive the remnants of our social energy. We interrupt them mid-sentence, half-listen while scrolling through our phones, and respond to their news with distracted nods. Their daily struggles become background noise, their small victories barely register, and their quirks transform from endearing to irritating simply through repetition.

The outside world, by contrast, presents itself as a carefully curated highlight reel. We see friends posting about their weekend adventures, hear colleagues discussing their latest projects with enthusiasm, and witness acquaintances navigating what appear to be more glamorous challenges than our own mundane concerns. From our limited vantage point, everyone else seems to be writing more interesting chapters in their life stories.

What we fail to recognize is that we're comparing our behind-the-scenes reality with everyone else's public performance. The coworker who seems perpetually engaged in exciting projects also has moments of doubt and routine. The neighbor whose life appears perfectly organized also faces their own invisible struggles.

This selective attention creates a double loss. We miss opportunities to deepen our most important relationships while simultaneously developing an unrealistic standard for what constitutes an interesting or fulfilling life. The person sitting across from us at breakfast may have insights, dreams, and stories we've never bothered to explore, simply because their presence has become as familiar as the furniture.

Perhaps the antidote lies in consciously choosing to extend the same curiosity and courtesy we offer strangers to those who share our daily space. What if we approached our  household family members with the same fresh attention we bring to new acquaintances? What if we celebrated their small wins with the same enthusiasm we show for distant siblings' achievements?

The most extraordinary lives are often built not from grand gestures visible to the outside world, but from the accumulation of meaningful moments with the people closest to us. The irony is that while we're looking elsewhere for inspiration and connection, the raw materials for both may already be sitting right across the dinner table.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

No relationship is perfect, no matter what it looks like from the outside. The couples who make it decades together aren't the lucky ones who never fight—they're the ones who learned how to fight and still choose each other.

Real love isn't about finding someone who never hurts you. It's about finding someone worth forgiving, over and over. It's about staying when leaving would be easier, rebuilding when things fall apart, and choosing the same person even after you've seen their worst.

The strongest marriages aren't built on good times—they're built on getting through the bad times together. Every argument survived, every mistake forgiven, every moment of "I don't know if we'll make it" followed by "but let's try"—that's what creates unshakeable love.

What keeps people together isn't that they're perfect for each other. It's that they decided to keep picking each other, flaws and all. They learned that love isn't just a feeling you fall into—it's work you choose to do, every single day.

The couples celebrating their golden anniversaries aren't celebrating an easy journey. They're celebrating the fact that when their love was tested, they fought for it instead of walking away. That's the difference between love that lasts and love that doesn't: one is willing to do the work, even when it's hard.

-Karthik Gurumurthy

A genuine relationship resembles a garden where truth acts as sunlight—essential for growth, even when it feels harsh. When honesty becomes a source of discord rather than deeper connection, we glimpse the fragility of our foundation. The paradox of intimate bonds is that they require both vulnerability and strength: the courage to speak authentically and the wisdom to receive difficult truths with grace.

Consider that relationships exist in a delicate tension between comfort and challenge. Those built on mutual respect create what philosophers might call a "brave space"—not merely safe, but one where difficult conversations can unfold without the fear of abandonment or retaliation. In such spaces, truth becomes a form of care rather than a weapon.

The fear that honesty might shatter what we hold dear reveals something profound about the nature of that connection. Perhaps what we're protecting isn't love itself, but rather our illusions about it. Authentic relationships don't merely survive truth-telling—they're transformed by it, like metal strengthened through fire.

When we find ourselves walking on eggshells around someone we claim to love, we might ask: are we preserving a relationship, or merely its appearance? The strongest bonds aren't those that avoid conflict, but those that can hold space for the full complexity of human experience—including the discomfort that comes with being truly known.