What People See, What They Don’t

There’s a peculiar energy on campus these days, and I know my name has something to do with it. 

When I think about everything that’s happened these past few weeks, it doesn’t feel quite real. Four students placed at American Express, the only 20+ LPA company that graces our campus, three from CSE, and one from ECE.

That single ECE student is me.

In one stroke, I became a source of pride for my batchmates, teachers, and my entire department. For a moment, the message was clear, even an ECE student can dream big and land the highest package.

For my batchmates in ECE and other students planning to join this branch, it was hope that maybe branch doesn’t always decide destiny. There was disbelief, pride, celebration and oddly, undercurrents of resentment.

When you’re the only ECE guy in that group, it’s not just pride for your people, it touches a nerve elsewhere.

The Anatomy of Campus Jealousy

I've noticed the way achievement turns, first, into silence then into admiration, and then, in corners where envy lingers, into mild resentment.

It’s nothing personal, really. It's just the way people react when someone from "outside" takes a spot they secretly convinced themselves belonged to them.

And when something stings, the easiest way to heal the ego is to rewrite someone else’s story.

So the rumors began.

“He only got in because he did an 'internship' at AMEX earlier, that’s how he got placed with such low CGPA of 7.05 and being from ECE.”

It’s almost comical in its predictability, success, especially unexpected or inconvenient success, must always be explained away.

“This guy wasn’t even seen in college”

“Where did he come from? He doesn’t even talk to people much, still he’s taken the highest package.”

The Discovery Program Myth

Let me set the record straight about this so-called "advantage." The AMEX Discovery Program wasn't an internship or some secret backdoor, it was an exploratory program offering students a chance to understand the organization through online sessions led by senior business leaders. The certificate explicitly states:

"Program participation does not imply an advantage or automatic consideration to any of the career opportunities at American Express nor does it give rise to any employee-employer relationship."

But nobody lets fine print get in the way of a good excuse.

The truth they conveniently ignore, This opportunity was open to every 2nd and 3rd year student from every branch. Submit a resume, craft a three-page PPT in their exact format, survive a 30-person group discussion, and maybe, just maybe you'd land in a national cohort of 150 students.
From our entire second year, I was the only one who made it through. Not by luck, not by connections, but by process. By proving myself. I was 1 out of 11 students selected from UIET.

So no, that didn’t get me the job.

But rumors will always exist, because people need them. They need a reason to explain why they couldn’t do what someone else did.

What struck me most about these conversations wasn't their existence, but their surgical precision in editing out inconvenient truths.

What They Don't Want to See

The reality is painfully simple, everything is visible except the work that creates it. Nobody wants to acknowledge the invisible hours, people see only the outcome, never the process that created it. They don't see:

• The simultaneous rigorous IIT Madras degree I was pursuing alongside my ECE coursework
• The late nights coding sessions until 5 AM, wrestling with bugs and doubts, the weekends given up, the self-doubt, the relentless grind fueled only by hope.
• The six-month cohort where I learned and built the foundation for my projects and built Arkham Labs which ultimately helped secure the job.
• The countless hours that went into acquiring skills. The weekends sacrificed to tutorials, documentation, and endless iteration.
• The social activities avoided to focus on skill-building

When they see someone from ECE who wasn’t the loudest at every fest, who didn’t network his way into every circle, who simply built and stayed consistent, take what unofficially “belongs” to another branch, the only way to restore order is to rationalize it away.

They don’t see the frustration, the bugs, the failures that made me question why I was even doing this.

They don’t see that I wasn’t wasting time chasing every college “fun” activity.

I was never part of a college “gang” rarely seen in clubs and societies barring the GDSC. I never prioritized fun over getting really good at what I did, not until very recently after I’d earned the right to take a break.

I quietly built projects that no one even knew about until they were finished.

They don’t see that my major project, Arkham Labs, which impressed the interviewers, wasn’t born overnight it was built on top of years of skill-building, late-night learning, and relentless consistency.

People say “he was just lucky.”

But luck looks a lot like the result of stubborn effort nobody applauds.

The Transformation They Never Witnessed

Perhaps the most ironic aspect of the "he wasn't even seen throughout college" criticism is that it reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of what real growth often looks like. Success isn't always performed on a public stage, sometimes it happens in the quiet hours when no one is watching. I don’t go out of my way to tell people look I am so hardworking, or put in extra efforts to increase my visibility in the University.

I wasn't always the quiet, withdrawn student they describe.

I've lived both versions of life, the extroverted school kid who danced spontaneously, played football with unbridled joy, and filled classrooms with laughter, and the engineering student who retreated into code after the crushing disappointment of not making it into an IIT.

Honestly speaking, after not making it into IIT, I had a complete personality change. The extroverted kid who once filled classrooms with laughter had become quiet and withdrawn. In school, I was known for my dance, quick wit, and the ability to make even the strictest teachers smile. The narrative I'd built for myself—the smart kid destined for greatness—crumbled. I retreated into a shell so unlike my former self that old friends would hardly recognize me.

an excerpt from my origin.exe, can be found on the about page, if you're interested.

But in that retreat, something valuable was happening. I channeled everything into coding and studying. Isolated behind screens, I found comfort in the anonymity of code. No one could see my insecurities when I was debugging an application. This wasn't the glamorous, socially visible kind of growth that college campuses celebrate, but it was real, deep, and ultimately transformative.

When Competence Speaks

There are no shortcuts to genuine competence, and competence has a voice that can't be faked in high-stakes interviews.

When I walked into that interview room and spoke about my experiences and projects with genuine passion and deep technical knowledge, when I answered SQL questions, solved guesstimate problems, cracked puzzles, and handled HR scenarios with composure, I wasn't drawing on luck or connections. I was drawing on months and years of consistent effort that had built both technical knowledge and the confidence to articulate it clearly.

The interviewers saw something authentic, not someone trying to impress with borrowed knowledge, but someone who had genuinely lived with their projects, understood their technical choices, and could speak fluently about problems they had personally solved.

The Department Dynamics

What made this situation particularly charged was the departmental politics. As an ECE student securing the highest package while no IT students made the cut, I had unknowingly challenged a well-established hierarchy. The IT branch, accustomed to considering themselves the natural inheritors of tech company placements, suddenly faced an uncomfortable reality check.

This isn't to diminish the talents within IT, there are incredibly skilled students there but when institutional ego meets unexpected outcomes, the reaction is predictably defensive. Rather than examining what went wrong in their preparation or approach, it became easier to create alternative narratives that preserved their self-image while diminishing my achievement.

This reveals something deeper about how we handle cognitive dissonance in competitive environments. When reality conflicts with our assumptions about how things "should" work, we often adjust our perception of reality rather than questioning our assumptions.

The Paradox of Recognition

The most telling reactions came from those who had followed my journey closely, who knew my work and witnessed my growth, had a completely different reaction. "You were the most deserving," they said. "If they wouldn't have taken you, we don't know who they would have taken from UIET."

They recognized that this success was not an overnight phenomenon but "a matter of time."

This divide reveals something profound about how we perceive and judge success. Those closest to the actual work, the effort, the consistency, the attention to detail saw the outcome as inevitable. Those further away, who only saw the final result, were more inclined to attribute it to luck or unfair advantages.

The difference isn't just in proximity to information, it's in the willingness to acknowledge uncomfortable truths about effort and consistency. It's easier to believe that success comes from luck or connections than to confront the possibility that someone simply outworked you.

The Compound Effect of Invisible Work

The blunt truth? Consistency compounds, and in a world obsessed with immediate recognition, the ones who wait, build, and persist are almost always underestimated, until, “suddenly”, they’re not.

The projects I built, the additional courses I took, the cohorts I participated in, each seemed small at the time. But they built upon each other, creating a foundation that became evident when it mattered most.

And if there’s one thing my journey has taught me, it’s this:

The world doesn't owe you applause for your daily effort. Your job is to keep showing up, building, and believing. The recognition will come, and when it does, let it be proof, not of luck, but of labor.

The Value of Being Unseen (For Now)

There’s tremendous value in being the “unseen” one, the underdog, the person who is working behind the scenes with no spotlight. It protects you from noise, distraction, and the temptation to measure your journey by the wrong yardstick. It lets you build, not for applause, but for mastery.

When people project, judge, minimize, it says more about the stories they need to tell themselves than anything about you. It’s a universal defense mechanism, a comfort zone in a hyper-competitive college setting. Most people see only the final outcome, they never wish to peer into the process, the perseverance, or the painful moments of doubt that actually shaped the result.

Universal Lessons About Success and Envy

So, what can we learn from this experience?

First, success will always attract attempts at diminishment. The moment you achieve something meaningful, there will be voices trying to minimize it, explain it away, or attribute it to factors beyond your control. This isn't necessarily malicious, it's often a psychological defense mechanism that helps others maintain their self-esteem. Understanding this can help you not take these reactions personally.

Second, the most valuable growth often happens away from public view. While others were building social capital and having typical college experiences, I was building technical capital in relative solitude. Both approaches have their merits, but we need to respect that meaningful achievement sometimes requires periods of focused isolation and intense work.

Third, consistency compounds in ways that aren't always immediately visible. The hours I spent on projects, the additional degree I pursued, the cohorts I participated in, the hacker house i went to, each seemed like a small step at the time. But they built upon each other, creating a foundation of knowledge and experience that became evident when it mattered most.

Fourth, authenticity in interviews comes from authentically lived experiences. When I spoke about my projects and technical journey, the interviewers could sense the genuine passion and deep understanding behind my words. You can't fake the kind of fluency that comes from having wrestled with complex problems over extended periods.

Fifth, the stories we tell ourselves about others' success reveal more about us than about them. When someone succeeds in a way that challenges our assumptions or makes us uncomfortable about our own choices, we create narratives that help us cope with that discomfort. Recognizing this tendency in ourselves is the first step toward more honest self-reflection.

The Broader Context of Achievement

This experience also highlights a broader societal issue, our complicated relationship with merit and effort. We live in a time where discussions about privilege, advantage, and systemic inequalities are important and necessary. However, in our eagerness to acknowledge these factors, we sometimes swing too far in the opposite direction, becoming skeptical of any individual achievement and automatically attributing success to external factors rather than personal effort.

The truth is usually more nuanced. Yes, I had certain advantages, access to online resources, the ability to pursue additional education, the flexibility to participate in various programs. But I also made choices about how to use those advantages, and those choices involved sacrifice, consistency, and significant personal effort.

The AMEX Discovery Program opportunity was available to everyone eligible, I was the one who applied, prepared, and made it through. The projects I built were self-directed efforts that consumed countless hours of personal time. The technical skills I demonstrated in interviews weren't inherited, they were learned through deliberate practice and continuous iteration.

When people see you succeed, they don’t see you, they see themselves. They see the time they wasted, the seriousness they lacked, the discipline they never built. And to protect their ego, they rewrite your story into something that feels less threatening.

I don’t really care anymore. Because at the end of the day, their words don’t change my reality.

What matters is this: I put in the hours. I showed up when nobody was watching. I battled my insecurities in silence. I built, I failed, I built again. I walked into that interview room not with shortcuts, but with scars, with projects, with stories, and with persistence.

That’s why I got the job.

Moving Forward: Grace and Perspective

As I reflect on this experience, I'm struck by the importance of maintaining perspective and grace. The students creating these narratives aren't necessarily bad people, they're human beings dealing with disappointment and trying to make sense of outcomes that challenge their assumptions about how the world works.

At the same time, I won't diminish my own achievement or apologize for the work I put in. There's a difference between humility and self-minimization, and learning to celebrate your successes without arrogance while also not downplaying your efforts is a crucial life skill.

For those reading this who might be on either side of a similar situation whether you're dealing with others' reactions to your success or struggling with feelings of jealousy toward someone else's achievements here are some thoughts:

If you're experiencing success, remember that others' reactions often say more about their internal struggles than about your worthiness. Stay grounded, remain grateful, but don't shrink yourself to make others comfortable. Your success can be both celebrated and held lightly.

If you're struggling with envy toward someone else's achievements, resist the urge to create diminishing narratives. Instead, use that discomfort as fuel for honest self-reflection. What can you learn from their approach? What choices might you make differently? How can you channel that energy into your own growth rather than into tearing others down?

The Long View

Ultimately, this entire experience has been as educative as any course I've taken in college. It's taught me about human nature, about the complexity of success and failure, about the importance of staying true to your path even when others question it, and about the responsibility that comes with achievement.

Success isn't just about reaching your goals, it's about how you handle the reactions your success generates in others and in yourself. It's about maintaining your integrity and authenticity throughout the process, not just during the preparation phase but also in the aftermath.

As I prepare to begin my journey at American Express, I carry these lessons with me. The work that got me here was done in relative solitude, but the work ahead will be collaborative. The skills that impressed interviewers were built through individual effort, but they'll be applied in team environments. The confidence I've gained from this achievement will be tested in new ways as I face different challenges.

Most importantly, I hope this experience has made me more compassionate toward others' struggles and more aware of my own tendencies toward judgment. We all have stories we tell ourselves about why things happen the way they do, and sometimes those stories protect us from uncomfortable truths about effort, choice, and responsibility.

In the end, let people talk. Their words reveal more about their relationship with success and failure than they do about yours. Focus on the work, stay true to your values, and remember that authentic achievement speaks for itself, even when others try to rewrite its story.

The journey continues, and the best response to skepticism has always been consistent, excellent work. Time, as they say, will tell the rest of the story.