THE BRIDGE TO COLLEGE
POWERFUL ADMISSIONS INTERVIEWS
By Robert A.G. LeVine
Many universities use interviews as components of their admissions process. Yet with so much emphasis on “The College Essay,” the so-called experts do not pay enough attention to college interviews. Although there are countless books on how to write essays (I have 14 such books collecting dust), a recent Internet search revealed only one book devoted to college interviews.
However, interviews can prove even more important than essays. I am personally aware of multiple cases where great interviews catapulted applicants past higher-ranked candidates into Harvard. Why? Chronologically, admissions interviews usually occur after the admissions office has already graded the application. Then comes the interview report, a new piece of information that can propel a student into the class … or not.
The powerful effect of the human attribute in holistic admissions grading should not be underestimated. Unlike academics and activities, the scoring of human characteristics does not follow normal mathematical “bell curves.” Instead, they are all-or-nothing, yes or no. Nobody “kind of” likes you; they either do, or they don’t really care enough (or worse). Because these attributes are entirely subjective, they usually skew an applicant’s overall grade, up or down. This significantly affects the grading, both analytically and personally.
Chronologically, the interview is the last differentiator. For most schools, interviews are usually not requested until after the “first read” is conducted. As a result, the interview report is the single new piece of information used to separate the best candidates into those who will be accepted and those who won’t.
The key to a great interview is understanding the interview process. First, recognize who is conducting the interview. Most college interviews are conducted by alumni volunteers, not by admissions representatives. Admissions committees seldom meet applicants. Rather, they review reports written by their alumni.
To achieve the best possible report, understand who the interviewers are. Alumni choose to interview because they love their colleges and want to see good students attend their colleges. While applicants think of the interview as an interrogation, interviewers are just hoping to meet a great candidate. In fact, the most common complaint of interviewers is that they do not meet enough good candidates and, when they do, their colleges don’t offer admission to “their kids.” Interviewers don’t want to spend their time filtering out bad candidates; they want to find great candidates and advocate for them.
What do admissions representatives look for in an interview report? A 45-minute interview cannot contribute significantly to the evaluation of a candidate’s academic prowess or achievements in activities; that information is already available in the application itself. However, because it is usually the only opportunity for a college to meet an applicant, an interview is valuable for learning more about a candidate’s interpersonal qualities. That is the primary information that admissions representatives want to see in interview reports. In fact, many of them skip or skim sections written about academics and activities.
For the applicant (and the interviewer), the goal is simply to have a pleasant, positive conversation. Make a connection. Just talk to them. Consider the interviewer as someone who wants to help you go to their school, not someone who wants to keep you out. It is a selection process, not a rejection process. Nearly a decade ago, when I asked our Harvard representative to tell me which attribute is the most important factor in admissions, Sophia said “Usually, it’s the nicer kids who get in.”
Even for online interviews, candidates should dress neatly and professionally, but not formally. “Business casual” attire or “church clothes” are preferred. Your personality, not your appearance, should be what is noticed.
Students should come to the interview armed with stories that illustrate who they are. Your stories are the “new information” that is not included in your application file. A cross-country runner should be ready to tell her story about the funny thing that happened at practice last week. A thespian might want to talk about that embarrassing misstep or missed note. Interesting moments lead to good conversation. Interviewers are impressed with your demeanor, not your resume.
With some strategy and practice, college applicants can take advantage of the opportunities of interviews and transform them from something scary into something powerful. The starting point, however, is to place more emphasis on your human qualities than your resume.
Robert LeVine is the founder and CEO of University Consultants of America, an independent educational consultancy assisting students around the world with applications to colleges, universities and graduate schools. For more information, call University Consultants of America, Inc. at 1-800-465-5890 or visit www.universitycoa.com
FAMILY MATTERS
Communities and Milestones
By Anu Verma Panchal
A few months ago, I had the good fortune to stand by my parents’ side as they celebrated a significant milestone, their golden anniversary. One of my favorite parts of the event was that in addition to uncles, aunts and cousins, we had with us their closest friends, the extended “framily” that had helped my parents recreate a sense of home and family when they were thousands of miles away from the place of their birth.
Circa 1980, with a toddler and 6-year-old in tow, my parents moved to a little town in Zambia called Kabwe. They knew no one and nothing about this new country beyond my dad’s offer letter and one phone call with a relative who had once lived in Africa.
But on their very first evening, there was a knock at the door. It was a young Malayalee couple with two little boys our age. Hearing that a new family from Kerala had arrived, they had stopped by to welcome us. From that one introduction, my parents were immediately absorbed into a group of friends.
The same thing happened every time we moved towns. The news of our impending arrival reached before we did, and we were pulled into existing Malayalee social circles. Our weekends were spent at each other’s houses, uncles in safari suits swilling whiskey, aunties in sarees holding deafening conversations while we ran around and played. As the years passed, my parents grew into the veterans who welcomed new families and organized the elaborate cultural events that gave the community a sense of home away from home.
And all around town – and across the South Asian diaspora – others were doing the same thing. In Tamil, in Bangla, in Hindi, they created communities that served a familial function for each other. Community building seems to be in our genes. Or, as a friend once told me, “We’re like goats ... we can only travel in packs.”
During the college years and in my early 20s, plugging into the local desi community was nowhere close to being a priority; in fact, I reveled in the freedom from it. It was irritating, even, to see the insularity that I imagined permeated those associations. Why move to another country and only hang out with the same people? Why not at least try to assimilate?
It was only when I became a parent that I found myself searching, maybe even yearning, for some small level of connection. I wanted my daughters to learn Bharatanatyam like I had, wanted them to celebrate Hindu holidays and go to the temple occasionally. Does that mean that I want my communities to be restricted by ethnicity, language or religion? Certainly not. I am blessed with close “framily” from many backgrounds, and I enjoy Gasparilla as much as I do Onam and Navaratri.
Yet I am grateful for the generations who came before we did and established everything from the Tampa India Festival to the India Cultural Center so that we now have the option to dip a toe, an ankle or our whole selves in cultural life if we so desired.
A week before my older daughter was due to leave for college, I took her on one of our habitual visits to the Hindu temple here in Tampa. By a happy coincidence, the pujari on duty that day was the same one who had presided on the day that we had taken her on her first temple visit when she was a 6-month-old baby. “You’re the one who carried her to the front of the room when she was born, and now she’s starting college,” I told him. He beamed. “Look at that!” he marveled.
Look at that indeed. That kind of continuity doesn’t just happen. It’s the result of hard work from a lot of people who came before us, many of whom we’ll never even know. The roots they put down gave us the luxury to pick and choose how much we want to hold on to, because some variation of it has been preserved here for us.
LIFE STORY
A VULNERABLE YET SO ENDEARING INDIA!
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By Nandini Bandyopadhyay
The bleak, dusty streets, crowded with the masses. Haggard stray dogs, their legs rickety and their fur matted and grimy. Little bits of filth and garbage piling up in the alleys, surrounding the overflowing bins. I had seen them many times before. This was not new, but this time it was different.
The incredible white marble mausoleum rising out of the mist. An inverse-towering arrangement of geometrically precise stairs in an 8th-century stepwell. Thousands of people selflessly cooking, cleaning, and serving to feed the poor. I had seen them many times before. This was not new, but this time it was different.
This January, I went to visit India, like I have been doing for the last several years after moving to the USA. This was not new, but this time it was different. Five of my American friends were coming with me.
Some of my Indian friends had been skeptical and told me that it was a crazy idea. They had been eager to point out the pitfalls; my American friends wouldn't be used to the crowds, they could get sick, or they could just end up disgruntled and overly critical of India. Other friends were excited for me, and one of them even bought a ticket for the same trip, just to be a part of this experience.
It was a seven-day trip, and my friends and I experienced a host of emotions. The sight of the Taj Mahal in the early morning, as the morning mist added a certain mystique, left them awestruck. In every city we visited, artisans were carving solid wooden doors inlaid with bone sculpting intricate tables from marble, or painting huge blocks of fabric with vegetable dyes. On the other end of the spectrum, stepping into the Gurdwara’s industrial kitchen, with hundreds of men and women preparing and serving food for free to thousands, was humbling in a different way. To most of the world, India is often associated with a huge population and abject poverty, but once you behold this kind of selfless service or seva, one’s perspective is completely changed.
Looking back on the trip now, I realize that I was like a watchful mother and India was this brilliant precocious child who was disorganized and unpredictable in ways more than one. She dazzled me with her brilliance at one moment, and saddened me with her indifference the very next. I felt the need to protect her, like any mother would. When I overheard two strangers whispering about the abject poverty and decrepit homes in the poorer suburbs, I bristled even though I knew they were right. But when someone spoke to me about the beautiful fabric, or the jaw-dropping architecture, or the artistry, my heart was full of inexplicable joy, just like any mother’s heart would be.
I had often explained the whys and hows of India to my children. I told them stories and read them poems about India. We watched Indian movies, they learned Indian music, and I cooked Indian food. So when they visited India, they knew what to expect. But this time, with my friends, the prep time was measured in hours, not years. And maybe that’s why I felt so protective about India. It’s not that I was ignoring her inherent issues; I was actually more aware of them, as I was looking from a different perspective, from a visitor’s point of view. India is always going to be my motherland, and I always will feel loved and protected there. On this trip, the roles were reversed. Suddenly, I felt myself stepping into those huge shoes, trying to love and protect her just like any mother would do for their child.
This trip to India was not new, but it was different. Coming to India with my American friends pushed me to see a unique perspective, which made India feel more vulnerable and yet so lovable.
Nandini Bandyopadhyay of Tampa has a master’s in Comparative Literature and has been published in both Bengali and English.