WAT Sample Essays: 15+ Annotated Examples That Score 8+/10 [2025]

Score: 8.5/10 | Words: 310 | Time: 30 min

The startup’s 18-month runway presents a false choice. The decision isn’t between profitability, funding, or acquisition—it’s about which option maximizes long-term value creation while preserving optionality.

My recommendation: pursue profitability with parallel funding exploration. Here’s the analysis:

Option A (Profitability Pivot): Demonstrates business viability, extends runway indefinitely, and improves negotiating position for any future raise. Zomato’s 2022-23 pivot to profitability resulted in a 150% stock price recovery. However, aggressive cost-cutting may sacrifice growth opportunities.

Option B (New Funding): In 2024’s market, down-rounds are common and come with punitive terms. Without profitability metrics, valuation will suffer. This option is viable only if the company has demonstrable path to unit economics.

Option C (Acquisition): Fire-sale acquisitions typically return 0.3-0.5x to founders versus 3-5x for profitable companies. Exploring acquisition from a position of weakness rarely yields favorable outcomes.

Synthesis: The startup should immediately begin profitability initiatives—not by cutting core product investment, but by reducing customer acquisition costs and focusing on high-margin segments. Simultaneously, they should cultivate 2-3 strategic relationships for potential funding or acquisition, keeping options open.

In business, the best decisions often refuse the choices presented.

Score: 8/10 | Words: 275 | Time: 20 min

India’s Chandrayaan-3 cost ₹615 crore—less than the budget of a Hollywood space film. This efficiency wasn’t despite constraints; it was because of them. The same principle applies to the growth-sustainability debate: constraints don’t limit progress; they redirect it.

The premise that growth and sustainability are incompatible assumes a 20th-century industrial model. In 2024’s economy, the fastest-growing sectors—renewable energy, electric vehicles, sustainable fashion—ARE the sustainability sectors. India’s solar capacity grew 300% in five years while creating 300,000 jobs. Tesla’s market cap exceeds all traditional automakers combined.

Critics argue that developing nations need carbon-intensive industrialization first. This is the “grow now, clean later” fallacy. China’s $4 trillion environmental remediation cost proves that deferred sustainability is merely deferred expense. India can leapfrog, not repeat, the Western trajectory.

The path forward isn’t choosing between growth and sustainability—it’s redefining growth to include environmental capital. When our GDP calculations factor in depleted groundwater and polluted air, the “profitable” choices will look very different.

The question isn’t whether growth and sustainability are compatible—it’s whether growth without sustainability is growth at all.

Score: 8/10 | Words: 250 | Time: 20 min

India produces 1.5 million engineers annually. Fewer than 5% are employable. This statistic suggests not that higher education is overrated, but that it is under-reformed.

The case against higher education rests on credential inflation—degrees that once guaranteed employment now merely qualify applicants for consideration. Zoho’s Sridhar Vembu built a billion-dollar company without hiring a single IIT graduate initially, proving that skills trump certificates.

However, dismissing higher education misses its non-economic value. Universities remain spaces for intellectual formation, critical thinking, and social exposure. The relationships and frameworks one develops at 21 compound over a lifetime in ways no bootcamp can replicate.

The solution lies not in abandoning higher education but in reforming it: integrating vocational training, updating curricula to match industry needs, and measuring outcomes rather than inputs. Germany’s dual-education model achieves 90% employment rates by bridging theory and practice.

Higher education is neither overrated nor underrated—it is misaligned. The goal is reform, not abandonment.

312 million eligible voters did not vote in India’s 2024 general election. That’s more than the entire population of the United States choosing silence. In a democracy, such mass abstention isn’t neutrality—it’s a mandate for the status quo.

Compulsory voting offers a remedy. Australia’s 90%+ turnout demonstrates that mandated participation doesn’t produce resentful voters—it produces engaged citizens. Studies show that Australian voters, forced to show up, actually research candidates more thoroughly than their American counterparts. The act of voting itself builds civic habit.

Critics invoke individual liberty: voting is a right, not a duty. This argument ignores that rights carry corresponding responsibilities. We mandate jury duty, tax payment, and school attendance. Democratic participation is no less fundamental to societal function.

Implementation requires nuance: fines should be nominal (₹500), with easy exemptions for health and distance. The goal isn’t punishment—it’s participation. When 60% turnout is celebrated as “high,” we’ve normalized democratic deficit.

A vote not cast is a voice not heard. Compulsory voting doesn’t force opinion—it ensures the opinion is expressed.

My grandmother video-calls her grandchildren daily. My teenage cousin hasn’t made eye contact in three years. Social media is neither savior nor villain—it’s an amplifier that magnifies our existing tendencies, for better or worse.

The harm is real and documented: teen depression rates rose 50% alongside Instagram adoption. Algorithm-driven feeds create filter bubbles that fragment shared reality. Misinformation spreads six times faster than truth.

But equally real: social media enabled Arab Spring organizing, connects rare-disease patients worldwide, and helped a Tier-3 town creator build a ₹2 crore business from her kitchen. The technology is agnostic; the outcomes depend on design choices and usage patterns.

The question isn’t whether social media is good or bad—it’s who benefits from how it’s designed. When engagement, not well-being, drives algorithms, harm is not a bug but a feature. The path forward isn’t rejection; it’s regulation and redesign.

Technology reflects us. To fix social media, we must first agree on what kind of society we want it to reflect.

In music, the rest—the deliberate silence between notes—is what gives melody its shape. Without silence, music becomes noise. The same principle applies to communication: what we choose NOT to say often speaks louder than our words.

Ratan Tata mastered this art. In interviews, his measured pauses signaled confidence, not hesitation. While competitors talked endlessly about disruption, Tata’s silence communicated stability. When he finally spoke, his words carried weight precisely because they were scarce. The sound of his silence was authority.

In an age where algorithms reward volume—more posts, more content, more noise—strategic silence becomes a competitive advantage. The leader who listens more than speaks, the company that resists feature bloat, the individual who thinks before tweeting—all practice the paradox of productive silence.

The sound of silence is not emptiness—it is space for meaning to emerge.

Blue: calm, strategic, deep. Yellow: bright, impulsive, attention-seeking. In the marketplace of leadership, quiet competence consistently outperforms flashy showmanship.

Consider the evidence. Satya Nadella (blue) inherited a declining Microsoft and, through measured transformation, tripled its market cap. Adam Neumann (yellow) promised to “elevate the world’s consciousness” while WeWork collapsed from $47 billion valuation to bankruptcy. Blue built; yellow burned.

This isn’t to dismiss all yellow energy. Innovation often requires the boldness that yellow represents—the willingness to be seen, to disrupt, to demand attention. But yellow without blue is fireworks without foundation.

The best leaders integrate both: blue strategic thinking with yellow moments of boldness. They know when to be the ocean and when to be the sun. But when forced to choose, durability beats dazzle. Markets reward blue patience over yellow promises.

Blue is better than yellow—not because brightness lacks value, but because depth sustains it.

Last month, my company replaced 40 data entry roles with AI. This month, they hired 15 AI trainers, 10 prompt engineers, and 5 ethics consultants. The math is complicated—but it reveals a pattern: AI doesn’t eliminate work; it transforms it.

History supports cautious optimism. The ATM was supposed to eliminate bank tellers; instead, teller employment grew 10% as branches expanded. Spreadsheets didn’t eliminate accountants; they elevated them from calculators to advisors. Each automation wave destroyed routine tasks while creating higher-value roles.

However, this transition isn’t automatic or painless. The 40 data entry operators at my company? Only 8 could be retrained. The rest are now unemployed. AI’s job creation benefits the skilled; its destruction targets the vulnerable. Without deliberate intervention, AI becomes a inequality accelerator.

The answer lies in policy: portable benefits untied to employment, massive reskilling programs, and education systems that teach learning itself. Countries that invest in human capital alongside AI capital will see net job creation. Those that don’t will see net destruction.

AI will create more jobs—but only if we choose to distribute its benefits as widely as its disruptions.

India spends ₹5.2 lakh crore annually on subsidies—yet 22% of citizens remain below the poverty line. The problem isn’t insufficient spending; it’s inefficient delivery. Universal Basic Income offers not utopia, but plumbing—direct pipes from treasury to citizen.

The evidence is emerging. Madhya Pradesh’s 2010-13 pilot showed 21% increase in productive work among UBI recipients—disproving the “laziness” argument. Kenya’s ongoing GiveDirectly experiment demonstrates that direct cash outperforms in-kind transfers in nearly every metric.

Critics raise fiscal concerns: ₹12,000 per year to 900 million adults costs ₹10.8 lakh crore. But replacing India’s labyrinthine subsidy system—with its 40% leakage rate—could fund 60% of this. The question is political will, not arithmetic.

Implementation should be graduated: start with women heads of household, then expand. India’s JAM trinity (Jan Dhan-Aadhaar-Mobile) provides the infrastructure no previous generation had. The pipes exist; we merely need to turn on the tap.

UBI isn’t charity—it’s investment in human capability. When survival is guaranteed, risk-taking becomes possible.

Score: 8.5/10 | Words: 285 | Time: 30 min

Problem Identification: The company faces a classic “growth trap”—high customer acquisition costs subsidized by investor capital with no unit economics foundation. At ₹600 crore annual burn rate, even substantial funding provides only 18-24 months runway.

Stakeholder Analysis: Investors seek exit or returns. Employees face job insecurity. Customers may lose a service they’ve come to depend on. The board must balance these competing interests while making difficult choices.

Recommendation: Implement “profitable shrinkage”—deliberately reduce scale to achieve unit economics. Specifically:

1. Exit unprofitable geographies (likely 40-50% of current footprint)
2. Reduce discounting by 30%; accept 25% GMV decline
3. Cut marketing spend to focus only on high-LTV customers
4. Reduce headcount 20% through natural attrition

Rationale: Zomato’s 2022 “profitable growth” pivot saw 60% stock decline initially but 150% recovery within 18 months. Markets now reward sustainability over scale. A smaller, profitable company has options; a large, burning company has none.

Sometimes the best path forward is a strategic retreat.

Score: 9/10 | Words: 275 | Time: 30 min

The Dilemma: The company faces a classic short-term vs. long-term trade-off. Concealment protects quarterly earnings; disclosure protects the company’s existence.

Recommendation: Voluntary recall with proactive disclosure.

Financial Rationale: Johnson & Johnson’s 1982 Tylenol recall cost $100 million but built trust worth billions. Conversely, Purdue Pharma’s concealment of OxyContin risks led to $8 billion in settlements and bankruptcy. The math favors transparency.

Ethical Rationale: Pharmaceutical companies operate on a social license—the implicit agreement that profit-seeking won’t compromise patient safety. Violating this license doesn’t just damage reputation; it invites regulation that constrains future innovation.

Implementation: Immediate disclosure to regulators, simultaneous public announcement, and a $500 million patient compensation fund (pre-empting litigation). The CEO should personally lead the communication—not lawyers.

In business, the cover-up always costs more than the crime. The only question is when the bill comes due.

When Patagonia’s founder donated his $3 billion company to fight climate change, critics called it a tax strategy. They missed the point. For 50 years, Patagonia proved that purpose and profit aren’t merely compatible—purpose IS the profit strategy.

The evidence compounds. Purpose-driven companies in the S&P 500 outperformed peers by 400% over 15 years. Unilever’s Sustainable Living brands grew 69% faster than others. Employees at mission-driven firms show 40% higher retention. Purpose attracts talent, customers, and capital.

However, purpose without profit is unsustainable—a foundation without funding. The graveyard of failed social enterprises proves that good intentions don’t pay salaries. The Tata Group’s century-long impact stems precisely from its profitability enabling philanthropy.

The reconciliation lies in sequencing: build a profitable engine, then direct it toward purpose. Microsoft’s $1 billion climate fund wasn’t possible before its cloud profits. Profit creates the capacity; purpose directs it.

Profit and purpose aren’t opposing forces—they’re fuel and direction. A car needs both to reach its destination.

Indian companies spent ₹25,000 crore on CSR last year. Poverty persists. This isn’t failure of effort—it’s failure of design. CSR treats symptoms while business-as-usual creates the disease.

Consider the math. A tobacco company spending 2% of profits on cancer awareness while deriving 98% from causing cancer isn’t responsible—it’s theatrical. CSR becomes conscience-laundering when it’s disconnected from core business impact.

What would “far enough” look like? Moving from peripheral charity to core transformation. Not Reliance funding schools, but Jio connecting those schools to opportunity. Not Tata building hospitals, but Tata Steel ensuring workers never need them. Impact should flow from how companies operate, not just how they donate.

The 2% mandate created compliance, not conscience. Real responsibility means asking: “Is our business model itself creating the problems we’re funding CSR to solve?”

CSR goes far enough when it becomes unnecessary—when businesses are designed to create value, not extract it.

Score: 9/10 | Words: 280 | Background: Engineer, small-town

My father runs a kirana store in Gorakhpur. Last Diwali, a customer asked if he accepts Paytm. He smiled—because he’d been accepting it for two years. Rural India isn’t waiting for Digital India; it’s already there.

The numbers confirm the anecdote. UPI processed 10 billion transactions in October 2024—more than Visa and Mastercard combined globally. Aadhaar authentication happens 50 million times daily. Jan Dhan accounts reached 500 million, with ₹2 lakh crore deposited. This isn’t rhetoric; it’s infrastructure.

Yet “reality” requires nuance. My grandmother, in the same house as my father, still doesn’t trust digital payments. Her hesitation isn’t technological—it’s generational. Digital India is real, but unevenly distributed.

The question isn’t whether Digital India exists—it’s whether it serves India. When a Gorakhpur kirana owner can accept payments but a Maharashtra farmer can’t access crop prices, the architecture is built but the plumbing needs work.

Digital India is reality for millions—and rhetoric for millions more. The goal is closing that gap, not celebrating the lead.

Score: 8.5/10 | Words: 262 | Background: IT Professional, 3 years

Six months ago, I lost my job to an AI tool. Today, I train that same tool. The transformation happened faster than any theory predicted—and taught me that AI is neither purely threat nor purely opportunity. It’s a mirror.

The threat is real. McKinsey estimates 400 million jobs displaced by 2030. My former team of 40 is now 12 people plus algorithms. For those displaced without reskilling options, AI is an existential threat.

But so is the opportunity. My new role pays 40% more than my old one. I spend less time on data cleaning and more on insight generation. AI eliminated my job’s worst parts while creating new ones I enjoy more.

The distribution matters more than the aggregate. AI will create more jobs than it destroys—but not for the same people. Without massive investment in reskilling, we’re headed toward a bifurcated workforce: those who direct AI and those replaced by it.

AI is a mirror because it reflects our choices. The same technology can liberate or displace—depending on how we deploy it.

My grandmother still counts cash for vegetables while my brother trades crypto worth lakhs before breakfast. This is India’s digital divide in 2025—not between regions, but between generations sharing the same roof.

The infrastructure is undeniable. UPI processed 10 billion transactions last month. Aadhaar authenticates 50 million times daily. Jan Dhan accounts crossed 500 million. Digital India isn’t a slogan—it’s plumbing.

But infrastructure without adoption is a road without travelers. My grandmother’s hesitation isn’t lack of access—it’s lack of trust. She fears what she doesn’t understand. Digital literacy must follow digital infrastructure.

Digital India is real for millions—and distant for millions more. The goal isn’t declaring victory; it’s closing the gap between my brother’s crypto app and my grandmother’s cash counting.

I made a junior team member cry.

In a team meeting, I called out her mistake publicly, harshly. I felt righteous—then a longer wave of shame. My intent was accountability. My impact was humiliation. They weren’t the same thing.

That evening, I apologized—not in a meeting, but privately. She said something I’ll never forget: “I could have handled the feedback. I couldn’t handle being embarrassed in front of everyone.”

Now I deliver criticism like surgery: precise, private, with the goal of healing. Leadership isn’t about being right. It’s about being effective—and effectiveness includes how people feel.