Undergraduate / MIT "Something for fun" and "Department" Essays critique? [6]

Tell us something you do for fun:
"I can say without hesitation, that I am no Iron Chef. However, I cannot help but smile at the half burnt pancakes that have emerged from my efforts, or the overly salty chicken soup that I apprehensively serve to my family. They are my creations, and regardless of how discrepant or hazardous they may seem, they are depictions of my drive to create. What man has not dreamed of creating something, whether it may be living or not? The act of cooking a dish fulfills that very dream, as a symbol of one's creativity and personality emerges for others to enjoy."

Although you may not yet know what you want to major in, which department or program at MIT appeals to you and why?

Perhaps the most appealing program to me is MIT's Brain and Cognitive sciences program. After hearing that this program is embarking on research leading to promising treatments for autism, mental retardation, and Alzheimer's disease, I knew instantly that it is my duty to be part of this endeavor. For an individual who seeks to increase his understanding of the human mind and who has tackled, first hand, the mysteries of autism and other forms of mental retardation, this program will provide me with the tools necessary to help mankind overcome these growing problems.

Undergraduate / The Other Children: Columbia University personal statement evaluation? [4]

Can you please check for grammar and substance? I think I have too many commas!
Prompt: Basically, give us an undertanding of who you are. Write about an experience.

The Other Children

I stared blankly at my reflection in the mirror as my mother adjusted my collar until it portrayed perfect symmetry. She wanted every button, every sleeve, and every thread on my suit to be near perfection, matching the suits of the other children who were attending the dinner party. I nudged every time she placed her hands on my attire to remove the tiniest speck or flaw that marred it. Such was the same for my personality. I was always reminded to never speak out, as all Indian children were told, and to maintain that silence while the adults were speaking. She would always ask me, "Why can't you be like the other children of our family?" You see, she wanted me to replicate the "other Indian children" who were, in a sense, replicas themselves, attempting to please our society. I knew instantly that this so-called social gathering would exemplify the very restrictions of an Indian American adolescent.

As I sat down next to my parents on to one of the extravagantly designed yet extremely uncomfortable chairs at the grand table, I looked around the brightly lit and embellished dining hall, making eye contact with my cousins who smiled back but portrayed signs of apprehension to say anything while the adults were speaking. My grandfather, the head of the family, who was a rather tall and brawn individual with a plethora of knowledge, began to speak of his visit to the Taj Mahal. I watched as he stood up to emphasize the glorious sights, using vigorous hand motions which caused the table to shake. He proclaimed in an erudite manner, "You know, Shah Jahan himself came up with the designs on the Great Gates." I dropped my spoon, for I knew that he was mistaken. I had to stop this injustice and proclaim the name of the real visionary who, at this moment was being stripped of his accomplishments. I proclaimed without hesitation and yet with total respect, "Dada (grandfather), I don't believe that's true. I think the name you're looking for is Abd ul-Haq." The table, which was, moments ago, filled with my grandfather's vivid depictions, went silent, as my relatives focused their pupils on this discrepant teenager. My mother looked at me as if I were some barbaric specimen who had been let out of a cage to wreak havoc. It was not common for my folks to see a "naive child", as they called it, actually refute an elder. This silence prevailed until my grandfather ended this period of equilibrium with a smile and said, "Really, from where did you learn that?" I chuckled as I explained how my world history teacher, who had visited the structure, made us know every minute fact regarding it. He laughed, as did my other relatives, and it seemed that this one-man show had become an event of exchange; an exchange of thoughts, ideas, and laughter.

As my seldom expressive relatives continued their discourse throughout the night, I caught a glimpse of my mother in the corner of my eye and saw her smile at me, apparently amused, and yet I felt that somewhere in that smile was a sense of pride. I think she knew that I could never be like the other children.

Undergraduate / Critique my MIT essay "Biggest challenge" for grammar and substance? [3]

Prompt: describe the biggest challenge you have faced and how you have dealt with it.

I held my brother's hand in frustration as he continued to struggle to write the letter "A" that was placed before him on loose-leaf paper. We had embarked on this difficult journey for over four months, yet there was no sign of improvement. No one, including me, could understand how the mind of an autistic child worked. What seemed like an innate task for most people was a treacherous obstacle for my brother. In his world, two plus two did not equal to four. This was a challenge that did not require "book smarts" or a Nobel Prize to overcome, but rather the ability to adjust to my brother's needs. I endeavored to construct a technique with which I would be able to teach my brother to write. I acquired a handful of skittles, which were my brother's favorite, and aligned them, so that they formed the letter A. Immediately, his eyes were transfixed on the pieces of colorful candy and he sought to grasp the closest one. Holding him back, I proclaimed to him that as he slowly traced around the aligned skittles, he would continually receive a skittle. My brother, who at this point was mesmerized by the delectable in front of him, complied without hesitation. I grasped his anxious hands and we carefully began tracing the formation of skittles in front of us. Of course, success was not instantaneous, as my brother let go of the pencil to pick up one of the skittles and hesitated to continue writing. Patience was the key to this process, and so I waited for what seemed like to twenty minutes before embarking on this journey once more. As the hours went by, we repeated this process until our goal was reached and my brother had written the entire alphabet before me. I knew I had not cured a disease or ended world hunger, yet I felt a sense of satisfaction that resulted from my brother's success.