The 7H Tribute
When Vivek commits to something, he goes all in.
It starts in grade school, as so many things with Vivek did, with the number pi. In seventh grade — as is typical of seventh graders — Vivek and I would discuss the universe: theology, astronomy, numerology. It culminated in a competition to memorize the digits of pi. I did pretty well, memorizing 44 digits in the span of a few days. Vivek, being the type of person who always goes all in, memorized 150.
When I met him, Vivek was the kid who did the extra-credit problems for fun. Not for the grade — he already had the grade — but for the sport of it. I should have taken it as a warning sign. It was really the first symptom of a lifelong condition: Vivek does not know how to do anything halfway.
Then came high school. At this point in his life, Vivek wasn’t particularly interested in the opposite sex — he felt they were a distraction that pulled him away from the true purpose of life, which was, of course, achievement to the highest degree. For the first several dances of our school — the homecomings, the turnabouts — Vivek and I would band together with a group of friends and play video games all night in someone’s basement. Everett was frequently there as well.
His dedication paid off. Vivek graduated from Libertyville High School not just as valedictorian, but with the highest GPA anyone has ever gotten at Libertyville — and the highest anyone ever will, because they had to change the rules after he found all the loopholes to squeeze extra weighted credit into his GPA. What a nerd.
This was also a transitional time. In the final years of high school, Vivek did start to — let’s say — discover the merits of communicating with the opposite sex. This is also when he started working out.
The college years are, of course, a bit of a blur — but full of fun memories. One night, Vivek, Chris, and I were parked in his neighborhood being interrogated by cops who were threatening to bring a dog. Another night in Vegas, on the very first night — or rather morning — we found ourselves sprinting away from the cops. All in good fun, of course. And, in typical fashion, Vivek decided to go all in and graduated from Yale in three years.
“Let’s just eliminate the U.S. banking system. That’ll make Obama happy.” — Vivek Raman, Facebook, February 2010. He was twenty-one, redesigning the global financial system from his laptop, for laughs. Here is the punchline, years later: he actually did it. Vivek now runs Etherealize — a company working, genuinely and unironically, to rebuild the plumbing of the modern financial system. Most people’s dumb college posts stay jokes. Vivek turned his into a business plan. When the man commits to a bit, he commits for life.
Lo and behold, thus came the era that would forge a boy into a man: the era of 7H.
Then came 7H — a Manhattan apartment in Kips Bay, fondly and forever known by its unit number, that Vivek and I shared with Zack Aronson (ZA), Waqas Keen, and a rotating cast of the guilty. This is the heart of the story — the years where most of the material worth telling at a wedding (and a few things that aren’t) actually happened.
Four of us, one apartment, and the kind of years you only get once. ZA and Waqas were as much a part of it as anyone — the friendships that survive a shared New York apartment are the ones that survive anything.
ZA tells this one best. Vivek once took the whole crew to Yale — his own school — and did not know where a single thing was. Couldn’t find the buildings. Some of us left with genuine questions about whether he had ever actually attended. For the record: he graduated in three years. For the record: we are still, to this day, a little suspect. Going all in, it turns out, does not include directions.
Vivek and I once wandered into a hotel — the Hyatt Centric — and explored it like we owned the place. At some point Vivek found an empty ballroom, walked straight up to the podium, and delivered a speech. To no one. An empty room, a full commitment: no audience, no notes, just a lectern and a point of view. Which, when you think about it, is exactly the energy you want in a man about to say his vows.
This is the other side of total commitment. The same man who goes all in on everything also, without warning, powers completely off. Vivek could — and did — fall asleep anywhere: standing up at a concert with the music blasting, in the middle of a club, on the floor or a makeshift bed while ZA and I stayed up all night yelling and building NiteEvo three feet away. No room was too loud, too bright, or too public. When Vivek is done, he is done — instantly, and usually somewhere he absolutely should not be. Which is, if you think about it, simply the most efficient possible way to commit to sleep.
The 7H years were peak Vivek-goes-all-in: at one point he was running NiteEvo, working at Morgan Stanley, and building a real estate company — all at the same time. Most people pick one lane. Vivek ran three at full speed, sleeping on the floor between them. When we say he commits completely, this is the exhibit: not one all-in, but three at once.
There was a stretch — over a month — where Vivek ate a Chipotle burrito every single day. Not a phase he drifted into; a decision he committed to. The same man who hoards their napkins was also quietly running a one-man burrito loyalty program. All in, even on lunch.
Fueling all of it: an uncountable, frankly concerning volume of Diet Coke. Vivek did not so much drink Diet Coke as run on it. If you ever needed to find him in 7H, you just followed the empty cans.
Every apartment has its legends. 7H had a buffalo. At some point — the origin story is, let us say, contested — a full, life-sized buffalo costume took up residence on the roof, overlooking the Empire State Building and occasionally seated on a little red stool as though it paid rent. No one ever fully explained it. No one really needed to. In 7H, a buffalo on the roof was simply a Tuesday.
Every great apartment has an honorary member who never actually lived there. For 7H, that was Octavio, behind the counter at the Red Pepper deli. He made the sandwiches that fueled the entire era — the parties, the hangovers, the all-night NiteEvo sessions — always with the same enormous, genuine smile. He was not a roommate, but he was 7H, and every crew should be so lucky to have an Octavio.
I have known Vivek since the 7th grade; ZA has known him since 2010. Between us, we have assembled a partial dossier — evidence for the whole thesis of this website: this is a man who, once he decides on something, no matter how deeply unnecessary, commits completely.
And then one day — no announcement, no explanation — Vivek had a bed again. He quietly rejoined the rest of us. That is how we knew someone had genuinely changed his life. A man with several unresolved mysteries, questionable form, and the best kind of stubborn — and she is the one mystery none of us could ever solve.
Field notes from ZA — officiant, former roommate, co-conspirator
Somewhere along the way, the crew made a pilgrimage to the Arnold statue — and, as the story goes, actually met the man himself. The plaque underneath reads: “Stay hungry. Never stop.” Which is about as neat a summary of Vivek as anyone has ever cast in bronze. The full story, though, belongs to ZA. Ask him — or, better yet, let him tell it right now.
Which brings us to now. The kid from Oak Grove who did the extra credit for fun, the valedictorian, the Yale-in-three guy, the 7H roommate — he grew into a man who has never once done anything halfway. And so, when Vivek found Anita, there was really only one way he was ever going to do it. All in.
Everything on this website has been building to one point: this is a man who, once he decides something matters, gives it everything. Anita, you are the thing he decided matters most. There is no one who commits harder, and no one luckier to be committed to. To Vivek and Anita.
The Feature Presentation
Storyboard
The Cutting-Room Floor
A few more that didn’t make the main cut.
One evening the crew — Vivek, ZA, Everett, and I — boarded a private jet. Destination: Hoboken, New Jersey. For the geographically unaware: Hoboken sits directly across the river from Manhattan. You can see it from the city. You can get there by train, by car, or, in a pinch, a determined swim. Vivek and company chartered a jet. That night they very nearly got thrown out of the hotel — for reasons best filed under “rowdy and generally degenerate” — which is, honestly, the only appropriate way to arrive somewhere you did not need a plane to reach.
