Vishnu Vardhan

From Nlsiu Batchof2005

Revision as of 00:44, 10 April 2006

Tsunami from Chennai now going to strike Oxford and Harvard. Way to go! Now when he keeps telling me that he was the real star of the batch, and not Neha Jain- I am inclined to believe him!

Sometime in 4th Year –

(murmur)

AK Rai: Vinay

Joy: Yes, Sir!

(murmur murmur…)

AK Rai: Vinutha

Vinutha: Present, Sir.

AK Rai: Vishnu

Entire Class: YES SIR!!!

Vishnu: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…hey listen guys, aaaaaaaa… this isn’t funny anymore…

But of course, it is. When Vishnu Vardhan Shankar from Chennai decided to come to Law School instead of pursuing a lucrative career as India’s first walking, talking oil-field, the deep seismic rumblings could be felt all over the legal world – from the offices of Reed Smith LLP in London, to Justice Srikrishna’s mom’s bedroom.

But those who have come to know and love this awful creature know that the law was only one of his lusts. First amongst equals was his appetite. Not for nothing was this black hole known as ‘gobbler’. Its little wonder that Vishnu worked with such great motivation and commitment as a member and (Co)Convenor of Mess Comm – his interest in the activities of the Mess came straight from the stomach. But his appetite wasn’t just for food. Mothers still warn their children – “Bunty, mere estrogen tablets ko vapis rakkho, nahin to woh madrasi bhediya Vishnu unko kha jayega…” Perhaps I should translate this into English or Tamil for Vishnu’s benefit… after all, who doesn’t recall Vishnu asking the perplexed Delhi waiter – “Bhai Sahab, khaane ke liye kaun kaun hai?”

But if there was something that set Vishnu apart from the rest of us it was his tireless commitment to the search for knowledge. Many a faculty member feared Vishnu’s probing questions in the classroom (and in the corridor). Particularly impressive was his incisive use of language in framing the question (the words “spousal divorce” leap to mind). No one was spared from his searching enquiry. We all remember how he chased the Gym Instructor behind the Guest House saying “aaaaaa… if you could give me a recco…”

But jokes apart, behind the lascivious grin (to which at least one southern belle has fallen victim), there beats a heart of gold. I am yet to meet a prince amongst men with more integrity, intelligence and good humour than the Butcher of Nagarbhavi.