I first met Jay when I was working at US Steel at the Fairfield Works, where he was a highly respected engineer and manager. I still miss the pre-9/11, blue-collar Americana of those days -- a time when people working around 2,000-degree molten steel could still be warm, funny, and deeply connected. On the shop floor, he was affectionately known as "Jay Jayaraj," a man respected by the people who worked alongside him.
Over the years, I had the privilege of socializing with Jay and his wonderful wife, Pushpa. Jay had met my parents in India, and when my mother visited us from India, they naturally became friends. Those connections across countries and generations were something special.
Of course, every friendship has its stories. Once, I invited Jay over for dinner and cooked catfish. I am a fast cook -- perhaps sometimes too fast -- and apparently the catfish needed a little more time! Thankfully, I had prepared many other dishes, so most guests survived the evening without noticing. Jay, however, really liked catfish. My wife still reminds me about that dinner, and for many years afterward, I jokingly wondered if I had permanently lost a friend because of my cooking.
Life took us in different directions. We moved away from Birmingham to North Georgia, and somehow twenty years passed.
Then last fall, I received a call from Jay: "I heard y'all moved to Cumming. We did too!" As we caught up and exchanged stories, we realized something remarkable -- we had actually been passing each other for days on the same trails while walking, saying hello to another Indian family, never realizing that after two decades we had crossed paths again.
That unexpected reunion made the loss even harder to accept.
Jay passed away today after complications following a fall last September. He leaves behind his beloved wife, Pushpa. They did not have children, and Jay was the anchor and pillar of his extended family.
Jay was a wonderful friend -- kind, respected, funny, and dependable. I am grateful that after twenty years apart, life gave us one more chapter together.
Rest in peace, my friend. You will be missed.
