Rocky Nath
My name is Rocky Nath. I honestly consider myself Uncle Jit’s friend… who just happened to marry his niece. I’ve known Uncle Jit since I was 19 years old—almost 25 years now.
And when it comes to Uncle Jit…
Some people make their presence known the moment they enter a room.
Uncle Jit did something far more meaningful—he made people feel like they belonged.
When I first started dating his niece, Anita, she invited me to Uncle Jit’s home for a holiday party. It was the first time I was meeting her family, and I was nervous. I was the new guy, and I felt it the moment I walked in. There were jokes, a few strange looks, and that unspoken feeling of being the outsider.
Uncle Jit noticed right away.
He didn’t make a scene.
He didn’t say much.
He simply gestured to me and directed me to follow him to the back of the house—alone.
Uncle Jit was a big, strong man, and based on the reception I had just gotten, I honestly thought… okay, this is it.
Instead, he put his arm around me, walked me to the back, took my hand, placed his hand over mine, looked me straight in the eye, and said one word:
“Welcome.”
No jokes.
No teasing.
Just welcome.
I remember thinking two things: why is he being so kind—he doesn’t even know me? And… wow, he has some really soft hands.
He spent nearly an hour talking to me—so long that Anita eventually came looking for me. During that time, he was feeding me straight from the pot with those soft hands, pouring me drinks, making sure I was comfortable, making sure I felt at home.
He told me about his life—where he came from, the family he loved, his career, and the values he lived by. He told me the things he was proud of. He told me the things he wasn’t proud of. He shared life lessons, mistakes, and moments that shaped the man he became.
He didn’t rush.
He didn’t lecture.
He spoke to me man to man.
Somewhere in that conversation, I realized something important: this wasn’t an interrogation—it was an invitation. He wasn’t sizing me up. He was choosing me.
From that moment on, Uncle Jit treated me like family. And I know many of you can relate—if you were in his presence, you belonged. Once he brought you in, you were in for life.
From that moment forward, Uncle Jit became part of every significant moment of my adult life—engagements, weddings, my kids being born, family parties, pet birthdays—you name it, he was there. And with that came all the jokes. We laughed a lot—maybe too much—and nothing was off limits.
The only thing worse than our childish behavior were the nicknames—many of which I can’t repeat. Over 25 years, I went from “the Guyanese” to “Wookie.”
Through the years, Uncle Jit became a staple even at my friends’ and extended family’s events. Everyone knew Uncle Jit. I can’t tell you how many times I heard, “What time is Uncle Jit coming?” or “I love Uncle Jit,” or received a text saying, “I just ran into Uncle Jit.”
He was everywhere.
Looking back, as a 19-year-old kid, he didn’t have to accept me as his niece’s boyfriend. He could have followed the crowd—but instead, he followed his heart. He didn’t have to be kind to me. But he was, and he never stopped being there for me.
Truth be told, there has never been a time I went to Uncle Jit for advice and didn’t walk away with great advice.
He was one of the most thoughtful people I know—generous with his time and his gifts, always bringing something meaningful, often tied to a conversation you had with him weeks or even months earlier.
Uncle Jit had a presence—steady, confident, grounding. You felt safe around him. And when he arrived, the energy changed. Music went up. Dancing started. Laughter followed. Drinks began to flow. And the jokes weren’t far behind—some appropriate, some not—but always filled with love.
And yes, we even had secret signals for pouring him a drink without Aunty Mona knowing.
Many knew Uncle Jit as a Sky Captain at JFK—a role that fit him perfectly. You’d see him at Departures, standing tall, smiling, extending his hand, often pulling you in for a warm hug—and yes, Uncle Jit was a big hugger.
He loved people. He loved connection.
He took pride in being the first to greet people, making sure their journeys began smoothly—with care, precision, and attention to every detail.
With his profession came stories—great ones. Uncle Jit met celebrities, politicians, and people from all walks of life. But the stories were never about fame. They were about people—what he noticed, what made him laugh, and how he saw the world with sharp wit and warmth.
And yes—he once told me Amitabh Bachchan was bald and wore a hairpiece.
That was Uncle Jit.
But no matter who you were—a celebrity, a president, a neighbor, a friend, or a guest at a party—Uncle Jit treated everyone the same: with respect, kindness, and sincerity. He infused love into everything—even his hugs.
Even now, when we travel and pass through airports, many of us still look around, half-expecting to hear him say, “Come, come, come,” and see Uncle Jit smiling, that soft hand reaching out.
At my wedding, Uncle Jit gave a speech none of us will ever forget. His famous “honey-do this, honey-do that” advice had the entire room laughing. Beneath the humor was wisdom, love, and real-life experience. He had a rare gift—he could make you laugh and teach you something at the same time.
Uncle Jit gave freely—his time, his advice, his laughter, and his love. He never asked for recognition. He simply showed up. He was proud of everyone and every accomplishment you shared with him. He had a way of making you feel like you conquered the world—and he was always your biggest fan.
If you look around today, you’ll see people of all age groups and ask yourself, “How did Uncle Jit know all these people?”
The answer is simple—he made an impact through kindness.
As a younger person, you hope the people who watched you grow—the ones who shaped your values and guided who you became—could live forever, just to see everything with you. But I don’t regret a single moment, because we made every moment count.
Uncle Jit was our joy.
He was our strength.
He was our family.
The world is not a better place without Ramjit Boodram—but we are all better people because of him.
In closing, one of Uncle Jit’s favorite sayings was always, “You only have one Uncle Jit.”
At the time, it felt like something he said casually—almost joking—his way of reminding us that no one else could make us feel the way he did when he was there.
Now, when I hear those words, I hear his voice—and they mean so much more.
Because now I understand, better than ever, that there truly is only one Uncle Jit.
And having known him, having been welcomed by him 25 years ago, and having been loved by him didn’t just change my life—it became a part of who I am.
Thank you for seeing me before I even knew who I was, Uncle Jit.
I’ll carry you with me always.
I’ll never forget you, Uncle Jit.
With love,
Rocky Nath
