When he was trying to explain something to you and you were generally unable to comprehend (read: being a blockhead), he would not show even a sliver of irritation. He would address you as "Raje" and explain again. S-l-o-w-e-r this time. But he would explain until you did it right. Quality of output was not negotiable.
Whether it was over chai or in office meetings, the smile was ever-present and hugely infectious. It is impossible to forget the cheer that always accompanied his presence.
On social media, he made posts for his parents, and for his children. For ma'm, his love was easy to see. They recently finished 36 years of togetherness.
So, no, it was not an easy message to read at 6 30 am on a Sunday. One stared at the photograph in the message for a long time. I don't think I have ever seen him without that easy smile, even in the middle of the toughest conversations. It was still there. Making the message even harder to believe.
He was an easy mentor to have. Easy, because he made mentoring look easy. When you asked him for advice, he was direct, blunt, and super honest. If you asked him what you needed to do, he told you. In Punjabi, we have a word - Lag-labed. Roughly, it translates to circumlocution with an intent to clutter or confuse. He never had that.
He carried himself lightly.
At GDC and then at Labs, he was an active member of the social contribution team. Even though he was a senior leader, he made time for this voluntary group. To him, it just was the most natural thing to do.
In kindness and empathy, he was like a father figure. In conversation, like a friend.
It is now 3:00 am the following morning. And I am typing out this obituary. He was a mentor, teacher, senior. A nurturer. A Smiler. And so much more.
Jasjeet sir, you will be much missed.
Yesterday, some of us from SAP reconnected. Unable to understand this. Sharing a grief. As if the square white table of the cafeteria was back, and we were sitting around it, chai in hand. But one chair was empty.