Words cannot adequately convey how heartbroken I am at the loss of my dear friend Javed. I loved Javed like a brother. His absence only days old feels like a rip in space-time, a black hole, I feel I can't escape the enormity of it.
We met in 2008 when our mutual friend and mentor Carl Fitzjames guided us on a multi-day trip through the enchanted rainforest of the Northern Range In Trinidad. Within five minutes of beginning our hike it was clear that this gangly young teenager was unlike anyone I'd ever met - his thirst for knowledge was voracious, his calm presence contagious, he was a quintessential "old soul" - contemplative and clearly wise beyond his (or my) years.
Over the many years that I would travel to Trinidad for research I would get to know Javed better each time.
His love for and knowledge of the natural world was inspiring, and always gave me hope for a future where his tenderness and care for nature would spread to others in Trinidad and beyond - as I knew it had that affect on me. I find it telling that in combing over my photos of him on our various shared adventures over the last 17 years the vast majority of them are of Javed lovingly holding a (sometimes venomous) snake, climbing a tree to harvest fruit or craning his neck to identify it, silently disappearing into the jungle, or with his nose buried in a book on natural history.
Beyond his encyclopedic knowledge I've always admired Javed's ability to persist no matter what life threw at him; be it a washed out road, crops destroyed by torrential flooding, the tragic loss of his house to a fire, Javed always somehow found the will to keep going or start over fresh, almost always with that signature smile of his on his face. I still fondly remember a camping trip we took to visit the Cipriani plane crash site high in the mountains above the Madamas river: Javed wanted to try out a new "fireside" cooking setup using stones and channels in the dirt. It took 5 hours of constant adjustment in driving rain, toiling in a thick cloud of mosquitoes, to cook a simple pot of chana and a bake. Javed couldn't have been happier, his indefatigable spirit lifted by the challenge and the opportunity to learn.
Javed's generosity never ceased to astonish me. To say he always had more to do than time to do it in would be a gross understatement but he always managed to carve out time and energy to help others, be it through lending a sympathetic ear, the offering of a home-cooked meal, a willingness to discuss anything - philosophy, stingless bee biology, techniques for hand-pollinating vanilla - to providing physical labor. Among many many other things I will be eternally grateful to Javed for helping me to acquire a small slice of land in the paradise that is Paria village, though I'm saddened beyond words to know that we will never again explore it together.
Javed, it pains me to know that my children won't have the chance to meet you, to learn from you, to call you "uncle Javed" as I had always imagined they would, but I promise they will learn about your amazing life and the principles you lived by.
It pains me that your knowledge and insights - especially gained through those countless walks through the forest with Carl, chatting through the hours and miles about history, ethnobotany, philosophy, spirituality, permaculture - now reside only as fragments - echos - in the memories of the many people who've been fortunate enough to know you.
It pains me that Trinidad and the world at large - which desperately need people like you to help us see our way to a better future - has lost a powerful advocate.
It pains me that you won't have the chance to have a family of your own, to come to comprehend the depth of the love your wonderful parents have for you - through loving your own children.
Javed, I will miss seeing that lovely smirk creep across your face as you realize you've got the perfect solution to a problem that's been plaguing me for weeks.
I will miss listening to your voicemail updates on my phone - your gentle, reassuring, patient voice, in the background the sound of your home-bound truck climbing through the rainforest as night falls.
I will miss exploring the rainforest with you, your way of noticing everything around you as if to say "I see your beauty" to the things others might summarily dismiss as "bush" or not see at all.
I will miss visiting you on your land in the dappled shade of the late afternoon, working with you to repair your christophene trellis by the river, or to harvest jackfruit, the ebb and flow of conversation about everything and nothing - a blissful meditation.
I will even miss that nervous feeling I'd get whenever you asked me to explain something I was supposedly the expert on but that you undoubtedly already understood far better.
I am so grateful for the time we had together - your advice, your candor, your companionship, your tranquility.
I will miss you my friend.
-Julian Kapoor