A father, a husband, an officer of the Bangladesh Air Force — and, above all, a man whose life story still eludes me. He traveled an extraordinary mile in his lifetime to bring peace, prosperity & happiness to both his immediate and extended family.
Written on the 3rd anniversary · June 2004
It’s been three years, but I still remember the three and a half hours past midnight of June 27, 2001. The phone ringing that woke us up that night was a clear sign that the ultimate but unwelcome event was about to happen. Neither the dread of the dark night nor the thundershowers could stop us from rushing to the scene. By then, our world had changed forever on that Wednesday. Our father died.
I still could not figure out what led his journey to death. A simple fever turned deadly. Abba couldn’t walk on his own that Saturday morning — did he have a mild heart attack? The day progressed but he increasingly felt uncomfortable even while having his dialysis. I sensed something was wrong. Everything went wrong when I saw the mushrooming sores on his face and body. The doctors declared his condition a coma, and it became definite that we would never hear his words again.
Did his eyes say something? The answer is a big yes. But the interpretation was left to us.
It still pains us the same as those days — to remember the twenty-five days of coma, the speechless days, the untold stories in his eyes, the loud beeps of machines, the guarding for twenty-four hours, the endless prayers, the wholehearted wait in the hospital lawn to hear his words… and the last goodbye — for a hope to meet him again, somewhere, someday.
Education was the slow, patient ladder he climbed. Each rung mattered to him — and, by the time he was done, he carried two disciplines into his career: economics, and the engineering hands that would keep aircraft flying.
He joined the Pakistan Air Force in the 1960s as a gentleman cadet.
When Bangladesh fought its War of Independence in 1971, he was among the Bengali servicemen interned in Pakistan as a prisoner of war. He was later repatriated to the newly born nation of Bangladesh and went on to serve in its air force — part of a generation of Bengali officers whose wartime ordeal was shared by figures such as H. M. Ershad, later Chief of Army Staff. He retired in 1991 as a Wing Commander.
The medals he was awarded — and which he never quite hung on a wall — measured those years better than any of us could.
Star of war. Awarded for meritorious service in active combat operations.
The general service medal commemorating his service during the war.
Issued in recognition of contribution to the joint operations of the time.
For continued service through the constitutional reforms era.
Three long‑service stars marking decades of disciplined, uninterrupted duty.
Wing Commander, retired in 1991.
Peara — his wife of more than three decades. A homemaker; the steady centre of every room he ever returned to.
Travels in Pakistan, India, Russia & Ukraine — postings, courses, the long train rides, the slow careful letters home.
31 January 1941. The cake was always small, the table always full of people. He loved this day more than he ever let on.
What follows is the small, careful chronology we have learned to carry. We keep it written down so that our children will know how he stayed with us, even as he was leaving.