The life story of Captain Muhammed Mizanur Rahman.
Today, I want to share the incredible life story of a former pilot of Biman Bangladesh Airlines, Captain Md Mizanur Rahman. His dedication, ambition, patience, persistence, and integrity brought him to the position of an airline captain.
The following story, which was shared by the captain himself, was featured in an episode of “Branding Bangladesh” on the “Studios of Creative Arts” YouTube channel. The 24th episode was released in April 2022. If you are a native Bengali speaker, I recommend watching it on YouTube. I’ve described the story below for non-Bengali speakers visiting my website.
Early life –
Mizanur Rahman was born in Chattogram and lives there with his family. His father was a senior officer in the customs department, working as a government employee.
When he was in class 6, one evening after returning from playing, he found his eldest sister, whom he calls Bubu, crying. She suddenly hugged him tightly and said, “Abba is going to get married tonight.”
Mizanur was shocked and didn’t understand anything. He had no prior information about this. Being only 10 or 11 years old, he never knew what was wrong in the relationship between his parents. He assumed that his father was influenced by someone, but did not know the truth.
Just imagine the situation. There were seven siblings: 5 brothers and 2 sisters. Even in this state, their father was going to get married again.
In their family, “family reverence” was maintained strictly, and they obeyed their father sorely and could not say anything opposing.
Father’s second marriage
So, everyone was getting ready to be taken to the wedding in a place called Devpahar. His father’s second marriage had just happened.
To remind you, Mizanur was the closest to his father. He used to spend a lot of time with his father. He had been washing his father’s uniform and polishing his shoes since childhood out of affection. When his father came home from the office, he used to apply oil on his head and rub his father’s back. He was very close to his father.
His own mother had been sent to Khatungonj, Chittagong earlier, to her father’s house, and she never returned to the family. Mizanur’s grandfather, the father of his mother, was part of a very aristocratic joint family and had a significant business in the village. It is said that his mother’s family did not allow her to return to her husband’s family to live with his second wife, although they never got divorced.
After this, Mizanur and his siblings had to start living with their father and stepmother, only seeing their biological mother during holidays such as Eid.
Enduring Stepmother’s Abuse
There was a house tutor who taught all the siblings from a very young age. Mizanur had known him since he was born. One day, the stepmother suddenly told the teacher, “You don’t have to come from tomorrow.” The siblings tried hard to convince her, crying non-stop as the teacher left. It was a psychological shock for them.
Later, the stepmother started misbehaving with Mizanur and his siblings, forcing them to call her “Mother”. However, Mizanur couldn’t bring himself to address her as “Mother” because he believed his real mother was still alive. As a result, his stepmother was mostly spiteful to him. Despite this, his siblings adopted the practice of addressing her as “Mother” within a week.
They usually received money for tiffin at school, but that had been stopped. The money for school fees was also discontinued. Once, a notice was sent from the school regarding his overdue fees. After reading the notice, his father asked, “How did you accumulate so many dues?” The stepmother began making up accusations against him, claiming, “He doesn’t listen to anything and shows no respect. That’s why I stopped paying his school fees.”
Mizanur’s father often listened to and believed the eldest sister, so the stepmother wanted to marry her off quickly to gain control over the siblings. At that time, Mizanur’s eldest sister intervened and said, “Father, please pay the fees; otherwise, he won’t be able to take the exam.”
Mizanur kept thinking that if he could just take the matric exam, he might have a chance to do something with his life because classes 7, 8, or 9 held no real value.
For breakfast, they used to eat rolled roti and a cup of tea, but there was no assurance of lunch, as they stayed at school during that time. For dinner, they ate rice, lentils, and some type of vegetable. The dining table was divided into two sections: his father and stepmother sat on the left side, while the siblings were on the right. The left side of the table was a different world, with fish, meat, vegetables, rice, and a new menu every day.
He shared, “If any of her (stepmother) friends came to our house, we had to climb to the roof and stay there until her family or friends left. We were not allowed, absolutely not allowed, out of sight. We used to stay there, whether it was 8 or 10 pm. I still remember that we used to look at the field and see the lights from afar, gossiping about one person with another. This is unbearable to remember.”
Once, one of her sisters-in-law visited their house. She hadn’t met them before and asked his stepmother, “Where are the children from the first wife?” His stepmother then brought him and his siblings to meet her. The sister-in-law was a very kind lady. She asked Mizanur, “Which class are you in?” He replied, “I’ve been promoted from class 9 to 10.”
However, Mizanur was shocked when his father chimed in. His father frankly said, “What will he study!! He will drive a rickshaw after two days.” Mizanur was absolutely, completely lost, completely lost.
Struggles with Education
When his stepmother complained that he didn’t study, she didn’t mention that he had no opportunity to study.
Once, his father had said, “If you can stay in the 1st to 10th position in class, then I will buy you a cycle.” He studied day and night, trying to memorize the books and store them in his brain. It was a miracle when the results came out and he secured the 1st position in class. However, he didn’t get the chance to tell his father about his achievement because when his father returned from the office, he was usually in a hurry. He went to the washroom, had food, and then entered the bedroom without any time to spare.
When the lady asked him, “Which class do you study in?” he told her that he had been promoted from class 9 to 10. She then asked, “Which subject are you studying?” to which he replied, “Science.” Lastly, she asked, “Did you get any place?” He responded, “Yes, I acquired the first position.”
His father shouted at him, saying, “You are still telling lies. Go away from here.”
Mizanur was left looking at his father in disbelief. He couldn’t believe the words coming from someone he knew as his birth father.
On that day, he absorbed the information and prayed, “Ya Allah, please grant me bravery and strength until the matriculation.” He believed that passing the matriculation exam would open up opportunities for him.
Suddenly, two months before the exam, he contracted severe chickenpox, covering every inch of his body and causing a high fever. When his stepmother found out, she moved him outside to the balcony to sleep during his illness. He was unconscious for 3-4 days, and his siblings took care of him, feeding him basic meals but no medication. He recovered naturally, possibly due to his immune system, but still felt weak. This weakness affected his ability to study properly. With only 1-1.5 months before the exam, he did his best to prepare for it.
After his stepmother came into their lives, she refused to let him buy any academic books. As a result, Mizanur had to rely on borrowing books from friends and older neighbors’ siblings each year. For math exams, he would borrow a geometry box from an older neighbor’s sister. However, during the final Matric math exam, that sister was unavailable, so he had to borrow a box from a classmate sitting at the adjacent bench.
On result day, he felt extremely tense, uncertain whether he would pass or fail. At that time, people often talked about earning a second division or a higher second division, but he was pleasantly surprised to end up with a higher second division. He completed his matriculation in 1975.
With his certificate in hand, he went to take the admission test at Chittagong College, which was the best college in town at that time. He went in for the interview, but his appearance was not up to standard. His shirt was wrinkled, and his hair was long, reaching down to his neck.
His long, silky hair hadn’t been cut for a long time because his parents hadn’t given him money for a haircut. Instead, he would ask his sister to trim it a bit. However, he rarely brushed his hair. In the interview on Branding Bangladesh, he mentioned, “Even now, I don’t brush my hair with a comb. Maybe I’ve been doing this for 50 years—I just use my hand.“
When he was in class 6, his father gave him a pair of pants and a shirt for Eid. Since then, his parents hadn’t given him any new clothes. So, as he grew taller, he would unfold the hem of his pants to extend them by an inch. When they couldn’t be extended any further, he took them to a tailor, who stitched scrap pieces of cloth together to extend them on both sides and the bottom. The same happened with his shirts. Despite this, he always kept his clothes clean.
During the interview, the teachers asked him his name and his father’s name, which he answered. Then one of the teachers, noticing his long hair, said, “This is a renowned college, and look at this boy. Would you come to college with such long hair?” He was silent. The teacher then jokingly asked him to translate into English the phrase, “Ami lomba chul rakhite valo-bashi,” meaning “I love to keep long hair.” He answered that as well. Another teacher asked, “What is the formula for sulfuric acid?” Then a physics teacher asked, “What is the formula for inertia?” He answered both questions correctly.
When he came out, he saw that he was first on the waiting list of four people. Ultimately, he didn’t get into Chittagong College because they didn’t select him. Instead, he enrolled at City College. Time passed…