pay rises. The ongoing pay cap by Jim Callaghan's Labour government was challenged by the powerful Trades Union Congress (TUC), but no agreement could be reached. The situation took a turn for the worst when cemetery gravediggers also took industrial action; this left 150 bodies unburied at one point, with twenty-five being added each day. This caused huge public concern, then to add insult to injury, many bin men (the local authority waste collectors) went on strike and local authorities up and down the country ran out of waste storage space and were forced to use local parks. Reports of rat infestations and bad smells were splashed across the news headlines. The Labour government's inability to handle the situation was one of the main reasons for its defeat to the Conservative party in the following May national election (that brought Margaret Thatcher to power).
Elsewhere, the Iranian Islamic Revolution in February 1979 had reverberations that shook the world. Iranians were already unhappy with the ruling Pahlavi dynasty, but a new phase of the uprising started against Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi in October 1977, with persistent demonstrations by various leftist and Islamic organizations, as well as Iranian student movements. This developed into a civil resistance that intensified in January 1978. From August onwards, coordinated massive strikes paralysed the country. The Shah left Iran for exile on 16 January 1979 and Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, who had been in exile in Iraq and France since 1964, was invited back to Iran by the government. He was greeted by millions of Iranians in the capital Tehran. On 11 February, guerrillas and rebel troops took control of Tehran, bringing Khomeini to power.
The UK general election of 1979, held on 3 May, was another event that caught the world's attention. For the first time a woman, Margaret Thatcher, leader of the Conservative party, became prime minister of the British government; the first of four consecutive election victories. As Margaret Thatcher stepped up to power, our time in Britain was coming to an end. One more BAF Officer, Flight Lieutenant Bashir, had joined us at Cranwell, and Mostafa and I were occasionally travelling to other cities in the north of England. I still harboured ambitions of going back to my physics research, although I did not have any clue how this would ever materialize.
Mostafa eventually became one of my closest friends. His integrity, sense of humour and wisdom were enviable. Even after I had left the BAF in 1982, we remained in close touch. His personality reminded me of a beautiful saying of Prophet Muhammad, may Allah bless him and grant him peace: 'The example of a good and a bad companion is like that of a perfume seller and a blacksmith. The perfume seller either puts the perfume on you or tries to sell it to you, but in the blacksmith's workshop you will either burn your clothes or you'll be blackened by the soot'. I have been blessed with quite a few trustworthy friends like him.
We finished our final exams and completed our course by the end of July 1979, with excellent results. The Base Commander threw a party for all the departing overseas officers, and officers from some other branches joined us. We shared our addresses and promised to keep in touch with one another. Our friendship with the Nigerian officers was deep, though we never knew if we would ever meet again. Overall, it was a jovial atmosphere. We had a few free days before we would catch a flight from London, so Mostafa and I decided to spend a couple of days visiting some nearby seaside towns and a few more days in London. We took a taxi to Sleaford with our luggage and were on our way to London once again. After few busy days of shopping and meeting friends, we were on a Bangladesh Biman plane once again, returning to Dhaka, which when we got there was soaked with summer monsoon rain. After a couple of weeks break with family and friends, the two of us arrived at Jessore Air Base, in western Bangladesh, for our main physical training.
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We were kept busy with over six months of gruelling physical training, but we were not using any of the skills that we had learned at our valuable course in Cranwell. It was frustrating and our knowledge was getting rusty; we should have attended the course after basic military training, we thought. In any case, life continued: Mostafa got married and my father was also reminding me to do the same. I could find no reason to disagree with him and began inquiring about potential spouses. Our training finished towards the middle of 1980 and both of us were posted to Dhaka Air Base.
It was in the officers mess in Dhaka that I became somewhat settled, with time again to think and reflect about my life and do some forward planning. But life as a junior officer was regimented, with unexciting office work in the morning, lunch at the mess, a games session in the afternoon and then occasional formal events in the evening. It was a stable but boring experience, there were few contemporary books or journals, so I tried to build connections with some of my army and navy friends by visiting them occasionally.
As I was not far away from my village, I tried to visit home more frequently to see my elderly father. My older brother was now deeply entrenched in various community projects; he was running a secondary school that he had helped establish, plus a religious school (madrasah) for children to memorize the Qur'an, and a bazaar was also springing up nearby. He was the main man behind all this! His wife and my father lamented one day that he was doing all this at the cost of his own health and his children's education. I was younger than him by ten years, but I chatted with him one night and implored with him not to ignore his health and family. He was loud and boisterous, and with an infectious smile he laughed off my suggestion as if it was coming from a little boy. After quietening down he asked me in a combative mood: 'Who's going to do all this then? Find me someone.' I thought it was beyond my ability to convince him, and I just ended by saying: 'Please, do not ignore your children at least'. He loved his work, and used to spend hour after hour every day helping others, particularly poor lower-caste Hindus. He continued this for another two decades when he was diagnosed with a killer disease, late-stage bowel cancer. When I went to see him he was the undisputed leader of the region, both Muslims and the Hindu minority, and it was painful to see him suffering. He urged me to support his children when he would not be there. Sadly, he passed away within a month of my return to London.
Apart from the initial charm of living in the officers' mess in a posh area of Dhaka, the capital city of Bangladesh, there was little opportunity to learn and develop oneself further. Some of my friends had already got married, some had left for America and one or two had left their Air Force jobs and were making money in industry or by setting up their own businesses. Without informing the Air Force Board, I began exploring a future in the academic world. Gaining admission to any western university for a PhD in, say, physics was not that difficult, but securing funding was the main obstacle. I asked a few of my friends in Britain to see whether they could help me, and Aziz Bhai worked hard to put me in touch with the physics departments of some London universities. In the meantime, early in 1981 Mostafa and I were promoted to Flying Officers.
During this uncertainty, one afternoon my maternal uncle (Nuru mama) came to see me in the officers' mess. He had a thick envelope in his hand and I remembered I had used his home as my postal address before joining the Air Force. I opened it and saw it was from the King Faisal Foundation (KFF) in Saudi Arabia. I quickly read it, then paused and read it again. Nuru mama observed my facial expression and asked: 'What's in it, dear Bhagne (nephew)?'
I abruptly stood up and hugged him. He was perplexed. 'What's the matter, my nephew?' he asked again.
With excitement and a loud voice, I said: 'Mamma (uncle), I've been awarded a scholarship from the King Faisal Foundation to do a PhD!' He sat silent for a few seconds, then stood up and hugged me tightly. A worrying thought arose and I said: 'But, I'm in the Air Force now and have just been trained in the UK. Will I be allowed to take up this opportunity?'
He advised me to work it out and left me with a positive comment: 'Don't worry, there'll be a way out, inshallah (God willing).'
My mind was buzzing, how could I avail this opportunity? But first I realized that I needed a PhD enrolment from a British university, and so I informed Aziz Bhai of the news and requested his continued help. I also consulted Mostafa and a few close friends on what to do next. We were all junior officers, and we came up with a plan that I ought to talk with the head of the Armament Branch. As I
