On a quiet Saturday morning in April 1999, I took a call from my wife. I was sat in the window of Café Naz when she called and walked over to meet her, striding past the red car parked outside. I had barely put my foot through the door of Milfa Travel when the bomb went off. The earth shook. I felt the entire building above Milfa Travel was going to crash down on me. As the force of the tremor hurled me to the ground, I instinctively turned around and saw a huge fire ball shooting up into the sky. The blast tore off the boot of the red car where the bomb had been. It flew up into the air that was now thick with billowing black smoke.

I saw the shattered windows, the scattered debris, the panicked faces. A nail bomb had detonated just outside our premises. The target? The Bangladeshi community. My community. People like me.
We later learned that the attacker was a white supremacist. His plan was simple and horrifying: to plant bombs across minority communities — Bengali and Black,  — and ignite fear.

He failed.

But that day changed everything for me.

Before the Bomb, I Was Focused on Growth

At that point in my life, I was immersed in business. I had built a brand, expanded into distribution, invested in property. I was driven — eyes always on the next project.

I believed in service and community, yes — but my world was mostly strategy, targets, expansion.

The bomb rewired that.

When You Could Have Died, You Start Asking Different Questions

What if I had been standing at the exact spot just minutes earlier? What if one of my staff had been outside? 

Those questions don’t fade. They haunt. They linger.

But then something remarkable happened — in the aftermath, I felt not fear, but clarity.

If I had been spared, then surely it was for a reason. Surely, my life — my story, my business, my platform — wasn’t just mine to enjoy. It was mine to use.

Purpose Isn’t a Luxury — It’s an Urgency

Before the bombing, I thought of purpose as a nice idea. Something you reflect on in old age.

After the bombing, I realised purpose is what you choose every day — in your work, your words, your way of showing up.

I started getting more involved in civic life. I founded community organisations. I gave interviews. I hosted events that brought communities together. Not because I wanted recognition — but because I wanted to push back against hate with action.

Business Alone Is Not Enough

That incident taught me that profit alone isn’t the measure of success. Impact is. Dignity is. Safety is. The ability to stand tall and say: We belong here.

I kept growing my businesses — but I also expanded my contribution. I joined political initiatives. I mentored youth. I opened my doors wider than ever.

Because what good is a strong business if your community is under attack? What good is success if you're not using it to make others safer, bolder, freer?

A Final Word

The bomb was meant to silence us. But it made me louder — not in noise, but in purpose.

I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason. But I do believe you can give reason to anything that happens — if you choose to.

That day outside Café Naz didn’t break me. It built a new layer into who I am. It reminded me that I’m not just here to survive or succeed.

I’m here to serve. To stand up. To speak out.

And maybe — just maybe — so are you.