One of my earliest childhood memories in Bangladesh was getting punched in the jaw, falling down, and busting my chin open on a splintery wooden table. As blood seeped everywhere and I cried like a dying wolf, I was rushed to the nearest ER on the first tuk-tuk we could summon on the road. My uncle and another surgeon performed emergency surgery on my chin with God-knows-how-many stitches.

The reason? My cousin and I were shadow boxing. He was Muhammad Ali, I was Mike Tyson, and in true Ali-form my cousin knocked me out with an uppercut jab.

I was just three years old at the time. Yet Ali was the first athlete or celebrity of any kind that I was a fan of, and my both my cousin and I hero-worshipped him (I was only Tyson because my sly cousin almost always claimed "dibs" first). Back then, I did not know that Muhammad Ali actually visited the infant nation in 1978 as part of his iconic "Muhammad Ali Goes East: Bangladesh, I Love You" tour. Yet even as a mere toddler in 1992, it was abundantly clear to me that Muhammad Ali was the undisputed bona fide people's hero that the long-suffering country never really had. Tens of millions of people whose top three athletic loves were cricket, soccer, and cricket again simply could not get enough of The People's Champion.

Why? One a purely athletic level, Ali was so dominant in the ring-and fought with such a distinct style and personality-that people simply could not fail to recognize a king's claim to his rightful throne. He would invariably dominate his world-class opponents both physically and psychologically. He was always in complete control of his own body and mind in a way that people could only wish members of the country's cricket and football team could. He was so skill-embodied and dominant at his trade that he forced everyone to pay attention, and soon convert into some of his most zealous fans.

Yet Ali was beloved for not only being peerless in the ring, but also outside of it. His unashamed love for his faith was so desperately needed at a time when the popular conception of Islam was equated to militant black nationalism in America and brutal regimes and terrorist groups around the world. In a world where black, brown, and Asian lives in both America and around the world were treated so cheaply, Ali's unyielding defense of his community was sorely needed. In a mass media and pop culture landscape where misconceptions and outright hostility against religious and racial minorities were regularly reinforced through news reporting, music, and film, the counter-narrative that Ali, Malcolm X, Dr. King, and other community leaders provided was an indispensable public service to the nation and the world.

Some things never change. Yet in such a world, Ali refused to taper over these realities with the practiced diplomacy of the vast majority of athletes and noted personalities. Instead, The People's Champion never diluted his convictions and always stood ready to speak truth to power. One of the finest examples of Ali's sheer fortitude was his famous response to well-to-do college students who refused to acknowledge their privilege, much less leverage it to support the plight of their fellow citizens who were far less fortunate:

I ain't draft dodging. I ain't burning no flag. I ain't running to Canada. I'm staying right here. You want to send me to jail? Fine, you go right ahead. I've been in jail for 400 years. I could be there for 4 or 5 more, but I ain't going no 10,000 miles to help murder and kill other poor people. If I want to die, I'll die right here, right now, fightin' you, if I want to die. You my enemy, not no Chinese, no Vietcong, no Japanese. You my opposer when I want freedom. You my opposer when I want justice. You my opposer when I want equality. Want me to go somewhere and fight for you? You won't even stand up for me right here in America, for my rights and my religious beliefs. You won't even stand up for my rights here at home.

Some things never change, and even in death Ali's life and message remains just as instructive and vital. Ali taught people to embody excellence and to be so dominant both in your professional and personal life that people are forced to respect you. He taught marginalized communities everywhere that nobody will simply gift you seats at the table of justice and equality-you must grab those chairs for yourself. And Ali taught me that one way to start that struggle is to grab a microphone and tell your stories to the world, before the world beats you to the punch and tells their versions of your stories instead.

Twenty years after Bangladeshi toddler Ali destroyed Bangladeshi toddler Tyson's chin, in 2012 I was finally able to make the pilgrimage to the famed Muhammad Ali Center in Louisville as a stopover from a roadtrip from Columbia, South Carolina to Chicago. Although the Center was closed by the time we got there, we were still able to admire the magnificent living testament to this great man. As we walked around the perimeter, we spotted flags from all around the world. Included among these flags, sure enough, was the greet and red of Bangladesh.

That visit, no matter how brief and limited, now means the world to me. Heartfelt tributes to his legacy are already pouring across social media, and no doubt millions more from citizens around the world-from heads of state to tuk-tuk drivers and farmers-will soon join in. The Greatest remains a hero and role model for countless Muslims around the world. So tonight, I will mourn him and pray for him and his family and loved ones. Tomorrow, I will do everything I can to internalize his message and make my community, nation, and world better in any and every way I can.

Thank you for everything dear brother. You are already sorely missed, but your indelible mark on the world will remain for all of time. Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un.