Zafar Masud: A Journey of Survival, Leadership and Purpose in Life

In a world where titles often overshadow truths, few stories remind us of what truly matters. One such story is that of Zafar Masud — a man who walked out of fire, not just to live, but to lead differently. Zafar Masud is not just the CEO of Bank of Punjab — he’s a symbol of resilience, purpose, and transformational leadership. One of two survivors of the tragic PIA PK-8303 crash, his story goes beyond survival. In this conversation, he reflects on how that journey shaped his leadership, his healing, and his legacy.

1. You belong to an illustrious, intellectual family and have a famous actor father. How has your background molded you?

Growing up in a family where ideas, culture, and public engagement were front and centre gave me a deep appreciation for both expression and responsibility. My father’s world was one of performance and presence – he taught me the importance of connecting with people beyond words. That doesn’t just apply to acting, it’s central to leadership too. You learn how to hold a room, how to listen, and how to bring your full self to difficult situations.

On the other side, my extended family was steeped in academia, law, and public service. Dinner conversations often revolved around governance, ethics, literature, and society. That environment shaped how I think: not just in terms of what’s effective, but what’s right. I was raised to question, to reflect, and to be deeply mindful of the world beyond myself. That blend – of emotional intelligence and intellectual curiosity – has stayed with me throughout my career, especially in the boardroom and during moments of crisis.

2. You became the head of a bank and went through a life-changing experience. How did surviving the PK-8303 crash change your perception of life, leadership and purpose?

Surviving the crash stripped everything down to the essentials. Before that moment, like most professionals, I was locked into outcomes, deliverables, targets – all important, no doubt. But the crash rewired my priorities. I realized how temporary everything is – your title, your plans, even your body. What remains is your intent and your impact.

As a leader, it made me more empathetic, more human. I started paying closer attention to the people behind the numbers – the families behind the accounts, the young staff members carrying hidden burdens. Leadership, I learned, isn’t about projecting strength; it’s about creating safety, meaning, and direction, even in uncertain times. And that shift – from success to significance – has stayed with me ever since. Purpose became more than just a strategic goal. It became a moral e compass. I started seeing institutions not just as financial engines, but as platforms for national development, for dignity, for inclusion.

3. Can you describe the moment after the crash?

In a word: surreal. There was confusion, pain, a strange stillness – and then a sudden, visceral awareness that I was alive. The world around me had been ripped apart, and yet there I was, conscious, breathing. I remember the heat, the silence, the smell of fuel and smoke. But above all, I remember a sense of stunned clarity. I knew this wasn’t just survival – it was a turning point. The question wasn’t “Why me?” but “What now?” And from that moment, everything – how I lived, how I led, how I thought – started to shift.

4. What inspired you to write Seat 1C? And what did you discover about yourself while writing it?

I didn’t set out to write a book. Seat 1C began as a personal attempt to make sense of the chaos. There was so much I was holding inside – fear, gratitude, questions about fate, systems, survival. Writing gave me a way to process it, and eventually, to share it.

But as I wrote, I realized this wasn’t just about a crash. It was about leadership, vulnerability, institutions, and how we deal with crisis in a society where systems are often brittle. I discovered that I had more to say – not just about what happened, but about what it meant.

What surprised me was how writing became a mirror. It brought to the surface parts of myself I hadn’t examined before – my coping mechanisms, my fears, my unfinished business with the past. And it taught me that telling the truth – even when it’s raw – can be a deeply healing and connective act.

5. From surviving the crash to writing Seat 1C, how did the healing journey begin?

The healing began when I stopped trying to “get back to normal.” I realized there was no going back. Something had shifted, and I needed to build forward from there. That required sitting with the discomfort — not bypassing it. I allowed myself to feel the weight of it all: the lives lost, the randomness of survival, the expectations that came with being one of the few who made it.

For a while, I leaned into solitude. But gradually, conversations with close friends and family helped. Writing helped. So did work – but only when it was rooted in purpose. The process of writing Seat 1C was pivotal. It gave form to my emotions and allowed me to reclaim the narrative from trauma.

Over time, I came to understand that healing isn’t linear. Some days you’re okay, some days you’re not. And that’s fine. What matters is learning to walk with the experience – not be defined by it. In doing so, I found not just recovery, but a renewed sense of clarity about who I am, why I lead, and what truly matters.

6. What was the hardest part — the physical recovery or the emotional weight?

The physical recovery was painful, but it followed a clear path – scans, surgeries, physiotherapy. There was structure to it. The emotional weight, though, was far more complex. You don’t realize it at first – you’re grateful to be alive, surrounded by well-wishers, back to work. But the trauma doesn’t vanish. It shows up quietly – in the pauses between meetings, in dreams, in your reactions to loud noises or sudden silences.

What made it harder was the public nature of it all. I was expected to bounce back, to lead, to set an example. And while I understood that, it sometimes meant shelving my own grief to play the role of the “resilient survivor.” That balancing act – between being a professional and being human – was the hardest part. Accepting that healing isn’t about being unbreakable, but about being honest with your scars, was a lesson I had to learn in the long run.

7. Is there a quote or line from the book that means the most to you?

There’s a line in Seat 1C that I come back to often:  
“Survival isn’t a full stop; it’s a comma – a pause before a new sentence you never thought you’d write.”

That line encapsulates the heart of the book for me. Survival isn’t the end of the story. It’s a starting point, and one that carries its own burden. You don’t just move on – you move forward with the memory, the weight, the responsibility. That quote reminds me that life after crisis isn’t about erasure. It’s about integration – about making peace with the interruption and writing a new chapter, knowing the punctuation has changed.

8. When you took over the Bank of Punjab, what was your vision and where do you feel the bank stands today?

When I joined BOP, the vision was clear: to transform it from a legacy institution into a forward-looking, impact-driven bank – one that doesn’t just serve balance sheets but enables real economic mobility. We wanted to shift the conversation from transactional banking to transformational banking – rooted in transparency, technology and trust.

Today, I feel proud of how far we’ve come. We’ve institutionalized governance, cleaned up the balance sheet, and invested heavily in digital infrastructure. But more importantly, we’ve reoriented the bank’s soul. Whether it’s MSME financing, agricultural support, or our partnership with innovation ecosystems like NICL, the focus has been on catalyzing real, inclusive growth. There’s still work to be done, but the foundation is solid. The bank now stands as a credible, modern institution that plays offense, not defense – especially in an environment as volatile as Pakistan’s.

9. What’s your take on the current economic crisis in Pakistan, and how can banking institutions play a greater role?

Pakistan’s current crisis isn’t just fiscal – it’s structural. It’s about a persistent inability to convert potential into productivity. We’ve long depended on external lifelines while neglecting domestic competitiveness, innovation, and institutional depth.

Banks can no longer afford to be passive intermediaries. We need to move beyond lending against collateral to lending against ideas. That means rethinking risk, developing sectoral expertise, and partnering with the government in smart, targeted ways – not bailouts, but co-investment in infrastructure, agri-value chains, and digitization.

Financial institutions also need to democratize access. There’s a massive unbanked population and a trust deficit we have to address – especially among women, youth and informal businesses. Banks must become enablers of dignity, not just providers of capital. That requires product innovation, tech-driven outreach, and a shift in mindset – from gatekeepers to catalysts.

10. What legacy do you hope to leave in banking and in life?

In banking, I hope to leave behind institutions that are more than just profitable – institutions that are principled, progressive, and people-centered. If I’ve helped move the needle on governance, inclusion, and innovation, then I’ll consider that meaningful work.

But beyond banking, the legacy I hope for is simpler: that I showed up with integrity, that I used whatever platform I had – whether in a boardroom or in a book – to make people think, feel, and hopefully act a little differently. I want to be remembered not just for surviving a crash or running a bank, but for the way I tried to turn adversity into purpose, and systems into stories worth believing in.

At the end of the day, legacy isn’t about your name – it’s about the impact that quietly continues, long after you’ve stepped away.