Formal obituary 

Dr. Inayat Ullah Mangla of Ashburn, Virginia, returned to his Creator in the early hours of Sunday, January 18, 2026. He had recently been diagnosed with lung cancer. He was 81 years old.

إِنَّا لِلَّهِ وَإِنَّا إِلَيْهِ رَاجِعُونَ

Inna lillahe wa inna elaihe rajeoon.

To Allah we belong and to Allah we return.

He is survived by his wife, Ayesha Mangla; his four children — Usman Mangla (Detroit), Ismat Mangla (New York), Talat Mangla (Northern Virginia) and Nauman Mangla (Grand Rapids); and six beloved grandchildren.

Born in 1944 in Chak Mangla, a small village near Sargodha in India (later Pakistan), Dr. Mangla was a devoted Ahmadi Muslim after his family accepted Ahmadiyyat in 1954. He was a pioneering member of the Canada Jama’at of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community in the early 1980s.

Dr. Mangla taught at Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo, Michigan, for more than three decades. He retired as a Professor Emeritus of Finance in 2016. He had a deep love for finance and economics, earning a Fulbright Scholarship to pursue his doctorate at Michigan State University in the 1970s. He later received three additional Fulbright awards to teach abroad.

A dedicated mentor, Dr. Mangla guided and encouraged many as they began their academic and professional journeys, always eager to help them find their footing with generosity and humility.

He often marveled at how his life transformed from humble beginnings as the son of a simple farmer from Chak Mangla, attributing his success to Allah the Almighty, Ahmadiyyat and the blessings and guidance of Khilafat.

May Allah forgive any of his shortcomings, grant him an elevated station in Paradise and bestow patience and strength upon his bereaved family. May He continue to shower us all with His countless blessings. Ameen.

Reflections from his daughter, Ismat Mangla

We are heartbroken to share that our father, Dr. Inayat Ullah Mangla, returned to his Creator in the early hours of Sunday, January 18, 2026. He had recently been diagnosed with lung cancer. He was 81 years old.

Inna lillahe wa inna elaihe rajeeon.

To Allah we belong, and to Allah we return.

He leaves behind his wife, Ayesha; two sons, Usman (Huma) and Nauman (Alisa); two daughters, Ismat and Talat (Ahmed); six grandchildren (Saba, Wafa, Kamran, Nida, Nila and Nina) and many nieces and nephews.

It is difficult and inadequate to sum up a life in a few words, but he did live a remarkable one.

Known to us as “Abba,” my father was born in 1944 in a poor, rural farming village near Sargodha in India (later Pakistan). The youngest of four brothers and one sister, he discovered an early aptitude for memory and mathematics, which set him on a path of education. He often recalled how they didn’t even have electricity to light the lamps needed to study—and yet he persisted.

To say that his success in life—earning an education, marrying my mom, eventually settling in America, becoming a Fulbright scholar four times over, and more—was improbable is an understatement. He often marveled at how his life transformed from humble beginnings as the son of a “simple farmer from Chak Mangla.” He attributed everything he achieved solely to the grace of God and to a strong relationship with Khilafat-e-Ahmadiyya, the system of divinely-guided successorship of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community. His family became Ahmadi Muslims in 1954, and he remained devoted ever since.

This was one of his most consistent lessons to us—that if you worked hard, pursued an education and always placed your trust in God (tawakkul), miracles could happen.

And he was an incredibly hard worker. He taught at Western Michigan University for more than three decades, retiring as a Professor Emeritus of Finance in 2016. He had a deep love for finance and economics, earning the prestigious Fulbright Scholarship to pursue his doctorate at Michigan State University in the 1970s. He later received three additional Fulbright awards to teach abroad.

He had high expectations for his students—and he extended that grading well beyond the classroom. For nearly any life event, big or small, he would bestow a grade (“Today, I give you: B+.”) Whether it was cooking a good meal, navigating through traffic or completing a task he assigned, we were graded—and escaping with anything above a B was lucky.

Throughout his life, he prioritized mentoring and helping hundreds of students, family members and really anyone who sought his help in their academics, careers or in life more broadly. He was generous with his time, counsel and resources. Growing up, I remember so many international students coming to our home for dinners, advice and sometimes even housing. He was especially generous to those who, like him, were finding their footing in a new place.

He loved talking with people, old friends and new, and one of his favorite activities was attending the annual conventions of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community around the world—a love and commitment he instilled in his family as well.

Since his passing, we’ve heard from many people he taught or mentored. One wrote, “I forgot a lot of what he taught, but I remember his humanity, his kindness and his sense of humor that he brought to the classroom.” Another shared, “He was a man of principles, kindness and integrity, blessed with a truly beautiful heart. He always cared deeply for others and was ever willing to help, with humility and sincerity. I still remember my first visit to the United States, when he personally received me with such warmth and care. That moment left a lasting impression on me and reflected the depth of his compassion and generosity.”

When we learned of his illness in December, many former students and colleagues reached out to tell us how much he had shaped their lives, and that they were praying for him.

He was a tough critic of the shortcomings of his adopted country—sometimes joking that it was being overrun by “lawyers, liars, thieves and thugs”—but he loved the United States nonetheless. I recall him saying, after he had spent a year on sabbatical in Dubai in the early 2000s, that there was no place like America and no place he’d rather be.

After retiring, my parents left the snowy winters of Michigan in 2018 to live in Virginia together with Talat and her family. He was surrounded daily by four of his grandchildren. I know he loved it here—seeing them off to school in the morning, spending time on the deck, enjoying the energy of a bustling, raucous home—even if he did often have to remind the kids to lower the volume.

Like us, his children, his six grandkids quickly became familiar with his many quirks and catchphrases that made him unmistakably himself. We’ll miss hearing him say that “Cash is king” or “Use your judgment” or “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.” We’ll miss him printing emails and articles in an age when everything is digital, explaining, “It’s good to have things in hard copy!”

I’ll miss his keen observations, offered casually and when you least expected them, often with a sly humor that could surprise. I’ll miss him blasting CNBC and the tattered little newspaper clippings he’d cut from the Wall Street Journal, shared with me with a hastily scribbled and underlined “Ismat” on them, to indicate how important it was that I absorbed whatever information was in them. And I’ll miss how, even well into my 40s, he would quietly slip a few dollars into my hand when I was leaving, to make sure I was taken care of and safe.

No matter what I did in life, or what struggles I faced, l always had the reassurance that my parents would be there to support me if anything went wrong. It is frightening to face life knowing that half the equation is gone. But true to his lessons, we put our complete trust in God, that He will care for us as they did.

A few weeks ago, reflecting on his life, my dad said to a group of us, with both marvel and gratitude: “I had a good inning.”

Yes, he did.

May his soul now be at rest. May Allah forgive his shortcomings and elevate his status in Paradise. May He enable us to carry on his legacy. Ameen. 

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