In late 2024, a small food stall near Kolkata's Sealdah railway station captured the imagination of millions across South Asia. Its owner, Raju Das, better known as Rajuda, sold what he called "pocket parathas" at a price that felt almost impossible in an age of rising food inflation.
For 20 rupees, customers could eat three stuffed parathas along with unlimited curry, boiled eggs, onions and chilies. Videos of long queues in front of his stall flooded YouTube and Facebook, with hashtags like #RajudaPocketPorota gaining millions of views.
Within weeks, the story crossed the border into Bangladesh, where food vloggers and ordinary citizens marveled at the generosity of a man who often told his customers, "Eat first, pay later."
For many in Bangladesh, the stall became a symbol of survival and solidarity in hard times. People even traveled from Dhaka to Kolkata to experience it firsthand.
Rajuda became not only a food vendor but also a cultural icon, whose life of struggle and simplicity resonated deeply with audiences facing their own battles against inflation and inequality.
Yet less than a year later, Rajuda's dominance on Bangladeshi social media appears to have been overtaken by another figure: Mizanur Rahman, widely known as Mizan Bhai.
Mizanur started what he calls "Goriber Buffet" or Buffet for the Poor in Dhaka's Agargaon area.
His model is different but carries the same spirit of generosity.
Customers at Mizan's roadside buffet are invited to eat as much as they like and then pay by dropping money into a box.
The suggested price is Tk100 for beef or chicken meals and Tk60 for vegetable meals, but there is no fixed bill. In an environment where many families struggle to put together a full plate of food, this trust-based system struck an immediate chord.
Rajuda's Rise: A cross-border phenomenon
For Rajuda, the journey had been long. He had been selling food at Sealdah for more than 14 years before the viral moment came.
His pocket parathas were not an invention of 2024 but a humble solution to hunger that he had been offering for over a decade.
Social media, however, transformed his small stall into an international talking point.
By the end of 2024, several popular YouTube channels had uploaded videos of Rajuda's stall.
Viewers saw customers standing in lines that stretched down the street, waiting to taste the food. Many commented on the affordability compared to the rising costs of food across the region.
Some Bangladeshi viewers shared posts describing how they traveled all the way to Kolkata simply to eat at his stall, treating the trip as a pilgrimage of sorts.
Mainstream Indian television soon picked up the story, and Rajuda was invited to appear on entertainment shows.
By January 2025, he had become a household name in many parts of Bengal and Bangladesh. Yet with fame came pressure.
His small stall could not handle the sudden crowds.
Food vloggers crowded him with cameras. Online payment systems were difficult to manage. The generosity that had made him famous now became a logistical headache.
But even then, back in Bangladesh, Rajuda reigned supreme. His kingdom, however, was about to come crashing down.
The birth of Mizan's buffet
While Rajuda struggled with the weight of sudden fame, a new figure was preparing to make his mark in Dhaka.
In August 2025, Mizanur Rahman opened his "Buffet for the Poor" in the capital's Agargaon. Unlike Rajuda's fixed price model, Mizan allowed customers to eat as much as they liked and pay according to selection of particular items. A box at the counter replaced the cashier.
The menu was simple. Beef or chicken meals were priced at Tk100, while vegetable meals were available for Tk60.
Rice was unlimited, as were basic curries. Mizan also offered free mung dal.
For many, it was not just a cheap meal but a dignified way to eat with family.
Motorbike drivers, Rickshaw pullers, CNG operators and eventually people from all walks of life began to gather at the buffet.
Families with children also found it attractive because they could eat together without worrying about portion limits.
Mizan himself explained in an interview that he was not running the buffet at a loss. On busy days, 250 to 300 people ate at his stall, generating more than Tk100,000 in sales. He managed the crowds by introducing a token system and carefully controlling the amount of food prepared each day.
Social media amplification
The real turning point for Mizan came when a video of his buffet was uploaded by a social media influencer.
Within days, Mizan became a new viral sensation.
Thousands of shares and comments poured in, praising Mizan for providing real support to low-income communities during an economic crisis.
Soon YouTube and Facebook feeds were filled with videos of Mizan's buffet. Hashtags like #GoriberBuffet began trending. Some vloggers even compared him directly with Rajuda, calling Mizan's buffet the "next level" version of cheap and generous food culture.
The timing could not have been better.
By mid-2025, Rajuda's story was no longer new, and fresh content was needed to capture attention. Mizan's buffet arrived as the perfect local answer to a regional trend.
Why Mizan replaced Rajuda
There are several reasons why Mizan's buffet overtook Rajuda's pocket parathas in Bangladesh's digital landscape.
First, the timing was crucial.
Rajuda's peak popularity came in late 2024, but the story began to fade as fewer new videos appeared.
Mizan's buffet launched at exactly the moment when audiences were ready for something new.
Second, local relevance played a key role.
While Rajuda's story was inspirational, it was still based in Kolkata.
For Bangladeshi viewers, Mizan's buffet was directly connected to their own reality. The trust-based system of payment spoke directly to the struggles of Bangladesh's working class, making the content more relatable.
Third, scalability mattered. Rajuda's stall was never designed to handle massive crowds, and he faced constant issues with overcrowding.
Mizan, however, quickly adapted by creating a token system, scaling up his daily sales, and making his stall suitable for families as well as individuals.
Challenges and adjustments
As the buffet gained popularity, the crowd grew far beyond what Mizan had imagined.
What started as a small initiative quickly turned into a daily rush of people lining up for food. With so many customers, and some leaving without paying, Mizan was forced to make changes to his original trust-based system.
"In the beginning, I let everyone eat first and then asked them to drop money in the box," Mizan explained. "But with the huge crowd and many leaving without paying, I had no choice but to introduce the token system. This way food does not go to waste, and I know exactly how many people to cook for."
Managing a wide variety of curries also proved too difficult in the face of such heavy demand. To keep the buffet running smoothly, Mizan decided to simplify the menu.
"Before, I used to serve dal, vegetables, chicken, and many other items. But the crowd was impossible to manage," he said. "Now I only serve beef. Each piece is measured at 50 grams so that everyone gets their fair share."
While these restrictions made the operation more practical, Mizan was not left alone to carry the burden. Support began pouring in from unexpected corners. Bangladeshi migrants living abroad, as well as local YouTubers and content creators, started donating logistics like pots, plates, and even direct funds.
"Many brothers living abroad and local YouTubers and creators have helped me with pots, plates, even money," Mizan shared gratefully.
"Some even give advance money and tell me to feed poor people with it. With their support I can continue. Alone, I might have been forced to shut it down.
"The idea is simple," Mizanur Rahman explained while overseeing his stall on a crowded evening. "I wanted to create a place where no one goes hungry because of money. People can eat as much as they want, then drop what they can afford into the box. Some give the full amount, some give less, some even give more. I do not lose anything. At the end of the day, it balances out. What matters most is that everyone eats with dignity."
The response from customers was immediate and heartfelt. Abdul Karim, a 45-year-old rickshaw puller, said he had never felt so respected at a food stall.
"After a whole day of hard work, it feels good to sit and eat like this. I don't have to count how many spoons of rice I can take. For 100 taka, I can eat beef and fill my stomach properly. Before, I used to spend the same money and still go hungry."
For motorbike delivery worker Shahin Alam, the buffet has become a regular stop between jobs. "When I am on the road, I need quick and affordable food. Here I can eat well, and I know the owner trusts me. Sometimes I leave a little more for Mizan Bhai, sometimes less. No one judges me. That freedom is special."
Farzana Akter, a young office employee from nearby Sher-e-Bangla Nagar, often comes with her colleagues. "I come here with my friends because it feels different from a restaurant. There is no waiter rushing you, no one checking your bill. You eat, you pay what you can, and you leave. It is simple, but it makes you feel respected. In Dhaka, that is rare."
Mizan's rise offers important lessons about how social media trends work in Bangladesh. Viral content does not survive without local relevance.
But even Mizan's growth comes with pitfalls: currently, a memefication of his persona is on going at full throttle, reducing him from a cultural hero-of-sorts to an angry man chasing after Youtubers and those who refuse to pay at his hotel.
How these are handled will eventually script the rest of the story.
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