Zubeen Garg is no more. But how can we accept this? He was only 52—too young, too vibrant. Yes, he had been a little unwell lately, but that was manageable. He remained active and working.
When my wife first broke the news of Zubeen’s death, I was devastated. She’s been in shock ever since, as if she’d lost a family member. I’ve barely focused on anything else; my thoughts are consumed by Zubeen. I was never a Zubeen fan, but his sudden passing has struck me so hard.
Zubeen’s death has affected everyone in Assam. In his death, he became a member of every Assamese family.
We saw how people reacted when his mortal remains arrived in Assam from Singapore on September 21. A sea of mourners—especially the youth—flooded Guwahati Airport for one last glimpse. It echoed the day in 2011 when crowds lined the roads from the airport to Chanmari for Bhupen Hazarika’s farewell. But Bhupen Hazarika was 85, frail from years of illness. Zubeen? His death was a shock—unexpected, untimely, and heartbreaking. It has left us all dumbfounded.
Why are we feeling so sad and inconsolable? It was his music and his innocuous personality. He was like a child—so lovely and mischievous. Music’s appeal is universal: a tune defies borders, traveling from past to present and into the future. Yet true music roots itself in the local—it carries the scent of its land. In music, the local blends with the external, the universal. What matters is its fusion; a tune is never exclusive.
Born with a gifted voice, Zubeen honed it into something electric. His tone—lively and raw—pulled people in, especially the young. They connected with the youthfulness and rebellion in his songs, which pulsed with their dreams, aspirations, and even frustrations.
Tracks like “Morom Bani” or the Hindi hit “Ya Ali” brimmed with energy—fast rhythms, emotional highs and lows, a rawness that goes straight to the soul. I remember my one brush with him: inviting Zubeen to a children’s book fair, where he lit up, sharing how books had shaped his world. “Reading fuels the fire in my songs,” he said, eyes sparkling. That glimpse revealed the man behind the voice—a man alive with ideas.
Artists are always products of their time. Jyotiprasad Agarwala and Bishnu Prasad Rabha, two of Assam’s most celebrated cultural icons, drew their creative inspiration from India’s freedom struggle. Bhupen Hazarika inherited the true legacy of Jyotiprasad and Bishnu Rabha.
Later, he was also influenced by the IPTA movement and his associations with figures like Hemanga Biswas and others. That’s why his earlier songs are so replete with social consciousness.
Zubeen emerged in a different era: one of anarchy and stagnation in Assam, without the influence of mass movements. His music became the rebellion—turbulent waves in a restless ocean, echoing the individual unrest and despair of his generation, which often found expression in love and sensuality.
In a world of corporate greed and big money, it’s difficult for a talented artist to remain aloof from the surrounding pressures of corporate interests. Zubeen was no exception. But he stayed earthy and never lost touch with the common man. It’s no wonder that at times he even dabbled in profanity—a sign of his easy communication with the man on the street.
Today, Zubeen is dead, but he will forever live in our hearts and memories. We shall always remember him for the rebellious streak in his personality and his vibrant, youthful music. But his death is a great loss for Assamese culture —one that will never be filled so soon.