If anyone wronged Zubeen Garg the most during his lifetime, it was the very people we call intellectuals — the so-called literary society. Despite his enormous contributions, they never seriously evaluated his songs, his poetry, or his music. Personal essays appeared here and there, but those scattered writings could never do justice to the vastness and depth of Zubeen’s creative legacy. His self-composed songs, his choice of words, his musical experiments, his bold fusions, his use of folk instruments — none of these received the sustained attention they truly deserved.
In his nearly three-decade career, there were only a handful of attempts to study or document his creations, and even those came very late. Nobody really knows what his self-declared “social leftist” philosophy meant. The conferring of an honorary doctorate in literature by the University of Science, Technology, and Management (USTM) was also a recent gesture. To me, that remains the only dignified recognition Zubeen Garg received in his lifetime.
This neglect was not new. Bhupen Hazarika too was treated with indifference by the intellectual class of his time. Was he not deeply disheartened as well? Hazarika eventually turned away from waiting for their approval. He began writing songs addressed directly to his listeners — the masses who embraced his music wholeheartedly. That is why he expressed this pain in one of his famous songs, dedicating it to his common listeners:
“To the thousands who listen to my songs, my greetings to you.
In the assembly of songs, you are the chief ornament.”
(“Mur gitor hezar shrota, tumak nomoskar.
Gitor sabhat tumiyetu prodhan alongkar.”)
For years, Bhupen Hazarika edited newspapers and journals, pouring out his anger, frustrations, and disappointments through his writings. Zubeen Garg, however, was different. He was not one to write essays or conceal his feelings in measured words. He was direct — he said things as they were. A tender-hearted man, but denied the recognition he rightly deserved from the intellectual class, his heart must have carried unspoken pain. That accumulation of hurt and disappointment eventually erupted in rebellion, captured in his blunt declaration: “I don’t care a damn for anyone.” (Moi ghenta kaku khatir nokoru.)
The shy boy who once worried that drinking water from a bottle on stage might be mistaken for alcohol gradually transformed into the fearless artist who no longer cared for anyone’s approval. Many reasons lay behind this transformation.
About eight or nine years ago, a research scholar from Jawaharlal Nehru University told me she wanted to study Zubeen’s use of musical instruments. She asked if I had any material. At that time, I had a book on his life which contained a small chapter with only a limited discussion of his music. I gave her a copy of that chapter, but it was far from adequate. Lacking resources, she could not continue her research. (Later, I used that same book as a reference for a short video on Zubeen’s music.)
This is precisely why I believe serious academic work on Zubeen Garg must begin now. University students and researchers should explore his original creations — his songs and his music. Intellectuals may already have delayed too long, but instead of spending endless hours discussing only the circumstances of his death, let them finally turn to his art. Matters surrounding his passing can be left to journalists and ordinary admirers like us; scholarship should focus on his creations.
There is another regret I cannot suppress. Zubeen Garg loved books. Yet interviewers and journalists rarely highlighted this aspect of his life. In a recent Facebook post, singer Ananya Dutta recalled how Zubeen had once gifted her the book Sukanta Rachanasamagra. (I too had purchased the same book around 2014 from a small bookshop on Park Street, Kolkata.) She mentioned that one of Zubeen’s favourite poems was Sukanta’s famous Ekti Muruger Kahini (The Story of a Hen).
And yet, imagine this: a man who cherished books was once presented, as a ‘gift’ in a cultural programme by the Asam Sahitya Sabha, not with books but with a hamper containing Multani mitti and other cosmetic items. Zubeen felt humiliated and expressed his anger publicly: “I thought there would be books in the hamper.”
Such moments show us the disregard he faced, even from institutions that should have known better. The group of people who surrounded Zubeen Garg day and night cannot be exempted from this collective failure either.
One of my greatest lifelong regrets will always be that I never got the chance to listen to — or conduct myself — an interview with Zubeen Garg solely on books and literature. That unfulfilled wish will continue to haunt me for the rest of my life.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of EastMojo.
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