Stage to Streets: How Zubeen Garg became Assam’s conscience and soul

It took more than a month, not only to process but also to write an obituary for Zubeen Garg. Still, people are in mourning in Assam, and remembrance meetings are being organised in almost every district.

Also, I haven’t seen the roads in Assam look so deserted — festivals with limited people, people unable to celebrate, and everything coming to a standstill, which brought back the memories of Assam in the 90s, when Assam bandhs or curfews were very common.

However, this time it was for the death of the state’s cultural icon, Zubeen Garg, who doesn’t need any introduction. He garnered fame and popularity among youth, elders, and others after the release of his album Anamika in 1992, the same year I was born.

A period that many remember hearing stories of killings, abduction, bomb blasts, and curfews; however, it was Zubeen whose musical renditions aided in healing those wounds cutting across age groups and genders, especially making the youth fall in love with his songs like Anamika, Pritir Xubaxe (The Sweetness of Love), or Monor Nijanot (Solitude of My Heart), and many more.

I have grown up listening to his songs on an old tape recorder that my mother bought, and she would replay those songs, especially hits like Maya, Ganne Ki Aana, or Mayabini, which were played without fail every evening.

Growing up, I saw everyone humming to those as well as Bihu songs from the Junbai series and many others. Though I couldn’t understand their connotation or meaning back then, as a migrant who lived in two cities — whether it was in Delhi or in Cape Town — slowly and gradually his songs would often remind me of home and the continued desire to return home during Bihu, and that yearning or longing for our maati (home) continues, especially being far from our land, family, and people.

His songs always gave me, and many others, hope, strength, and resilience, and comforted me in many ways, even when I was far from my homeland.

The stage was his playground for assertions

He holds a very special place among Axomiya, especially as he was seen as a synonym for Bihu — without his songs, the Bihu festival felt incomplete. Before being exposed to Bollywood singers or songs, I was exposed to him as a teenager, as his first Bihu function was in Duliajan in 2005, a place where I grew up and spent my childhood.

I remember it was past 11 p.m. when he got up on the stage and sang his first song; the crowd became uncontainable, and for a moment, I could hear only people shouting and requesting him to sing their favorites.

From then on, he visited Duliajan so many times between 2005 and 2024, the last time Zubeen was ‘home’, and this excitement and exhilaration continued among the residents of Duliajan year after year, even during incessant rain. I have witnessed a huge crowd standing firm to listen to him sing Bihu songs.

This was something echoed by my friends from different districts of Assam as well, and I don’t think I can imagine something like that going forward for any other artist in the state. Over the years, these Bihu functions were often seen as his playground for assertion, questioning the status quo of leaders, the party, and places as well.

I remember in 2023, when I was away for my PhD coursework in Cape Town, during his performance, he questioned the status quo of the oil town (Duliajan), and said, “People say Duliajan has a lot of money, then why are the roads so poor, or why doesn’t it have any cinema hall?”

This was him not only questioning the failed welfare state but also forcing people to question the status quo of the so-called ‘Oil Town’, which generates a lot of revenue for the state but fails to provide basic facilities like roads or a cinema hall.

Zubeen’s assertion on the cinema hall emanates not only from the perspective of the gap in entertainment but also from how cinema, over the years, has influenced social and political life, cultural exchange, and so on.

Many towns, including Duliajan in Assam, lacked that nature of communal experience, leading to the deprivation of the cultural, urban experience of its residents and the need for re-imagination of these towns.

The long walk for the star

Social media was flooded with images of fans flocking to follow the procession from Guwahati airport, calling it one of the largest processions in the world for any artist. Perhaps this was the longest and most emotional journey for many Axomiya as they lost their beloved dada or son.

People across all ages, genders, classes, and religious groups joined to welcome him to his homeland. Usually, the journey from Guwahati airport to his home in Kahilipara takes 50 minutes to 1 hour, but it took more than 5 hours to reach his home, as everyone wanted to get a glimpse of their Zubeen Da.

I happened to be in Guwahati and decided to take a bike taxi on the 19th and 21st of September. Both drivers with whom I travelled narrated, “Since I heard about Dada’s death, I couldn’t sleep peacefully on Friday night. I had a very disturbed sleep as my body was restless, I couldn’t process it, and I was thinking this might be fake news. So, I decided to visit his home at Kahilipara the next morning. I sat near his home for almost 2 hours as my family was persistently asking me to show them around via video calls. When it was past 11 a.m., I decided to head out from there. As the roads were deserted, the shops were closed, and I couldn’t get anything to eat. I had to go to Paltan Bazar to have lunch.”

Another rider added, “When I got to know from social media that Zubeen Da would be brought back to Guwahati on Sunday morning, I decided to join everyone from Boragaon and went to his Kahilipara residence. It took us more than 2 hours to reach there. However, I couldn’t see him, so I decided to visit Sarusajai Stadium on 21st September to bid him a final farewell.”

Both expressed that this was a huge loss for the state and its people, and this was a loss for a lifetime. They mentioned, “Axom’e aru enekuna manuh ghurai nepau, eitu eta jatti’r karone dangor loss” (Assam will not get anyone like him ever, and this is a huge loss for the Assamese community).

This resonated not only for those who were in Guwahati but also for many others who were glued to their TVs and social media to become part of this iconic final journey.

The same feeling resonated with many others, including my friends from different districts of Assam, as well as states like Tripura, who called me around 11:15 p.m. and asked, “Brother, are you in Guwahati?” To which I said yes. He then asked me, “Will you be visiting the stadium to see Zubeen Da?” To that, I agreed as well.

My friend and I decided to visit the stadium at 1 a.m.; it was packed with people, and somehow we managed to reach the resting place at around 3:45 a.m. In the wee hours, I saw many young, old, and even children queuing up or coming at early hours to the stadium, singing his songs like Mayabini, which he mentioned in an interview should be played upon his death.

That was Zubeen for Axomiya across Assam, as well as among the Assamese diaspora in India and abroad. He was like a breath of fresh air who often broke the shackles of rigidity, norms, hierarchy, and class — often on and off the stage. Someone who wore his heart on his sleeve and didn’t mince a single word when it came to standing up for Axomiya jaati and maati (Assamese community and land).

Masses of men who often question the status quo

He was never just an artist for the people of Assam; he wore many hats — for some, he was a son, for some, he was a Dada or Da (brother), activist, ardent animal and environmental lover, and most importantly, he called himself a “people’s man” first. As his fan base transcended state, religious, and linguistic boundaries, his loss was nonetheless evident in the streets, even during Durga Puja celebrations and  family and cultural festivities. In addition to being an artist, he was known for his assertive nature.

He frequently spoke for the people in a witty and outspoken way, whether it was in opposition to the removal and felling of trees in Dighalipukhuri, Guwahati, for the construction of the GNB flyover. He asserted, “If you cut the trees from Dighalipukhuri, will the beauty of that place remain the same? A bird sits on trees, not on a flyover.”

He has been instrumental in catalysing change by drawing attention to the environmental ramifications the flyover might have on the area, as well as stimulating public debate and exerting pressure on decision-makers to reconsider and amend ecologically harmful choices.

However, post his death, many social media posts were being circulated about the cutting of trees for the same flyover. The authenticity of such posts needs to be checked. But these sit-ins or voices of dissent from him are fundamental in a democratic framework that ensures accountability, protection, and transparency from the state. Time and again, he became the torchbearer of the Axomiya voice, often challenging the status quo of the state and its notion of power.

Axomiya folks frequently observed him on the streets for different social causes, such as the 2019 state protest of the Anti-Citizenship Act, which was an act to hold the state accountable for its actions and to demand assurance that these projects would not affect the state’s identity and culture.

During the protest, he made it clear that “The regime cannot use Assam as a place to dump refugees and harvest resources like coal, oil, or tea from the state for their gains.” By doing so, he echoed the apprehensions and anxieties of people in reference to the act.

Since his passing, many people, including myself, who are still grieving, are compelled to consider who will be the next voice of the people to challenge the status quo without fear of intimidation or taming. In many respects, his death deprived people of the voice and assistance they frequently received around Assamese identity, resources, and rights.

With his death, let’s not only live with his melodies but also his philosophies of life, like Ubuntu, to not only think about ourselves but also shared values, communalism, and interconnectedness that should cut across religious, community, class, and caste lines in the state. Let’s continue to live with Zubeengiri.

The author is a PhD Candidate at the Department of Social Work and Social Development, University of Cape Town. Views expressed are personal and do not represent the views of EastMojo on this or any other matter.