Zubeen Garg: Assam’s Cultural Maverick and Timeless Icon
A singer and a passionate lover of humanity and nature, Zubeen Garg’s legacy is not merely a memory, but a living beacon that will inspire Assam’s people and culture for generations.
Over the past month, while distanced from my homeland, Assam, I have found myself drawn ever closer to the music of Zubeen Garg, through the vibrant presence of his performances captured in social media, the evocative playlists that celebrate his legacy, and through the conversations I had with some of the artists I am associated with. Each exploration into his world had left me profoundly moved. As I witnessed the ever-growing tapestry of moments, his electrifying stage performances, candid media dialogues, and heartfelt interviews, those glimpses revealed not only the magnitude of his talent but also a deep affection and reverence he inspires among his admirers across generations.
A deep, heartfelt regret lingers within me, a sorrow for having only recently discovered Garg as more than a musical phenomenon. An Axomiya by birth, I never had the privilege of meeting him, nor did the thought of seeking him out ever cross my mind. He was like a rising star back when we were in college in the late 90s in Assam. We listened to his songs while we were at that time also being somewhat influenced by Hindi film music.
It’s been more than three decades that Garg had been on the stage of Assam entertaining the people of the land, a time where perhaps most of the youth from our generation had moved on in life and have settled down outside the land. Garg eventually became a connection for the generation like us who felt connected to their land and culture by listening to his songs. Undoubtedly, his love songs, patriotic anthems, and innovative spirit shaped the musical landscape of our youth, ushering in a revolution that transcended genres like rock, heavy metal, pop, and reggae. His intellectual curiosity was evident from the words of his cohorts who stated that his studios would be adorned with stacks of books offering a testament to his well-read nature. In a 2019 interview with Garg at the 21st North East Book Fair, journalist Bhaskar Jyoti Deka described the artist’s earlier words, “Kitab nopoha jatik konu gamusai bosabo nuware”. A people who do not read cannot be saved by blind emotions for traditional symbols. Garg was driven by his belief that reading must be nurtured from childhood. During the same event, one of the organisers revealed how Garg had voiced out against the rejections he faced while trying to hold book fairs in Assam, and successfully helped bring these events to life.
Through his music, Garg lovingly revived the old forms of music, borgeet, lokageet, Jyotir sangeet, and Rabha sangeet, blending them with modern sounds so that the songs of the past could find new life in the hearts of the young, echoing across generations and keeping Assam’s spirit alive.
In the days following his passing, the viral reels that flooded social media only deepened our sense of loss and admiration, making us reflect on the extraordinary legacy and wisdom he has left behind. Songs from the album Mukti (1997) sung by the sibling duo of Garg and Jonkie Borthakur have deeply moved many, inspiring and strengthening their resolve whenever they remember Assam’s challenging and turbulent history of the 80s and 90s. Garg’s music serves as a powerful reminder and a source of strength to face and heal from the past.
“Ondho aakakh kruddho botah” is a song that weaves together haunting imagery and existential reflection, using the motifs of darkness, silence, and struggle to evoke a sense of collective weariness and yearning for liberation. The lyrics open with a landscape of “blind sky” and “angry winds,” setting a tone of turmoil and emotional exhaustion. Through lines like “Mrityu etiya xohoj, mrityu etiya usob,” the song contemplates mortality not as an end, but as a pervasive presence, almost an art form or a release from suffering. The song’s middle stanzas dwell on the fatigue of life and the relentless search for meaning amid “naked struggle” and “weary minds.” Yet, the refrain of “mukuti” (freedom or liberation) emerges as both a dream and a tangible hope. The poet’s vision of “mukuti etiya hatot, mukuti etiya pranot” (freedom now in the hand, freedom now in the breath) transforms the song from despair to a quiet, resolute affirmation of agency and self-realisation. The song’s literary power lies in its ability to universalise personal anguish and longing, turning the search for peace and meaning into a shared human journey. The interplay of darkness and light, struggle and hope, makes “Ondho aakakh kruddho botah” a profound meditation on the possibility of liberation even in the bleakest of times.
“Xunere xojua poja johi khohi jai” is a deeply evocative song that uses the metaphor of a golden hut falling apart to symbolise the fragility and impermanence of home, community, and tradition. The recurring refrain, “Who will rebuild it now, who will cross the ocean?” expresses a collective anxiety about the loss of cultural heritage and the uncertainty of renewal. The song’s imagery is rich and poignant: the drying tears in a grandmother’s hearth, the longing gaze of a father, and the absence of familiar faces all evoke a sense of nostalgia and sorrow for a time and place that seems irretrievably lost. The landscape is further marked by the absence of moon and stars in the sky of love, and the silence of fields and cattle, broken only by the sound of gunfire at night suggesting a community scarred by violence and unrest. In its final verses, the song reflects on the passage of time and the unfulfilled promise of freedom, lamenting that even after a century, the light of Bishnu Jyoti’s vision has not yet illuminated the land. The lyrics challenge listeners to confront the reality of social disorder and the erosion of culture, asking whether the dreams of past generations have been realised or lost to chaos and injustice. Through its haunting refrain and vivid imagery, the song invites listeners to reflect on the meaning of home, the pain of separation, and the urgent need to preserve and rebuild what is precious in the face of adversity.
Garg never hailed the insurgency but deeply mourned it. His words reveal a visionary spirit, one that yearned for an Assam that stayed strong in the face of political indifference. He imagined an Assam where unity would triumph over division, and where no one would be left indifferent to the struggles around them.
Deeply inspired by Bishnu Prasad Rabha—a figure cherished across communities—Garg recognised how Assam’s many ethnic groups have long lived side by side, rarely letting differences overshadow their shared humanity. He felt this pulse of togetherness in every crowd he joined, and it moved him to act. Through his music, he lovingly revived the old forms of music, borgeet, lokageet, Jyotir sangeet, and Rabha sangeet, blending them with modern sounds so that the songs of the past could find new life in the hearts of the young.
Garg was featured in the film Mon Jai (2008) directed by Moirangthem Maniram. It is a deeply human story, capturing the pain and frustration of young men who find themselves stranded—full of hope and education, yet let down by a system that cannot keep its promises. Their sense of abandonment is not just a statistic; it is a lived reality that breeds both quiet despair and fierce rebellion, trapping the youth in a cycle where dreams are stifled and dignity is denied. What makes Mon Jai so moving is its refusal to paint social tensions in black and white. The film gently reveals the complex bonds between Assamese locals and Bangladeshi immigrants, showing that beneath the surface, people share struggles and humanity, even as larger forces threaten to pull them apart. The pressures of the outside world seep into homes, turning family life into a battleground of worry and conflict, where love and frustration coexist. The story also shines a light on the quiet strength of women. While the men are often paralysed by their anxieties, the women step forward with resilience and practical wisdom, guiding their families through chaos and offering a new vision of what it means to be strong.
At the heart of it all is Zubeen Garg, whose performance channels the raw emotions of a generation, their love, anger, hope, and heartbreak. The film does not pretend that solutions are easy, but instead stands as a powerful reminder of what happens when society neglects its youth. If revisited by Maniram, the film has the potential re-imagining a future where the story of Mon Jai would inspire young people to move from despair to action, to see their Assamese identity as a source of pride and strength, and to turn their frustrations into positive change. This vision echoes Garg’s own lifelong dream for a united, forward-looking Assam, making Mon Jai a heartfelt call to build a better tomorrow.
Language was not just a tool for music; it was a living, breathing connection to identity, roots, and community, and he approached it with all the care and dignity it deserved.
Garg never shied away from using the local slang “kela” on the stage, even when some people objected and called him outspoken or uncontrolled on stage. Yet, looking back, it’s clear that the slang carried much more than shock value—it became the language of protest and connection for Assamese youth. In the 1990s, when opportunities were scarce and young people faced unemployment and hardship, these words helped them express their frustration and solidarity. For many, these terms were not just slang, they were a way to share the pain of lost dreams and the absurdity of their struggles, even when words failed. Not everyone could escape to the mountains, as Mamoni Raisom Goswami wrote or as becomes evident in the literature written by the rebels at that point of time; some stayed in the valley, and Garg became their symbol. On stage, he would call out for the crowd’s energy by asking them to call him out uproariously, “Oi kela, Zubeen da buli matibi!” urging everyone to let their courage and rage be seen, to turn their anger into power. His message was clear: the new generation could shape or even shake the nation if they dared. Garg’s words, “Ami notun prajanmor manuh, ami ichcha korile desh holaboun parun, desh jolaboun parun” were a rallying cry as well as a heartfelt invitation for the youth to believe in their own power to shape the nation’s destiny. He spoke with the conviction that a new generation, if it truly wished, could build or even transform the country.
Yet, as the initial wave of emotion after his passing begins to settle, the real challenge remains: will we, as a community, truly honor the spirit behind his words and carry forward his vision with the same courage and hope that he inspired? Can he be kept alive through the actions of the youth?
Garg’s journey from singer and composer to music director and filmmaker was never just about building a career, it was about living his vision for Assam, side by side with its people. He spoke in the language of everyday life, sharing meals and moments with those around him, always making sure his presence was warm and approachable, whether on stage or in the street. He never stopped the cameras nor the people for he knew it was the people and the media that constructs a society. The love he received from his fans was the fuel for his creativity; their stories and struggles shaped his art.
In his podcast with Rita Chowdhury, The Uncut Zubeen: The Last Interview, Garg shared how he once turned down a famous Bollywood director simply because the lyrics didn’t appeal to him. He was never interested in chasing numbers or fame. He wanted to sing just a handful of songs each year, as long as they were meaningful. For Garg, art was never about fitting into someone else’s mold or being reduced to a “humming” voice in a distant city. He understood the subtle politics that often left Assam on the margins of India’s entertainment world, and he refused to let his identity be diluted. Garg’s choices were always guided by a deep respect for his roots and a quiet defiance against cultural hegemony.
Garg once said, “If money becomes my purpose, I won’t remain Zubeen Garg. I have never worked for money, that was never what my parents taught me. How much wealth can you carry beyond death? Even if you amass two thousand crores, none of it follows you. What remains then? Only what lies beyond.” These words revealed his deep commitment to work for its own sake, not for material reward. When he stepped onto the stage, he brought a presence that was both powerful and reassuring, often performing without any thought of payment. He used music as a medium to reach people’s hearts to awaken, challenge, and stand with them. In doing so, he echoed Ambedkar’s call to educate, agitate, and organise for justice, perhaps seeking to guide his people toward a life rooted in honesty and integrity.
In one of the most unforgettable moments from the 2019 film Kanchenjunga, Garg stood before the world and declared, “Mur kunu jaati nai, mur kunu dhormo nai, moi mukto, moi Kanchenjunga” (I have no caste, I have no religion, I am free, I am Kanchenjunga). As he broke off the sacred ‘yajñopavīta,’ he was not just shedding a symbol of Brahmanical identity, but making a bold statement for all to see. This act of defiance became a rallying cry, echoed by his fans on stage and felt deeply during his cremation after his passing. The question of caste in Assam is layered and cannot be understood through the lens of the traditional varnavyavastha alone. Assam, shaped by Sankaradeva’s bhakti movement and its embrace of many ethnicities, has always been a place where lines of caste and community blur. Garg’s gesture was more than protest, it was a call for social inclusion and brotherhood, a reminder that what binds us is far greater than what divides us.
Garg’s choice to sing in multiple ethnic languages across Assam speaks volumes about his deep commitment to social inclusion. His voice became a bridge connecting diverse communities, resonating alongside the state anthem as a unifying force. He embraced the rich mosaic of Assam’s ethnic heritage by singing in over 40 languages and dialects, weaving a vibrant cultural tapestry through his music. The song “Aei Mayar Dharat” beautifully blends Assamese with the Karbi language, reflecting Assam’s soulful diversity and the promise of equal space for every race and linguistic community.
Garg devoted significant time and energy to creating a new kind of cinema for Assam: films that truly resonated with its people and reflected their lives and aspirations. Through his bold efforts, he helped revolutionise the state’s film industry, showing that there was a thriving market for quality films in 21st-century Assam.
This blending of languages was a powerful statement about the unity and plurality that define Assam’s identity. By giving voice to distinct communities—including the emerging Baganiya identity tied to the Tea Garden peoples—Garg’s music became a heartfelt celebration of Assam’s many stories and struggles, fostering a sense of belonging and social inclusion for all. His Baganiya songs stand out in this light too. The Baganiya identity, linked to the Tea Garden community brought to Assam by British planters from faraway lands, is a long existing ethnicity with its own stories and struggles. Through his song “Assam Desher,” Garg gave voice to their long-standing plea for justice, capturing the powerful line, “Kahan jabo chadeke Assam” which was a poignant echo of their collective yearning and resilience. During an interview with the renowned journalist Wasbir Hussain, Garg’s fusion of folk and Western music was recognised as “tukari blues”—a genre pioneered by him.
Garg’s insistence on correcting the lyrics of Assam's state anthem, “O Mur Apunar Desh,” was a bold and heartfelt act of respect for his culture and language. Over time, the anthem had been sung with grammatical errors at various points, but Garg dared to raise his voice and set the record straight. His version brought clarity and authenticity back to the words, restoring their original power and beauty. This correction resonated deeply with the people of Assam, and his version gradually became the accepted standard, a testament to his dedication not just as a singer, but as a guardian of Assamese heritage.
Garg always made it clear that language was something sacred to him. He never played with it lightly. His deep respect and reverence for every language he sang in was evident in how thoughtfully he treated words, ensuring he honored the culture and people behind them. Language was not just a tool for music; it was a living, breathing connection to identity, roots, and community, and he approached it with all the care and dignity it deserved.
Garg had an extraordinary gift for pronunciation. His Assamese was almost flawless. Singing with such remarkable precision, especially when every word carries profound meaning, is no small feat. His mastery over the subtleties of pronunciation swaying effortlessly between glottal, epiglottal, and labial sounds reveals an extraordinary dedication to his craft. His voice was not just an instrument of melody but a conduit of Assam’s soul, reaching deep into the hearts of listeners with every perfectly articulated syllable. More than just melodies, however, his songs were carefully crafted poems, following rhyme schemes that are quite rare in popular music.
Garg often described himself as a socio-leftist, deeply committed to justice and equality. He stood firmly against any form of development that came at the cost of nature and human dignity, a message powerfully conveyed in his haunting song “Politics nokoriba bandhu.” Garg openly admired Che Guevara, an icon whose spirit inspired many young people in Assam, and he embraced those ideals wholeheartedly. Following in the footsteps of Bhupen Hazarika, he not only believed in these ideals but lived a life that reflected them, a life shaped by the values of social justice, resistance against oppression, and unwavering solidarity with the marginalised.
Garg was never one to stay silent on the pressing political issues affecting his homeland. He emerged as a fearless voice against the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA), using his music and presence at rallies to urge peaceful protests and raise awareness. At times, he even floated the idea of forming a new regional political platform dedicated to Assamese concerns, demonstrating his deep commitment to his community’s well-being. Known for his straightforwardness, he earned unwavering respect as a cultural activist who leveraged his celebrity status to shine a spotlight on Assam’s unique challenges and identity.
One of the most striking themes in Garg’s music is nature, an element he returned to often. His songs often express a deep longing to merge with the world around him, to become one with the rivers, forests, and sky. The sea is a constant image in his lyrics, symbolising vastness, freedom, and the eternal flow of life. This recurring imagery invites listeners to reflect on their own relationship with the environment and suggests a reverence for the natural harmony that sustains life. Garg saw the natural world as a sacred part of Assam’s identity and worked tirelessly to protect it. From rescuing turtles on his way back from a concert to standing up against the felling of century-old trees in Guwahati’s Dighalipukhuri, his actions spoke louder than words. He became known for naming rescued animals after himself like Madhusudan Garg the monkey and Udashin Garg the crane, showing a mystical, deeply personal bond with nature.
One of his profound statements captures this beautifully: “Moi moromok bisash korun, premot saartho thake, kintu moromot saartho nathake.” It speaks of a love rooted in trust and faith, deeper than mere affection, embodying the essence of his connection to people and the world around him.
Growing up surrounded by wildlife, with memories of raising a tiger and a deer in his childhood, Garg’s connection to the environment was rooted in early experiences. His environmental activism continued through planting trees and supporting wildlife rescue, especially in places like Kaziranga National Park, where tributes in his name now grow as living symbols of his green legacy. Through all this, Zubeen’s life reminds us that caring for nature is inseparable from caring for our culture and future.
Garg devoted significant time and energy to creating a new kind of cinema for Assam: films that truly resonated with its people and reflected their lives and aspirations. Through his bold efforts, he helped revolutionise the state’s film industry, showing that there was a thriving market for quality films in 21st-century Assam. Many of his co-actors and contemporaries, especially following his passing, have spoken about how much he contributed to modern Assamese commercial cinema, elevating its standards and reach. His passion project, the film Roi Roi Binale—which is set to be released posthumously on October 31, 2025—was his dream brought to life through tireless work and personal investment.
Through the Kalaguru Artiste Foundation, Garg mobilised crucial funds and relief materials during floods and other crises that struck Assam. His calls for help sparked generous donations of clothes, medicines, and money from people moved by his dedication. During the COVID-19 pandemic, he didn’t hesitate to offer his own two-storey home in Guwahati as a care center to support patients in need. When Assam faced natural disasters like devastating floods, he organised benefit concerts and charity football matches, bringing communities together to raise funds for relief efforts. Passionate about education and literacy, his foundation supported schools, distributed books, and provided help to students in affected regions. As a firm believer in the power of sports to uplift youth, Garg encouraged talents like boxer Shivam Thapa and sprinter Hima Das, and organised charity football matches not just to raise funds but to inspire young people to engage in sports.
Garg’s will be remembered not merely as a singer but as a passionate lover of humanity and nature. One of his profound statements captures this beautifully: “Moi moromok bisash korun, premot saartho thake, kintu moromot saartho nathake,” a phrase so rich in emotion and meaning that it slips beyond the reach of English translation. It speaks of a love rooted in trust and faith, deeper than mere affection, embodying the essence of his connection to people and the world around him.
Assam remains in the grip of profound grief, seeking justice and struggling to absorb a loss that feels irreparable. Garg’s life stands as a testament to contributions that will be remembered for generations. It is unlikely that anyone will rise with the same passion and dedication he brought to reviving Assam's cultural heritage through modern music, cinema, and a profound love for nature and humanity. He devoted his entire being to music, to the land, and to its people. For this reason, he has earned his place among Assam’s legendary figures like Bishnu Prasad Rabha and Jyoti Prasad Agarwala. His legacy is not merely a memory, but a living force that will continue to inspire Assam's culture and its people for years to come.
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Anusuya A. Paul is an academic and researcher focused on the cultural and performance history of Assam. She is currently working at St Joseph’s University, Bangalore, Karnataka and hails from Assam. You can find her on X: @mindinprint and Instagram: @mindinprint.
