Beyond the Songs, Zubeen Da Was the Song

He was not just an artist we listened to — he was an artist we lived with.

Some artists sing to entertain. A few sing to inspire. But once in a generation, comes an artist who sings to connect- who becomes the bridge between a land and its people. That was our 'Zubeen Da' for Assam.

As the state mourns, it is not merely a singer who has been lost. It is a part of our collective memory, a shared heartbeat that kept time with our joys and our grief. Dada was never just a musician; he was a cultural phenomenon, a people's movement. The love he received from Assam was never merely about his voice-but what he stood for.

It's very hard to write about Zubeen Da and not mention about music. But his true connection with the people of Assam went far beyond melodies. Dada was present-fiercely, stubbornly, consistently present in the lives of his people. In a time when stardom often creates distance, Dada erased that distance. He made fame feel accessible, as if it belonged to all of us. He could be found sipping tea in a roadside stall, chatting with the owner and fans. He blurred the line between between celebrity and citizen. And maybe that is why, when he passed, Assam wept as if we had lost someone from our own family. It was not just fans mourning a star-it was a state mourning its son.

Zubeen Da was not just a singer, musician, actor, director, composer, lyricist or social activist. he was our reflection. If he had been only a singer, perhaps Assam would have stilled loved him. But the love people gave him went deeper because he gave us more than music, He gave us his presence.

He showed up.

The Soul of a River, the Voice of a People

Zubeen-da was not merely a man, not merely an artist — he was a season. Like Bohag, he arrived every year to remind us that life was meant to be celebrated. Like the first monsoon shower, he washed away the dust from our tired souls. Like Magh Bihu’s meji fire, he burned bright enough for the whole village to gather around. He could sing to make you dance till midnight, and then sing to make you weep at dawn. He carried the loneliness of an entire generation, but also its mischief, its anger, its reckless hope. In his songs, lovers found a language for their heartbreak, rebels found a marching anthem, and children found a lullaby. And in all of this, he remained unmistakably Assamese. Even when he sang in Hindi or Bengali or English, his heart spoke in Assamese.

When floods ravaged villages, Dada was there with fundraisers, football matches, and the appeals for donations. He sang about corruption, about social decay, about unity, and about love for Assam in a way that made it hard to stay indifferent. He spoke out when artists were silenced, when culture was under threat, when language was being diluted. Zubeen Da reminded us that being an artist was not just about entertaining, but about taking a stand.

That is why the love he received from the people was not just adoration. Dada was not simply a star to be admired from afar — he was and always will be our Zubeen Da, someone who belonged to every Assamese household.

What remains of Dada is not just his music though that alone could fill several lifetimes. What remains is his attitude, his fearlessness, his way of being Assamese without apology.

Legacy of a Lifetime

What remains of Zubeen-da is not just his music — though that alone could fill several lifetimes. What remains is his attitude, his fearlessness, his way of being Assamese without apology. The love Assam gave Zubeen Garg was not transactional. We did not love him because he was a star. We loved him because he was ours. That is why his funeral became one of the largest gatherings Assam has ever seen. That is why every house lit lamps in his memory. That is why, when we sing his songs now, we do not just remember Zubeen-da, we remember ourselves.

Zubeen-da may no longer be here to sing, but the freedom he gave us — the courage to be ourselves — will never die. So, when we remember him, let us also whisper to ourselves what he once told us: “Moi mukto.” Because in his freedom, we found our own.

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