Diganta Bharati Row: When Respect Fails, Even Bihu Can Hurt

For over six decades, the Chandmari Pub Guwahati Bihu Mancha has stood as a symbol of Assamese cultural pride — a space where tradition, community, and artistry coalesce in celebration of Rongali Bihu. Revered for its discipline and adherence to Assamese identity, it has nurtured generations of artists and audiences alike. But this year, in the midst of celebration, a disturbing rupture exposed deeper fractures festering beneath the surface.

On April 16, 2025, an incident unfolded on the Chandmari stage that now threatens to overshadow its legacy. Celebrated singer Bhaswati Bharati publicly accused the committee of humiliating her husband, Diganta Bharati — an acclaimed music composer and singer — who was invited to the stage, felicitated, and then told to step down mid-performance. The microphone was allegedly taken from him, and the entire affair played out in front of a live audience.

According to Bhaswati, this was not a mere misunderstanding but an orchestrated slight — one worsened by the alleged intoxication of certain committee members. In response, the organizing body claimed procedural violations: Diganta Bharati was not scheduled to perform; a clause required all artists to wear traditional attire; and the final decision rested with the president and general secretary. Fair enough — on paper. But nothing about this incident appears that simple.

Let’s start with the obvious: Diganta Bharati did not jump on stage. He was invited — by the committee. He did not demand the mic — he was urged to sing. If protocols were breached, who breached them first? Why was the stage offered without verifying terms? Who gave the green signal and then pulled the plug? And more importantly, why has no one been held accountable for this breakdown in basic coordination and courtesy?

This is not just an embarrassment for the artist, or for the committee. It is an embarrassment for the culture we claim to preserve. What unfolded on the Chandmari stage wasn’t tradition being protected. It was power being misused. It was a breakdown of communication, respect, and dignity — the very values Bihu is meant to celebrate.

The subsequent public discourse — fragmented, reactionary, and quickly fading — is equally telling. Aside from Bhaswati Bharati’s statements and a few scattered opinions online, there has been little serious introspection. Why? Have we grown so accustomed to cultural negligence that such episodes no longer shock us? Are we now a society that silently tolerates public insult and mismanagement as acceptable byproducts of tradition?

And while we're dissecting the Chandmari incident, let’s not ignore the larger picture. The self-declared cultural purists who cite traditional attire and protocol as inviolable — where are they when more insidious cultural dilutions are taking root? When multinationals air ads calling Rongali Bihu "Kongali Bihu," where is the outrage? When Assamese ingredients like Amora tenga are sold at unaffordable rates, mostly imported, why is there silence? When cattle, integral to Goru Bihu, disappear from rural Assam, why do we continue to perform rituals disconnected from their roots?

We are at a strange crossroads. In the name of tradition, we police jeans on stage but remain mute when that very tradition is commercialized, diluted, and exploited. We glorify our past while disrespecting the very artists who represent it. We debate contracts and clauses while our cultural conscience rusts in the corner.

And let’s talk about inclusivity — or the lack of it. When was the last time any major Bihu stage invited singers like Rajib Sadiya, who dedicated their lives to ethnic and patriotic Assamese music? Even in death, his contributions drew more tears than tributes. Was he ever honored in his time? Was his genre ever welcomed into the mainstream Bihu celebrations — or did it not fit the aesthetic curated by committees chasing glamour?

We cannot afford to reduce our cultural spaces to stages for ego, exclusion, or elitism. If we continue to do so, we may very well prepare our own Narzi phoolor mala — garlands of death — for our living traditions.

The real tragedy of the Chandmari episode lies not in the argument between an artist and a committee, but in what it revealed about us: a society that has grown complacent, confused, and culturally performative. A society quick to slap labels of vulgarity on young performers, but sluggish to defend its elders and preserve authenticity where it actually matters.

The time has come for serious introspection — from organizing bodies, artists, and audiences alike. Bihu stages must remain sanctuaries of culture, not theatres of humiliation. Committees must set aside personal bias and manage with transparency, not arbitrary authority. Artists must honor agreed codes, yes — but must also be treated with dignity and respect. No tradition, however sacred, survives long when soaked in hypocrisy.

Let’s not pretend this is an isolated incident. It is a mirror. And unless we look into it without flinching, we will continue to lose far more than pride — we will lose the very soul of Assamese culture.