Roi Roi Binale: The Film That Assam Watched Through Tears

How do you watch a film when your eyes blur with tears every few minutes? When every scene feels like a farewell letter, and the theatre itself seems to sigh with you? An inconsolable Assam and the Assamese scattered across the world will answer that question today.

Because Roi Roi Binale isn’t just a movie. It’s Zubeen Garg’s heartbeat, one that refuses to stop echoing.

A Dream He Never Got to Watch

“Roi Roi Binale”, which means “crying with pauses”, is a title that now feels hauntingly prophetic. In it, Zubeen plays a blind singer who dreams of touching the sea. The poster shows him stooping down, hand reaching toward the waves, a man yearning for something infinite.

And then life imitated art.

Zubeen Garg, the man who gave a voice to a generation, died in Singapore on September 19, during a sea outing. The sea he loved became the sea that took him. He was just 52.

“This story has lived in me for 19 years,” he had told author Rita Chowdhury in what became his last interview. “I finally found the courage to tell it.”

He was still editing scenes days before that final journey as if racing against time, knowing he had one last gift to leave behind.

The Miracle of the Silver Screen

What’s unfolding in Assam this week borders on the surreal. Nearly 80 cinema halls from Guwahati to Silchar have dropped every other film to screen Roi Roi Binale. Two theatres that had been locked for years, Ganesh Talkies in Jagiroad and Gandhi Bhawan Cinema in Tihu, reopened just for him.

Videos of workers scrubbing old red plastic chairs, dust rising in the morning sun, went viral. And then someone found an old clip of Zubeen laughing, saying he’d one day “reopen Ganesh Talkies.”

He wasn’t joking, after all. He was foretelling.

Assamese cinema has never seen anything like this. Tickets sold out in hours. In Delhi, Mumbai, and Bengaluru, where Assamese hearts beat in exile, shows are running houseful. Some theatres in Assam have announced 4:35 a.m. shows not because it’s a marketing gimmick, but because demand won’t stop.

In a region where local films often struggle for a single screen, Roi Roi Binale has rewritten every rule of the business.

The Promise She Kept

Despite her heartbreak, Garima Saikia Garg, Zubeen’s wife and co-producer, made sure the film was released today, October 31, exactly as he wanted. No postponement, no excuses.

It was a promise kept to her husband, to his fans, and to art itself.

In a world where grief often silences creation, she turned grief into grace. Assam watched her walk into the premiere without him and somehow, she carried the entire state’s sorrow with dignity.

The Legend of Zubeenism

From his debut Anamika in 1992 to Maya and Ya Ali, Zubeen’s voice became the rhythm of Assam’s soul. He was the man who made sadness sound beautiful, who gave a language to longing.

But what truly set him apart wasn’t fame; it was faith.

He returned to Assam when everyone said the industry was dead. He poured his own savings into films like Mission China and Kanchanjangha, proving that passion, not profit, sustains art. People called him Boliya (crazy). And perhaps he was. Because only madmen dream of reviving an industry single-handedly and then actually do it.

He became not just a singer or actor, but a symbol of defiance, of love, of an Assam that refuses to bow.

A State Bows Back

As a mark of gratitude, the Assam government has pledged to donate its share of GST from Roi Roi Binale to Zubeen’s Kalaguru Artiste Foundation, which supports flood victims, students, and struggling artistes.

It’s not a gesture of charity, it’s an act of reverence.

Because Zubeen didn’t just sing for Assam. He was Assam.

The Sea Returns

In his last interview, he had said softly, “You should watch Roi Roi Binale. It starts with the sea and ends with the sea. He wants to touch it. He keeps asking, how big is the sea? And finally, he touches it.”

It’s as if he was speaking about himself.

When he died, Assam shut down for three days. People filled the streets, singing Mayabini Raatir Bukut. His funeral ground in Sonapur has become a shrine, where fans light candles and leave gamosas like offerings.

And now, those same fans are back in theatres this time crying and clapping in the dark. Because somehow, Zubeen Da is still performing.

The Man Who Made a State Cry, and Then Heal

Across 40 cities in India, from Guwahati to Mumbai, from Delhi to Hyderabad, Roi Roi Binale is drawing crowds that feel more like congregations than audiences.

They will weep. They will smile. They will remember. Because Roi Roi Binale is not just a film. It’s the collective heartbeat of a people learning to say goodbye. If Zubeen made us cry for 43 days, he will heal us now through music, through memory, through magic. And that’s what makes Roi Roi Binale more than cinema. It’s a resurrection on film.

It’s Zubeen, walking into the sea and never really leaving.

ALSO READ: 31 Days Without Zubeen: The Sky Still Hums His Tune