Assam: A people’s icon, a rebel and a cultural unifier

When alive, the popular singer treated politicians with disdain. In death, the politicians are falling over each other to claim him and his music. The news of singer-composer Zubeen Garg’s death by drowning in Singapore on 19 September came as a shock to his fans, numbering millions, back in Assam.

He was in Singapore to perform at the North East India Festival and decided to go for a swim at the idyllic Lazarus Island, despite being under medical advice to avoid strenuous activity. His wife, Garima Saikia Garg, said Zubeen suffered a seizure during a second swim.

His mortal remains arrived in Guwahati on 21 September, where an estimated 1.5 million people gathered over three days — halting life in Assam and entering the Limca Book of Records as the world’s fourth-largest public gathering.

Prayers poured in from Bangladesh, Nepal, Bhutan and Indian metros. Durga Puja festivities were muted. Assam chief minister Himanta Biswa Sarma rushed back from a campaign for the Bodoland Territorial Council elections to oversee the funeral arrangements.

As the dust settles, it is important to understand what made a 52-year-old regional language singer and composer command mass adoration and bring 1.5 million people across geographic, social, political, religious and economic divides — men, women, children, with tears in their eyes, wailing, singing his songs — on the same page. Was it because Zubeen stood as a unifier pushing back against a divisive narrative?

Zubeen’s life and work stood in sharp contrast to India’s rampaging right-wing narrative. Born into a Brahmin family, he publicly rejected religion and caste, identifying himself as an atheist and ‘social Leftist’ who idolised Ché Guevara.

With close to 40,000 songs under his belt in 14 languages, he shunned Bollywood and chose to sing in regional languages while staying rooted in native Assam. The doors to his houses in Guwahati and Mumbai were open to all — struggling artistes and common people in distress. He could be found sipping tea at roadside stalls, sharing his life with people around him, unabashedly discussing his vulnerabilities, which included alcoholism.

The singer’s journey began in the early 1990s when Assam was grappling with insurgency and the youth was drifting towards Hindi pop culture. Zubeen defied ULFA’s diktat banning Hindi songs, and chose to sing Hindi songs at Bihu events.

But he had a more potent weapon. He also pushed back by churning out songs in Axomia and other local languages and dialects, with lyrics that reflected people’s aspirations, anxieties and exultations.

“He was a rebel, but in a non-aggressive way,” says Bobbeeta Sarma, author and political activist who recently made a documentary on Bhupen Hazarika.

Soon, his songs started playing at tea stalls, local shops and remote tea gardens across Assam. “As young adults in the 1990s, Zubeen’s songs brought us back to our roots in Assam. The lyrics, reflecting our own heritage, were mounted on a modern Western format,” says Bobbeeta.

“Zubeen tapped into people’s angst and melancholy; people identified with him. He had a searing contempt for politicians. He was outspoken, commented on issues others would not dare to. He was livid when the government of India declared Assamese a classical language in 2024, pointing out that the language existed for thousands of years and needed no government certification. He was a son of the soil and his life story challenged the status quo,” says Sanjoy Hazarika, human rights activist, author and filmmaker.

Asked why he refused to live in Mumbai, Zubeen’s cocky reply was, “A king should never leave his kingdom.” In one of his interviews, which turned out to be the last, he said when other celebrities died, it made news; his death would bring Assam to a standstill for a week. This sounds prophetic.

Was rekindling Axomia identity the sub-text of his work? “For Zubeen, the sub-text was also the text,” explains Hazarika.

Zubeen never hid his contempt for politicians. He opposed the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA), refusing government offers and perks extended to other artists. He once said, “People say I have an attitude; I say I am confident.”

Even in death, controversy surrounds him. Amid growing calls for justice, 55 FIRs have been lodged, including one by the Jatiya Nari Bahini, alleging negligence and a possible conspiracy. A Special Investigation Team under the Assam CID is probing the death.

The key figures under scrutiny are Shyamkanu Mahanta, organiser of the event in Singapore; Zubeen’s manager Siddhartha Sarma; drummer Shekharjyoti Goswami; and businessman Sanjive Narain. At the time of writing, Mahanta and Siddhartha had been arrested and are in judicial custody.

Critics question how someone with a history of seizures was allowed to swim at all. Zubeen’s family has demanded a fair and transparent investigation. More than a probe, it is the possibility of a cover-up which is gaining ground.

Mahanta and his associates reportedly have a cozy relationship with the ruling BJP in Guwahati and Delhi. Mahanta also has family ties in Assam’s police and academic circles. With Assam headed for elections in early 2026, such questions are putting pressure on the state government. In fact, it was Himanta Biswa Sarma who introduced an element of politics into the developments when he said the public should not vote for his party if justice is not delivered.

Amid all this, industrialist Gautam Adani made a surprise visit to Zubeen’s residence, days after the funeral. Adani’s business interests in Assam, including a controversial power plant in Kokrajhar, have been met with resistance. His appearance is seen by many as an attempt to soften his image amid public emotion.

In life, Zubeen was a maverick who rejected the narratives of division. In death, he exposed the emotional pulse of Assam and showed how Hindustan can respond when decoupled from Hindi and Hindu.

Sourabh Sen is a Kolkata-based independent writer and commentator