Heart in raga, soul in rebel – when Brahmaputra sings

Arijit Ray

(ray.arijitray@gmail.com)

“Mor Kono Jati Nai

Mor Kono Dhormo Nai

Mor Kono Bhogoban Nai

Moi Mukto

Moi Kanchanjunga…”

(I don’t have any caste, nor religion, nor God; I’m free, I’m Kanchenjunga…)

And at the time when a country’s gloom was torn at subjugated tension, with your name – with your caste – with your religion – with your gender – with your identity – with your status – with your birth – with your certificate – with your life, with your living, these eternal words from an unputdownable cultural icon of Assam, of the Northeast, of India and of the world, evoke as they are not mere verses – they are an existential declaration of a whole conscience. Zubeen Garg’s voice resounds here not as protest but as transcendence, as if the Brahmaputra itself were speaking through human breath: it is an ardent declaration of one’s ascent beyond identity – where the soul becomes sky, and all names dissolve in light.

Even after passing one month of his most saddening and mysterious death (there are still a lot of events and happenings to be found and unveiled when I’m writing this one, as new information and data are coming out in every moment with new evidence; the truth should be coming out as clear as light, which is all I can hope for), let us celebrate once again the departed yet not dynamic soul Zubeen and his artiste’s conscientiousness as the Brahmaputra’s current flowing through Assam and the Northeast, carrying with it songs of defiance, compassion, and belonging that transcended all borders.

In the living pulse of Assam, where the Brahmaputra flows like an eternal hymn, Zubeen Garg emerged not merely as a singer but as the river’s own echo – untamed, uncontained, and unending. With the bombarding images flowing up in the social media after his demise, the common theme that unites all is the sense of utter and most immeasurable pain! Temple lights up with mosques and churches illumined with remembrance of tribute, and people are grieving after their favourite son and create a most important narrative of the time when an artiste becomes a true cult for the essence of the identity of a whole ethnolinguistic clan: it is a moment of pride. It is a moment of celebration. And Assam showed the way again amid its various darker pageants of how a true hero of the soil should be treated.

The 1990s in Assam were a time of shadow and storm. The ULFA insurgency had cast a long shadow over daily life, instilling fear, disillusionment, and uncertainty. Schools, streets, and towns were punctuated by curfews, violence, and a pervasive sense of insecurity. Communities struggled to reconcile the fight for identity and sovereignty with the human cost of militancy. In this landscape of unrest, the youth of Assam felt fragmented – caught between the promises of political liberation and the harsh realities of social upheaval. It was into this tense atmosphere that Zubeen Garg emerged. Born into the heart of Assamese culture, his upbringing was steeped in music, rhythm, and narrative – tools that would later become instruments of collective hope. Yet, unlike many voices of the time, Zubeen did not sing merely for art’s sake; he sang to awaken.

His melodies reached across fear and fragmentation, giving shape to emotions that politics and conflict had left unspoken. The despair that had settled over the generation of 1992 found in him both reflection and refuge.

His first album hits, like “Anamika”, were not only melodies. They were acts of defiance. They spoke of identity, pride, and resilience. They reminded Assam that life flows on, like the Brahmaputra. Relentless, enduring, and unstoppable. Yet, his spirit also held the stillness of Kanchanjunga. Unmoved, radiant, eternal. A peak above chaos. A symbol of aspiration. Courage. Strength. His voice bridged the turbulence below and the timelessness above.

Statistics will say more on his diverse numbers and languages and spans, but with a more soulful rendition, it can be said that throughout these three decades, Zubeen became the voice through which a land spoke to itself, a mirror of its longings, joys, and unspoken sorrows. His reflection as an Assamese artist was never ephemeral; it was a meditation, a river and a mountain at once – flowing, rising, and enduring.

Even as the corridors of Bollywood and Mumbai’s commercial mainstream beckoned, Zubeen Garg chose another path. The glittering allure of fame and material recognition did not sway him. For him, art was never a commodity, only as it was a river, a mountain, a moral act. His several interviews reassured that he wanted ‘breath’ over buttering and traffic, and therefore to compromise his voice, his identity, or his purpose for transient applause would have been betrayal – not of the audience, but of the very soul of Assam. In his refusal, Zubeen asserted that true art transcends markets, trends, and ephemeral validations. He remained anchored in Assam, allowing the culture, the people, and the landscape to shape his overall existence.

Yet, his greatness was not confined to music and art alone. Zubeen’s life reflects a commitment to humanity, a philosophy of giving without recognition. He extended hands to the needy, supported causes quietly, and turned personal influence into collective uplift. Charity, for him, was not a duty but an extension of being – a natural consequence of empathy, a recognition that art and life are intertwined, that the river nourishes not for praise but because it must. His generosity became part of his aura. We can see now in every flow of reels and shots how people are desperate to show their once-upon-a-time connection with him, reinforcing the moral and philosophical weight of his presence and nurturing the essence that true luminescence lies in action, not in the hope for applause! Zubeen continued to win hearts because he spoke in the language of existence itself. The present and the current. Continuing with an ever spirit like a rebel-agile child. His continuous riddling slap to the Noida-based mainstream media on its very core mark for stirring the road for celebration for each and every Assamese, Bengali, Mizo, Naga, Khasi, Garo, Jayantia, Apatani, Galo, Monpa, Khamti, Sikkimese, and Meitei and each and every one of us who are significantly different in our soul and existence in the living of this nation. In a world where maintaining ‘political correctness’ is a socio-cultural norm and where the majority of celebs are eager to confine identity within boxes of genre, fame, or ideology, Jubeen refused these boundaries with utter intrepidity. His declaration, “I’m a socio-leftist,” was not a label but a lens – this was neither a boast nor a banner but the philosophy that guided his art of music throughout decades: a commitment to justice, empathy, and the pulse of the people.

Since his departure, his immortal creation “Mayabini” flows as a river of remembrance, traversing valleys, hearts, and time itself. Its notes are incense, honouring presence beyond form. Grief and gratitude, sorrow and celebration converge in its cadence, weaving the collective memory of Zubeen as a living people’s artist. And this soul-stirring song will continue with its haunting cadence, where the valley finds its own reflection of Zubeen’s spirit, unbounded and luminous. Like the Brahmaputra, the song traverses every heart, unstoppable and eternal. Like the Kanchanjunga, it reminds listeners of constancy, of a summit beyond time where his essence endures. In every note, Assam does not merely mourn; it communes with him, recognising that art and music, when they are born of soul and truth, could transcend all spheres and absence and become a living philosophy of memory, love, and liberation.

Salute Assamese People! Salute Zubeen Garg!