A banner during the funeral of singer Zubeen Garg.
Credit: PTI Photo
As I write this, it has been 20 days since Zubeen Da left us. For 20 days, we – the people of Assam (and I say ‘people’ to include anyone who loved Zubeen Da as their own) – have been stuck in a loop, circling the first three stages of grief: shock, denial, and anger.
We are yet to reach the remaining stages of bargaining, depression, testing, and acceptance. With each passing day, that destination feels further and further away – especially with the misguided, at best, and nefarious, at worst, attempts to politicise Zubeen Garg's death, and possibly milk it for electoral advantage, by the stakeholders of power.
Other than the sight of hundreds of thousands of people from every class, caste, tribe, religion, and gender of Assam coming together to bid him adieu, and the air reverberating with the melody of ‘Mayabini Ratir Bukut’ and many other songs he mesmerised us with, there has been little surrounding his death that could have given him peace.
From the absence of “Brahma Aadi Kori” (traditional Assamese prayer) at his funeral pyre, to the sexist and misogynistic scrutiny of his grieving wife Garima Saikia Garg's mekhela saador (attire) every day, to the rampant speculations surrounding his death, to the theatrics of Shyamkanu Mahanta and Siddhartha Sharma's arrest – after the very generous time given to them to surrender after Durga Puja celebrations – everything reminds me of the one line Zubeen Da said on multiple platforms: “Politics nokoriba, Bondhu” (don’t do politics, my friend).
The people of Assam lost a piece of their soul. With Zubeen Da, we all died a little.
His power was palpable during that brief period when, in Assam, currently in a race to become the hottest breeding ground for communal hatred and discrimination against the indigenous, the Quran and the Bhagavad Gita found a place under the same roof. The madrasas played ‘Mayabini…’ along with prayers for the safe passage of his soul; ardaas in gurudwaras across the state mentioned his name; naamghars and temples lit saakis (lamps) for him; and churches conducted prayers. Such was the power of love held by this one man that Assam stood united despite its many differences.
This unity was echoed on social media through a flood of messages, tributes, and reels.
Zubeen Da’s old words resurfaced – his pleas for people to stay united against oppression, his sharp jibes at the MPs and the MLAs whom he called ‘paapad’, his disdain for communal narratives and language divides, his evident dislike for both the BJP and the Congress, and his simple yet powerful call of Laal Salaam (red salute) – wearing a cap that looked strikingly like Che Guevara’s.
Suddenly, all these clips flooded timelines in 90-second reels, seen and ‘liked’ by everyone. The powers that be realised what had long been evident to his fans: that this man was as anti-establishment as one could be.
And that, I believe, is what worries Chief Minister Himanta Biswa Sarma and the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party the most. Even Zubeen Da's memories hold the power to stand against a narrative of hatred, bigotry, and discrimination.
That one image of Assam coming together to mourn their son revealed the terrifying potential of unity – and that possibility alone was enough to shake the ground beneath the seats of power. “Zubeen Garg said ‘Ghenta kaakou khaatir nokoru’ (I don't bow down to anyone); what if the Axomiya Raij (Assamese people) start saying that to us?” must have become a real cause of concern.
Not because people would unite only to seek answers to Zubeen Da's death – but because, in doing so, they might begin to ask bigger questions: about the floods that return every year, the animals disappearing into private zoos, the 600% rise in the personal assets of some politicians, the resorts, hotels, and media channels in the names of spouses of the political leaders, the drugs flooding the markets, the swathes of land bought by the Adani Group or some nondescript cement company for the price of a Zubeen Garg CD, and the rampant hatred being served up while erasing the Axomiya identity for a more palatable, homogenised Hindu one.
What if the people who came together to mourn Zubeen began to truly heed his words – his call for unity, for socialism, for courage against power?
That is why it became so essential to ‘control’ the situation by sowing the seeds of suspicion, conspiracy, and doubt among a people who, for once, had found a reason to come together.
Today, the discourse around Zubeen Da's death is as dirty, ugly, and pathetic as it could be.
Allegations of poisoning, the sensational release of snippets from his last day in Singapore, conversations around Shyamkanu Mahanta's alleged inappropriate video calls, the character certificates being handed to women who have worked with him and Siddhartha, the vile remarks by none other than the chief minister himself referencing someone's girlfriend ‘partying’ with Mahanta – each one of these has dragged the narrative into the gutter.
And then there was the chief minister’s comment on a Facebook Live – “Do not vote for me if I cannot ensure justice for Zubeen” – a statement that insulted the intelligence of the electorate. Add to that his repeated attempts to drag his political rival, Gaurav Gogoi of the Congress, under a cloud of doubt by citing a single social media reply, and the picture becomes clear: none of this is about justice for Zubeen Da.
Multiple creators on social media are still trying to steer the conversation back to where it should be. But before the massive might of the BJP government, even they are failing.
Zubeen Da united us for a brief, shining moment – and that alone was a lesson enough for those in power.
What I fear now is this: with Zubeen Da gone, will we ever again find it within ourselves to unite and build the Assam he dreamt of?
Even scarier – will they ever let us?
(The writer is an academician and a linguist, working as an Assistant Professor at the University of Lucknow. She also writes and performs satire on stage and social media platforms, commenting on politics, patriarchy and other centres of power. The article reflects her personal views.)