The strange immortality of an artiste

Death may have stopped Zubeen Garg from creating new music, but it has not stopped his music from creating new listeners

On September 19, 2025, when Zubeen Garg passed away, Assam lost more than a singer. It lost a voice through which an entire generation had learnt to laugh, love, celebrate, mourn and dream. Garg was 52 when his sudden death in Singapore left millions struggling with a reality that still feels incomprehensible: How can someone who was everywhere suddenly be nowhere?

The greatest tribute to him is not a memorial, a statue or a record. It is that his songs refuse to become memories.

A year later,his absence still feels unreal. His songs continue to be played in cars, tea stalls, homes, college campuses and Bihu celebrations. Yet, there is a strange silence behind them. We hear Zubeen da, but cannot see him walking onto a stage, guitar in hand, smiling before beginning a song. We can replay his voice, but his next song will never come. Technology can preserve a recording; it cannot bring back a person.

That is, perhaps, why Zubeen da’s absence feels different. He was not merely a celebrity whose photographs appeared on screens. He was woven into the everyday life of Assam. His music accompanied first loves and broken hearts, weddings and funerals, journeys and festivals, loneliness and friendship. For countless Assamese people, remembering a particular period of life means remembering a Zubeen Garg song.

Born in Tura, Meghalaya, in 1972, Zubeen Garg began his professional journey with the Assamese album Anamika in 1992. Over three decades, he became a remarkably prolific singer, composer, lyricist, music director, actor and filmmaker. Reports credit him with recording more than 38,000 songs in over 40 languages and dialects. He could move effortlessly between Assamese folk traditions, contemporary sounds, Bengali music and Hindi cinema. Few Indian artistes matched that range or sheer output.

His national breakthrough came with Ya Ali in the 2006 Hindi film Gangster. The song carried his distinctive voice far beyond the northeast, and earned him the Global Indian Film Award for Best Playback Singer. But to describe Zubeen da through Ya Ali alone would be to misunderstand him. His true artistic home was Assam. Mayabini Ratir Bukut, Tumi Xubax, and countless other songs became part of the emotional vocabulary of the state.

He was equally comfortable outside the recording studio. He acted in dozens of Assamese films, directed films including Kanchanjunga and Mission China, composed for cinema and wrote poetry. In 2009, he received the National Film Award for music direction for the non-feature film Echoes of Silence. In 2024, he was awarded an honorary D.Litt. His achievements were remarkable, but awards could hardly encompass the full depth and breadth of his relationship with the people.

Zubeen da was loved because he seemed accessible. He spoke his mind, sometimes bluntly, and did not always conform to expectations. He stood up for artistic freedom, and spoke on social and political questions. His charitable work, including assistance during floods, reflected another side of his public life. He could be imperfect, outspoken and unpredictable, yet intensely human. That humanity made his music believable.

The scale of the grief after his death revealed what statistics cannot measure. Assam’s streets filled with mourners. Thousands gathered to bid farewell. At his funeral, people sang Mayabini. Later, on his 53rd birth anniversary, 25,000 artistes gathered in Kokrajhar to sing the same song in Assamese and Bodo. The performance was recognised by the India Book of Records and the Asia Book of Records. It was more than a record. It was a collective declaration that Zubeen Garg had become part of the people themselves.

Perhaps the greatest tribute to him is not a memorial, a statue or a record. It is that his songs refuse to become memories. A young person who never saw him perform can still discover him through a song. A parent can introduce a child to his music. A traveller can hear his voice and suddenly feel closer to home.

Death may have stopped Zubeen da from creating new music, but it has not stopped his music from creating new listeners. That is the strange immortality of an artiste.

One year later, Assam is still learning how to say goodbye. Perhaps it never will. Perhaps that is appropriate. Some people leave behind memories; a rare few leave behind a living soundscape. Zubeen Garg belongs to the latter.

He is gone. But when Assam sings, he is still here.

Siddharth Roy is a consultant to Rashtriya Raksha University under the Union home affairs ministry, writer and columnist. The views expressed are personal

(This is a Hindustan Times digital exclusive)