In death, as in life, Zubeen Garg remains one of Assam’s most powerful voices. Revered as a musical genius, social crusader, and cultural icon, Garg’s sudden and mysterious demise in Singapore has left a void that transcends the world of music. But to understand why his death has shaken an entire state and beyond, one must understand the man whose life was deeply shaped by Assam’s turbulent history and whose art reflected its soul.
Born into a culturally rich family in Jorhat, Garg grew up during a time when Assam was reeling under political unrest. The rise of the United Liberation Front of Asom (ULFA) in 1979 had ushered in a decade of strikes, violence, and instability. For a young Zubeen, this unrest was both a constraint and a crucible. It confined his world but also shaped his purpose. In an environment of fear and fragmentation, music became a lifeline.
Between the 1980s and 1990s, Zubeen recorded between 8,000 and 9,000 songs an astonishing feat for someone barely out of his teens. He turned the cassette tape into a vehicle of cultural connection, weaving folk melodies, social themes, and modern rhythms into something that felt both urgent and timeless. His song Xunere Xojuwa Poja, a haunting tribute to collective grief and resilience, remains one of the most poignant reflections of that era.
But Zubeen’s story wasn’t meant to remain local. In the late 1990s, he moved to Mumbai, a city known to reward talent but rarely accommodate outsiders. Living modestly, he hustled his way through studios, advertising agencies, and jingle work. His Bollywood breakthrough came with Ya Ali from the 2006 film Gangster, a chartbuster that catapulted him to national fame. But his first brush with Hindi cinema came in 2000, with Mere Watan, composed by Ranjit Barot.
What distinguished Zubeen was not just his voice but his refusal to be boxed into one genre. From classical (Rasahiya Sajan) to pop, from devotional songs to fusion rock, he dabbled in everything. Over the years, he lent his voice to over 30 Hindi films and thousands of Assamese, Bengali, and regional tracks. He could play 12 instruments. He composed, wrote lyrics, acted in films, directed, and produced.
But perhaps Zubeen’s most dramatic evolution came off-stage. By the late 2000s, he had transformed from a romantic idealist into a defiant public figure. A permanent tattoo of Charlie Chaplin with the words “I may fall, but never fail” became emblematic of his philosophy. He was increasingly vocal against government policies, censorship, exploitation in the music industry, and social injustice.
“I have no caste, I have no religion, I am only a human for mankind,” he once said at a rally. And that is how his audience saw him. In recent years, Zubeen had become more emotional, impulsive, and candid often revealing his struggles with health and mental exhaustion.
Zubeen Garg shot to fame in 1992 with his debut album Anamika. Around this time, he connected with Garima Saikia through a letter she wrote after hearing Anamika and Maya. Studying in Bombay and homesick, she found solace in his music—and eventually, in him. Their relationship faced resistance from her family and strain from Zubeen’s restless nature but love prevailed. They reunited, and on February 4, 2002, Zubeen married Garima.
Zubeen Garg’s cremation with full state honours and a 21-gun salute in Sonapur was watched by lakhs. Four days of state mourning followed. But the people of Assam demand answers.
Zubeen was more than Assam’s most popular singer. He was its conscience, its challenger, its voice. His absence leaves a silence no song can fill. And until the truth behind his death is known, that silence will only grow louder.