Mad, Musical, and Magnificent: Remembering Zubeen Garg

I am contemplating whether I should write about Zubeen Garg’s art or his personality. You are familiar with his literary music work and have studied it in detail too, so I would rather write about the person. It’s possible that many of us (including myself), who have been detached from Axhom or from North East India, know very little about him—or perhaps nothing at all. Very well then, let’s talk about the man.

The man, whenever he walked and wherever he went, carried with him: “Mei ghenta care nahi karta hu” (I don’t give a damn about any of them). On the evening of Friday, April 14, 2017, when he walked onto the stage in Guwahati to perform at the start of Bohag Bihu (also known as Rongali Bihu), marking the Assamese New Year, Zubeen was completely enamoured by the huge gathering and the festive mood. He was there to sing only for Xhomiya—for them alone. Zubeen knew every verse, every chord, every tune of his repertoire.

But as he was singing only for the audience, the organisers stopped him midway while performing Dil tu hi bata from Hrithik Roshan’s superhit Krrish 3. According to media reports, the organisers of the Noonmati Bihu Committee stated that they had an agreement with the singer, insisting that he stick only to Assamese songs during his performance.

A Clash at Bihu: Songs, Silence, and Defiance

As the matter persisted, he didn’t say a word in protest. True to Zubeen’s cliché, his silence was taken as assent. There, Zubeen said again: “Mei ghenta care nahi karta hu.” And when that happens, the legendary singer leaves, always being both happy and hurt.

He reached another Bihu function in Guwahati. Here, he broke into a smile. People were excitedly waving at him. He waved back. His face was glowing with happiness. He probably recalled: “Mei ghenta care nahi karta hu.” Zubeen, the man, sang songs till past 2 a.m.

News spread like wildfire in Assam. By Saturday morning, social media was abuzz with the issue. Hundreds of Assamese and others jumped into the debate. A news report published by The Hindustan Times was titled, “Assam split over singer Zubeen refusing to sing only non-Hindi songs for Bihu.”

“It was an insult to Zubeen that he wasn’t allowed to sing his own song. The way the organisers stopped him midway was bad. I stand with Zubeen,” popular Assamese actor Jatin Bora told journalists in the report.

But this man was above all this. He didn’t feel betrayed, cheated, or exploited by what had happened.

A friend who lives near Sharabbhati (a locality in Ulubari, Guwahati) narrated a memorable incident of Zubeen. People who knew him admit that he could work throughout the night and preferred spending the day at home with family members and his dogs.

The Night Wanderer: Anecdotes of a Mad Genius

It was midnight, and Zubeen was engrossed in adda mari (an informal gathering of like-minded people) in one corner of a residential colony in Guwahati. A man in messy clothes stood by and shouted: “Tu Zubeen hai na? (You are Zubeen, right?).” Even before Zubeen could reply, he added: “Tu bhi meri tarah raat ko ghumta hai.. Pagla! (You too roam like me in the night…mad).” But what came next surprised everyone. “Main toh paagal hoon hi” (I am a declared mad person), said the man in messy clothes, before disappearing into the darkness.

Much later, early this year, in an interview, Zubeen accepted this truth to heart. “I am mad, I want to give everything of mine to people,” he told POP Pavelopedia in January.

Beyond powerful voices, romantic ballads, and mournful songs in dozens of languages, Zubeen’s lifelong friend was the common man. They served as his eyes and ears, his advisers and aides in all his pursuits and interests. The smiling legend—who played multiple instruments, acted in films, composed scores, and filled concert venues—devoted hours and hours to distributing medicines, food, shelter, and solace to whoever approached him.

Friend of the Common Man: Music, Charity, and Humanity

There are hundreds of people ready to recount anecdotes about Zubeen’s love for Assam and his affection for the common man. He made huge donations to various social causes. His charity, the Kalaguru Artiste Foundation, donated generously during floods in Assam and beyond. People recall that Zubeen even played charity football matches to raise funds for flood-affected communities.

This story is just one of the folklores that add to the mystique of Zubeen. During the COVID-19 pandemic, this man even offered his two-storey residence in Guwahati to be used as a COVID Care Centre, helping to address the urgent shortage of beds during the crisis.

Zubeen was preternaturally refined. He had the time and freedom to pursue his interests and take care of himself, his family, his friends, and anyone who came within his horizon—the poor, the needy, the chailwallah, the orphan, the destitute, or the patient lying outside on the footpath of a hospital. In each one of them, he discovered form, fragrance, tone, colour, and texture. His works and deeds were both philosophical and abstract. With his music and his acts of generosity, this man fascinated Assam and the nation for over three decades.

However, the story of Assam’s eternal man is hidden and untold. Not his death, though—and let’s accept this: ৰাইজ (pronounced as raiz, meaning people or public in Assamese).