Every year, when Bihu came around, my connection to home never came from grand celebrations. It came from the little things; the familiar things. The replacement of the gamusas, my mother kept around the house as hand towels, with new ones; the craving for pithas and the songs of Zubeen Garg playing on YouTube in the background.
As someone born in Assam but having spent most of my life away from the state, my sense of longing for Bihu and my identification with folk traditions came a little later in life. Once they did, however, year after year, they added new markers to the things that reminded me that Bihu had arrived.
More Than ‘Just’ A Festival
Over time, I realised that Bihu is not just a festival but a feeling that returns three times a year as Bhogali (Magh), Rongali (Bohag) and Kongali (Kati). Each marks a different phase of life, harvest and hope in Assam.
No matter which Bihu it is, the rhythm remains familiar. It is the time when Assam slows down and changes its pace. Beginning with Magh Bihu, which is now around the corner, it is when seasons shift, greenery returns to the fields, and people step out of their routines to reconnect with one another.
For the last several decades, one voice has been a constant part of this connection that people shared. It was the voice of Zubeen Garg.
The Axomiya Spirit
This voice did not arrive overnight. It took shape slowly, over the years, as Zubeen etched his voice into the hearts and minds of people, igniting a shared Axomiya spirit. One that united the many ethnicities and indigenous communities across the state, who may drape the same fabric differently, but sing and dance to the same rhythms when Bihu arrives.
Zubeen Garg was not simply a singer who performed during Bihu. He belonged to a generation of artists who took folk music to the stage and then brought the stage back to the people.
Bihu is a folk tradition that is centuries old, and like all such traditions, it eventually faces a question of continuity. Will it reach the next generation in a form they can recognise and claim? Zubeen Garg answered that question through his music.
His songs carried the rhythm of Bihu while speaking to a contemporary audience. They held the earthiness of folk traditions, but their language and sound allowed younger listeners to make them their own.
Kinu Sawonire, Rati Rati, Moilong Moilong, Bati Bhorai… these were not simply popular tracks, but I’m pretty sure this was a huge part of how Bihu sounded to an entire generation.
That is why Zubeen’s music was never confined to villages alone. It resonated just as deeply in cities. For many young people, their first emotional connection with Bihu came through his voice.
Each time Bihu arrived, whether Bohag or Magh, preparations followed a familiar pattern. Cultural programmes were planned, stages were set up, and somewhere within it all, Zubeen Garg was expected to be present. Sometimes he was on the radio, sometimes on stage, sometimes in a song playing in Bihu-tolis across the state and sometimes simply in a tune sung by a small child skipping along the road on the way to school.
That is perhaps the deepest place an artist can occupy. Their presence becomes so natural that their absence feels impossible to imagine.
This year, Bihu will come again. The colours will return. The celebrations will continue. But this time, the difference will be unmistakable.
A Quiet Realisation
When Zubeen’s songs play now, they do not sound new. They sound like memory. Songs that once existed only for joy and celebration now make people pause. There is a quiet realisation that this voice will not return to the stage again.
For years, Zubeen Garg’s name was almost guaranteed on Assam’s biggest Bihu stages. His presence shaped the identity of those programmes. This year, the stages will remain, the artists will still perform, and the same events will still take place. What will be missing is the anticipation that came with his name.
It would be inaccurate to say that Bihu is incomplete without Zubeen Garg. Bihu does not belong to any one individual. Yet it is equally true that Bihu will feel different without him.
Zubeen did not merely contribute songs to the festival. He defined an era. It was an era in which folk and modern influences were not in conflict, but existed together.
In the years ahead, new artists will emerge. New voices will shape their own relationship with Bihu. Zubeen’s songs will continue to be sung and reinterpreted. Still, the era that unfolded alongside his voice has passed into history.
This year, when Bihu returns, not once but across all three of its moments, it will be more than a celebration. It will also be a moment of remembrance. It will remind us that when an artist becomes inseparable from a culture, the culture itself pauses when that artist is gone.
Perhaps that is Zubeen Garg’s greatest legacy.
Northeast Narrative is an ABP Live-exclusive column, where we turn our attention to the lesser-seen and lesser-heard stories of Northeast India. Through this, we hope to bridge the distance between the Northeast and the rest of the country, breaking a sense of alienation and challenging half-formed narratives. Is the Northeast misunderstood? Often. Is it rich with stories waiting to be told? Absolutely. Join us as we rediscover the region, one story at a time.
