When the news of Zubeen Da's death reached us, it was as if the entire state froze. It was not just another piece of news. It was not just another loss of a public figure. For Assam, it was like the sky itself had collapsed. The silence that followed was unbearable, not the calm kind of silence, but the heavy silence of grief that presses on your chest and does not let you breathe. It was the kind of silence that comes when a family member passes away, because that is who Zubeen Da was to us-not a distant celebrity, but our very own. To the rest of India, he may have been remembered as the man who gave Bollywood "Ya Ali," as a versatile singer who moved across languages and genres. But for us, he was never defined by a single hit song. He was our mirror, our soundtrack, our identity. He was the music that flowed through Assam's veins. He was in the hum of the tea gardens, in the laughter of Bihu, in the cries of protests, in the first rains by the Brahmaputra. His voice was not separate from us it was part of who we were. That is why his death feels so personal, so crushing, so impossible to accept. Every Assamese household carries his memory. I remember evenings when the power went out and my parents would play his cassettes on an old tape recorder. I remember cycling to school, humming his songs with my friends. I remember weddings where no celebration was complete until his voice filled the air. I remember bus rides where strangers sang his songs together as if they had known each other all their lives. I remember the heartbreak of youth, when his words comforted like a friend sitting beside you. Zubeen was not in the background of our lives-he was at the center. What made him extraordinary was not only his music but his fearlessness. He spoke when others remained silent. He stood by causes when it was risky to do so. He shouted when things were wrong, and he celebrated when things were right. He was flawed, he was fiery, sometimes impulsive-but that is why we loved him. He was human, real, raw. He did not pretend to be perfect; he dared to be true. For a generation that grew up in uncertainty, he was a reminder that honesty, courage, and boldness mattered more than polished images. Zubeen Da carried Assam to the wider world but never let go of his roots. He sang in many languages, but his heart always beat in Assamese. He showed us that our culture was not small, not to be hidden or ashamed of. He proved that we could stand tall with our identity intact. In every note, he reminded us that to be Assamese was to belong to something beautiful and powerful. For many of us, he was the reason we believed in ourselves. When Assam declared days of mourning, when lakhs poured into the streets to bid him farewell, it was not the crowd of fans you see for a star. It was a family grieving. Old women with tears in their eyes said they had lost a son. Young boys said they had lost their role model. Children who had just learned to sing his songs cried without fully understanding why. That is the kind of love Zubeen inspired-love that crossed generations, villages, towns, and cities. There are few artists who can truly say they became part of their people's daily lives. Zubeen was one of them. His voice was heard in morning prayers, in radio jingles, in lullabies, in drunken midnight gatherings, in concerts that shook the ground, and in the quiet moments when someone sat alone with their pain. He was there in every corner of Assam. He was not just an artist we admired; he was an emotion we all carried within us. That is why his absence feels unbearable. Assam feels like an orphan today. The void he has left is not something any award, any tribute, any replacement can fill. There will be other singers, other musicians, but there will never be another Zubeen Garg. He was one of a kind not just a singer, but the spirit of a people.
His passing is not just the end of a life it is the end of an era. And yet, as I write through tears, I know he will never truly leave us. His songs are everywhere. In kitchens, on buses, on phones, on stages, in our memories. They will keep playing long after we are gone.
They will teach future generations who he was and what he meant. In every word and every tune, Zubeen will keep reminding us of who we are. Zubeen Da, you were not just Assam's pride, you were Assam's soul. You gave us courage when we were weak, you gave us words when we were silent, you gave us love when we were broken. You belonged to the world, but you belonged to us most of all. We will never stop missing you.
We will never stop singing with you. You may have left this earth, but you will live forever in the tears, the laughter, the voices, and the hearts of Assam. Rest well, our brother, our guide, our fearless voice. Assam will keep crying for you, but Assam will also keep singing you, for you are no longer just a person-you are a memory, a melody, an emotion that will never die.
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