Rebel, Romantic, Revolutionary

ZUBEEN GARG

- ARIF MOHAMMAD

That the state shut down for his passing is not a mere tribute -- it is a testament that he was more than a star

Last week, Assam witnessed a spectacle rarely seen in any funeral in India.

Zubeen Garg's final journey drew what has been called the fourth-largest crowd ever assembled for a public farewell — a staggering tribute to a man who had become far more than just a singer. Being an Assamese and being present in Guwahati when news of Zubeen Garg’s demise broke, I witnessed something I can barely put into words. The city was flooded with people — the roads, the lanes, the smallest corners were filled with prayers for him. Hindus and Muslims stood side by side, and I heard his songs being played in madrasas and outside temples across the state. An extraordinary incident. As a Muslim myself, I know how rare it is for music to enter these sanctified spaces. The love, affection and grief that unfolded for Zubeen was not bound by religion, caste, or creed; it was a tide of collective mourning and adoration. The streets were crowded, yet an uncanny silence hung over the city, an atmosphere so overwhelming that it almost felt otherworldly.

In Guwahati and beyond, roads were clogged, and people in huge numbers gathered outside the airport for one final walk, in tune with the person who made their lives so melodious. Many walked and cycled from all around the state to reach the Sarusajai Stadium, where his bodily remains were kept for two days. The state came to a halt. The sheer scale of grief and respect on display overwhelmed even those who thought they understood Zubeen Garg’s stature. In the days following his passing, Assam paused — shops remained shut, public life quieted, and a shared sorrow suffused every street corner.