EVERYONE'S OWN

Assam mourns a singer who spoke the language of its soul

- By Kaushik Deka

A SINGER DROWNS IN FOREIGN WATERS.

When his body returns, a deluge of grief swamps his homeland. Three lakh people join the cortège. Over two days and nights, half a million souls file past his coffin. The elderly weep alongside teenagers; bureaucrats stand shoulder to shoulder with tea vendors; police officers, trained in stoicism, sob openly. The dam had finally burst, and now they were crying a river.

When the news first came, a strange stillness had descended upon Assam. Zubeen Garg, their most cherished cultural icon for three decades, was dead. Shops downed shutters, schools emptied, offices fell silent, food delivery services ceased operations, ride-sharing apps went still. Then, before the official word on state mourning—eventually lasting three days—the people began enacting their own rituals of grief. Candles flickered at street corners, oil lamps burned before portraits, crowds sang the song he had asked them to sing when he departed. The chief minister himself flew to Delhi to receive the body, knelt before the coffin, and sang through tears. Modern India had witnessed nothing quite like this.