When Bhupen Hazarika passed away in 2011, we felt an indescribable pain that still lingers. But the grief of losing Zubeen is of another kind altogether — beyond comprehension. It feels as though I have lost a very close friend, someone who was always around through my joys and sorrows. He was that friend you rarely spoke to, but one you could always count on.
I would not call myself his biggest fan, but I loved his voice. His meaningful songs brought solace, and above all, his flawless Assamese pronunciation resonated with my own efforts to speak good Assamese. When Anamika was released, who could have imagined that this lean young man with long hair would, in just three decades, transcend everything to become a larger-than-life cultural icon?
When he stormed Bollywood with the blockbuster hit ‘Ya Ali’, we knew it was just a matter of time before he was recognised nationally, too. Yet in truth, it hardly mattered to us. We loved him as our own. We knew he deserved much more than the glitter of Bollywood.
Despite his godlike stature in the state, he remained deeply humane. He never became inaccessible, never developed a celeb-like demeanour. Despite his “couldn’t-care-less” image, he cared immensely — for his people, for the natural environment, and so on, making him “Zubeen da” — the elder brother next door, who opened his heart and home to friends and strangers alike.
The many days of mourning in the hearts of Assamese people after his passing are just a reciprocation of the love he gave so freely. His songs spread love. His actions taught us to care. And in death, he left us a legacy to uphold — a lesson in togetherness and harmony.
I remember vividly, while studying in Pune over 25 years ago, I had a Walkman that I played through a makeshift amplifier a friend built for me. Like my taste buds, my musical taste has always been diverse, too. But when it came to Zubeen da’s songs, things were different. I would often play ‘Endhar Hobo Nuaru’ or ‘Borokha Jetiya Naame’ on loop, rewinding the cassette over and over.
Even my multicultural friends would take note of it and ask me for translations. The impression was so profound that when I met a Telugu-speaking friend in Chennai after 23 years, she was still trying to recall that very song. Such is the magic of Zubeen’s music, transcending all language barriers. No wonder he sang in nearly 40 languages and dialects, touching hearts far beyond Assam.
One of his latest films, Bhaimon Da (released this May), whose music he directed along with Poran Borkotoky while also lending his voice, is a testament to his evolution both as a singer and music director. I honestly cannot recall the last time I enjoyed an Assamese film so much. This biopic, while attempting to narrate the moving story of legendary filmmaker Munin Barua aka Bhaimon da, also gave a peek into Zubeen da’s eventful life, nicely portraying his musical genius and childlike innocence.
Zubeen’s music gave a new identity to Assamese culture. If you really want to understand Assamese culture, you will have to understand his music. 38,000 songs in a career spanning 33 years is indeed a miraculous feat. He could sing in any genre of music with the same ease and perfection as he would sing an Assamese romantic song, making him one of the most versatile musical artists of our times. His repertoire spanned folk, lokageet, borgeet, ojapali, Goalparia, tokari, Bihu, pop, ghazal, devotional, indie, film scores and, of course, fusions.
While I used to enjoy his romantic numbers more than anything else earlier, I gradually started developing an affinity for the songs that carried a message of conservation and had reference to the environment (being an environmentalist myself).
He sang and composed a number of songs that carried subtle yet powerful references to the unique and beautiful natural features and landscapes of the state. Through lyrical references, his songs drew imagery from rivers, birds, and seasons while expressing emotions of love, longing, and celebration. Some of these songs are ‘Nahor Phula Botor’, in which he refers to the season when nahar (Indian rose chestnut) blooms, and ‘Mayabini Ratir Bukut’, which is about when morning flowers bloom in spring. In another song, ‘Swabhiman’, there is a stanza, “jeer jeer koi luit khoni aase boi”, which alluded to the river Brahmaputra. In ‘Aei Mayar Dhorat’, he was singing about the Earth.
Today, the whole of Assam is humming his evergreen classic ‘Mayabini’. As I was processing his death, I found myself returning again and again to one song from the film Bhaimon Da: “Era eri khonikore, asire tumi moi milim (This separation is only momentary — we will meet again soon)”. If these words are true, then this is not farewell, and I guess we will meet again to hear him hum, just one more time.
The writer is an award-winning environment and sustainability expert, currently working as sr vice president with Vision EIS Consulting in Delhi NCR
Zubeen’s music gave a new identity to Assamese culture. If you really want to understand Assamese culture, you will have to understand his music. 38,000 songs in a career spanning 33 years is indeed a miraculous feat. 
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