One year after the death of Zubeen Garg, Assam is remembering not merely a singer, but a cultural force who became inseparable from the identity, emotions and aspirations of an entire region – the man who sang 40,000 songs across approximately 40 different languages and dialects throughout his prolific 33-year career.
September 19, 2026: Today marks the first death anniversary of the legendary Assamese singer, composer, lyricist, actor and filmmaker. Thousands of admirers have gathered at Zubeen Khetra in Sonapur as Assam observes the concluding day of the three-day Zubeen Divas, with cultural programmes, traditional Bhaona performances, prayers and tributes celebrating a legacy that refuses to fade.
His death on September 19, 2025, in Singapore brought Assam to a standstill. Shops closed, streets emptied and an extraordinary wave of grief swept across the state. When his mortal remains returned, lakhs poured into Guwahati for his final journey.
The funeral gathering was subsequently recognised by the Limca Book of Records as the fourth-largest public funeral gathering globally, placing it alongside the enormous farewells associated with figures such as Michael Jackson, Pope Francis and Queen Elizabeth II. Some reports estimated the crowd at more than 1.5 million.
It was an extraordinary farewell for an artist who had spent his life refusing to behave like a conventional star, but Zubeen was a man who belonged to everyone.
Zubeen was born into an Assamese Brahmin family in Tura, Meghalaya. His father, Mohini Mohon Borthakur, was a magistrate as well as a poet and lyricist who wrote under the name Kapil Thakur. His mother, Ily Borthakur, was a singer and an early musical influence. His younger sister, Jonkey Borthakur, was also a singer and actress before her death in a road accident in 2002, a loss that deeply affected him. Zubeen married fashion designer Garima Saikia Garg in February 2002.
Yet Zubeen repeatedly rejected the social identities into which people tried to place him. His words became almost a philosophy: “Mur kunu jaati nai, mur kunu dharma nai, mur kunu Bhagawan nai. Moi mukto. Moiei Kanchanjunga.”“I have no caste, no religion, no God. I am free. I am Kanchenjunga.”
Coming from a Brahmin family, his rejection of caste and religious labels carried particular force. He became a figure who could be claimed by no single community because, in the imagination of his followers, he belonged to all of Assam.
His voice that crossed Assam’s divisions became ingrained into Assamese culture
Zubeen’s music travelled across languages, communities and generations. He moved effortlessly between Assamese folk, rock, contemporary music, film songs and devotional traditions, while also singing in numerous other Indian languages. His Bollywood breakthrough, “Ya Ali” from Gangster, introduced his voice to a much wider Indian audience. But his deepest cultural impact remained rooted in Assam.
For a state marked by decades of ethnic tensions, insurgency, political conflict and competing identities, Zubeen became something unusual: a cultural bridge. He sang for the young, the old, the rich, the poor, tribal communities, urban Assamese, migrants, students, workers and people who rarely saw themselves represented in elite cultural spaces. He was comfortable eating roadside food, speaking to ordinary people and appearing without the protective distance expected of a superstar.
After his death, one song seemed to rise above all others: “Mayabini Ratir Bukut.” People sang it outside homes, shops, schools, colleges and along the roads as his funeral procession passed. In towns across Assam, the song became an anthem of mourning. There was something almost unbearable about hearing his own voice after he was gone.
A death still surrounded by questions
The circumstances of Zubeen’s death remain at the centre of a major legal battle. Singapore’s State Coroner, after a detailed inquiry, ruled in March 2026 that Garg died from accidental drowning, finding no evidence of foul play. Singapore police likewise concluded that there was no evidence of foul play. The coroner cited severe intoxication and Garg’s refusal to wear a life jacket during his second swim.
But Assam’s investigation reached a very different conclusion: A Special Investigation Team constituted by the Assam government filed a chargesheet, and a fast-track court subsequently framed charges against seven accused. Four face murder charges: festival organiser Shyamkanu Mahanta, Garg’s manager Siddharth Sharma, bandmate Shekhar Jyoti Goswami and singer Amritprabha Mahanta. Three others face other charges in connection with the case.
The Assam prosecution has alleged that Garg’s known health vulnerabilities, exposure to alcohol and circumstances surrounding the yacht outing form part of a larger conspiracy. Court proceedings have continued through 2026, with witnesses, including people connected to the Singapore trip, giving evidence. His case is still not over, the final judgement not declared.
Assam without Zubeen
Perhaps the greatest measure of Zubeen Garg’s influence is not the number of songs he recorded or awards he received. It is what happened to Assam when he disappeared.
A state of more than 30 million people seemed to lose its collective voice. For many, he was not simply a celebrity. He was the friend who appeared at a tea stall, the familiar voice from a neighbour’s radio, the musician whose songs accompanied love, heartbreak, protest, celebration and mourning.
He challenged governments. He spoke against caste divisions. He stood with ordinary people. He protested environmental destruction. And he repeatedly insisted that humanity mattered more than the labels society placed upon people. His cultural legacy was therefore larger than music.
The man is gone. The voice is not.
The streets of Assam still ring out with Zubeen’s songs, because he was never just a singer. He became a voice of Assam itself, embodying its culture, its emotions, its struggles and its enduring spirit.
JANPATH NEWS NETWORK (JNN)
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