First Bohag without Zubeen Garg: The festival returns, but feels incomplete

This Bohag arrives like it always does with new leaves, soft sunshine, and the promise of spring. But this year, something feels incomplete. We are opening our arms to welcome the festival, yet they ache for an embrace that will never return.

Across the state, Bihu tolis will still come alive. The nasonis will dance, the Bihu geet will echo, and husori groups will move from home to home. Everything will look the same. But it will not feel the same.

For as long as many of us can remember, Bohag Bihu and Zubeen Garg were inseparable. His voice was not just a part of the celebration, it was the celebration. Today, those stages feel emptier than ever, as if they are still waiting for him to walk back in.

People are holding on in their own ways, sharing his songs, humming familiar tunes, posting memories. But sometimes, when you close your eyes, the memories rush back too strongly.

The sight of thousands gathering at a Bihu function where he was set to perform. The energy. The anticipation. And then, the heartbreaking final memory - crowds running behind his last journey, hoping for one final glimpse of the icon.

Since September 19, it feels like Assam has been quietly grieving. The mourning hasn’t stopped; it has only taken different forms. Tributes, gatherings, spaces created in his memory and his songs, Mayabini, Maya, Rong, echoing across roads, homes, and hearts.

This year, the excitement of spring feels distant. It is hard to celebrate fully when someone who redefined the feeling of Bihu is no longer here.

Many Bihu committees have chosen to dedicate this year’s celebrations to Bhupen Hazarika on his birth centenary, while also remembering Zubeen Da.

Some have scaled down their programmes. In parts of Upper Assam, celebrations have been limited to simple rituals. In Guwahati, places like Beltola, where Zubeen was once a constant presence, have cancelled events altogether in his memory.

At Latasil, instead of inviting big names, the committee has invited Jontro, a band formed by the icon’s long-time collaborators, to honour him. It feels less like a performance and more like a remembrance.

For many of us, his songs are no longer just songs. Lines like “akakhe gaate lobore mon, xaagortolit xubore mon…” now carry a weight they never did before. We don’t just hear them - we feel them.

Zubeen Garg was more than a singer. He was a presence that connected people. He gave Assamese music a voice that reached everywhere from villages to cities, from Assam to the rest of the world. Through his albums, he became part of everyday life; part of love, loss, joy, and celebration.

His performances changed what Bihu functions looked and felt like. Stage performances grew bigger, the culture evolved, and he stood at the centre of it all. Today, imagining Bohag Bihu without him feels almost impossible.

There are also personal memories; those quiet, simple ones that stay forever. I remember holding my father’s hand and walking into a crowded Bihu function; standing among strangers who somehow felt like family.

We waiting for him to come on stage and when he did, something shifted in the air. People closed their eyes, smiled, cried; all at once. One may not have understood it then, but now it feels deeper than ever.

Zubeen Da didn’t just perform during Bohag Bihu. He made you feel the festival. I didn’t know what Bihu felt like before I heard Zubeen Da.

For countless Assamese people, both at home and scattered across the globe, his voice was a bridge.

Sitting in a hostel room in Delhi or an apartment in Bangalore, far from home during Bihu, many would turn to his songs. One after another, his tracks would play on loop. You would close your eyes, and something would shift; something no distance could deny.

The room, the city, the unfamiliar surroundings would fade away. In their place, you were back at a Bihu function. You were home. Standing beside your parents, among friends you grew up with. You were yourself again, as Zubeen Da’s voice rose above a crowd that shared the same roots, the same belonging.

He was not just an artiste. He was a voice for those who felt unheard. Fearless, outspoken, and deeply rooted, he stood firm in his beliefs. As he often said, “Moi kaku khatir nokoru.”

It feels inadequate today to single out one or two songs of Zubeen Da for Bihu. His life, in many ways, was dedicated to others. And even in death, what he left behind belongs to the people of Assam. No amount of politics can take that away.

We miss you Zubeen Da!