Assam's Unofficial King: Zubeen Garg's Spirit, The BJP's Play

There's a curious thing happening in Assam, something that, honestly, makes you tilt your head and wonder a bit. It involves Zubeen Garg, a name that, in Assam, is less a person and more a phenomenon. He’s an artist, yes, a musician, a filmmaker—but more than that, he's the voice of a generation, a genuine cultural behemoth whose reach extends into nearly every household, every heart, across the Brahmaputra valley and beyond. You could say he's untouchable, revered.

And yet, here we are, witnessing a rather… peculiar dance. The ruling BJP, a party that has, shall we say, not always seen eye-to-eye with Garg, is now, quite openly, trying to wrap its arms around him. It’s a sudden embrace, a public show of affection that feels, to many, rather uncharacteristic. After all, wasn’t it just yesterday—or perhaps the day before—that Zubeen Garg was vocally, even defiantly, standing against the very policies championed by this government? Think back to the anti-CAA protests; his voice wasn't just in the background, it was front and center, resonating with palpable dissent.

This isn’t some obscure figure we're talking about; this is Zubeen. He's a man who has always worn his heart on his sleeve, unafraid to speak his mind, to criticize power when he felt it was veering off course. His independence, his sheer authenticity, is precisely why people adore him. It’s what gives his art its raw power. And, for that very reason, he's been something of a thorn in the side of various political establishments, including, certainly, the current one.

So, what gives? Why this sudden, almost theatrical, attempt to bring him into the fold? The cynic in us might point to the upcoming elections, to the undeniable fact that aligning with Zubeen Garg is akin to tapping into a colossal reservoir of public goodwill. His fan base isn't just large; it’s devoted, cutting across demographics, regions, and, crucially, political affiliations. To be seen with Zubeen, to be endorsed by him, or even just to have him perform at a government-sponsored event, well, that's pure gold in the political arena.

The recent hullabaloo around the "Bihu Samrat" title—a prestigious, culturally significant honor, mind you—feels very much like a part of this grand strategy. The state government, it seems, is keen to be seen as the benefactor of culture, the one bestowing such esteemed recognition. But when the recipient has been a vocal critic, when the government itself has, in the past, been less than enthusiastic about voices of dissent, one can’t help but ask: Is this genuine appreciation, or something else entirely? Is it an attempt to co-opt, to dilute the power of an independent voice by bringing it under the official umbrella?

It's a tricky tightrope, isn't it, for both the artist and the politician. For Zubeen, navigating this new landscape must be a challenge. How does one maintain that fiercely independent spirit, that critical edge, when being courted so intensely by the very powers one has critiqued? And for the government, how do they reconcile their past actions—their crackdown on protests, their dismissal of dissenting voices—with this sudden, effusive embrace of an artist who embodied much of that dissent? It’s a question that hangs heavy in the Assamese air.

Ultimately, this isn't just about Zubeen Garg; it’s about the very soul of cultural expression in a democratic space. When popular figures, symbols of regional identity, become targets of political appropriation, it raises uncomfortable questions about artistic freedom, the integrity of cultural institutions, and, perhaps most importantly, the discerning eye of the public. People aren't blind, and in Assam, they know their Zubeen. They know his songs, yes, but they also know his spirit. And that, in truth, is something far harder to appropriate than any title or stage.