I have visited the Zubeen Garg Memorial a few times before — maybe two or three times. Each visit felt peaceful and emotional, but this recent one touched my heart in a special way. That day, when I went there, the place looked more alive than before. There were so many small stalls lined along the path. People were selling diyas, agarbatti, food, and even little souvenirs in memory of Zubeen da.
The air was filled with a soft sweetness — a mix of incense, fried snacks, and the earthy smell of the evening breeze. The sun was slowly setting, painting the sky in orange and pink shades. The whole atmosphere felt calm yet full of emotions. I could see people walking quietly, some smiling, some lost in thoughts, and a few wiping tears while looking at Zubeen da’s photo.
It was getting a little cold, and I suddenly felt like having a cup of tea. Just then, I noticed a small wooden stall nearby. A middle-aged woman was running it, selling tea, ghugni, and boiled eggs. The steam rising from her kettle and the warm smell of chickpeas made me walk towards her.
I went near her stall and said, “Can you please give me one cup of hot tea and a plate of ghugni?”
She looked at me with a gentle smile. While she poured the tea and served the hot ghugni carefully, I saw she had a few boiled eggs placed neatly on one side of the table. Her hands moved quickly but calmly, as if she had been doing this for years.
As she handed me my plate, I asked, “Do you get good sales these days? Are you able to earn well?”
She paused for a moment, looked at me, and smiled again — the kind of smile that hides both strength and sadness. She said softly, “Yes madam, I am earning well now. But life is still not easy, you know. The sad part is when Zubeen da was alive, we used to come here during Bihu to watch the functions from far away. We used to enjoy the songs, dance, and food. He was full of life — his voice would fill the whole place.”
Her eyes grew a little moist, but she kept smiling. “Now, after his death, everything has changed. We see him from close every day — his photos, his memorial, his fans — but he is no more with us. Still, even after his death, he has given us a way to live. Many of us earn our livelihood here. So yes, I am earning well, but my heart is broken too. Every day I see so many people come here with tears in their eyes, missing him deeply.”
I stood there quietly for a while, holding the cup of tea in my hands and feeling the warmth. The woman’s words touched me deeply. Around me, I could hear soft music playing — one of Zubeen da’s songs echoing faintly in the distance. The little diyas flickered as the wind blew lightly, and people moved silently, lost in their feelings.
In that moment, I realized something — a person never really leaves if they’ve left their love behind. Zubeen da is no longer with us, but his presence still lives in every corner of that memorial. He lives in the songs people still hum, in the stalls that help families survive, and in the emotions that fill the air even today.
As I finished my tea and ghugni, the woman thanked me and smiled again. I smiled back, feeling grateful for the simple yet powerful conversation. Walking away slowly, I thought about how some people continue to shine even after they are gone — not just through their voices or fame, but through the lives they continue to touch every single day.
