Zubeen Garg Birth Anniversary: A Tribute From The Child In Me Who Grew Up With His Voice

November 18 marks Zubeen Garg’s birth anniversary, and I find myself writing as someone who grew up unknowingly sheltered by his voice. His songs were an integral part of my childhood, stitched into those small yet everlasting memories that return without warning. We lost him a few months ago, and since then, I’ve carried a strange, quiet void - the kind that does not hurt loudly, but lingers like a dull ache you learn to live with. How does one really accept that the voice that once echoed through childhood mornings, teenage angst phases, and adulthood breakdowns is forever silent? How can someone whose voice shaped an era simply become a memory and that too, so soon?Growing up, my mother wasn’t exactly fond of Zubeen Garg’s film songs. She

found many of the films he sang for a little too mature or intense for my age, and honestly, I do not blame her. She was only trying to protect me from themes my mind wasn’t ready for. But what is childhood if not built partly on tiny rebellions? And one of mine was choosing to listen anyway. I would wait for those brief golden minutes after brushing my teeth every morning - the time between sitting with my grandmother and getting ready for school - to secretly devour his songs on Sangeet Bangla, like it was my own personal ritual of escape.

Where does one even begin? From Piya Rey Piya Rey to Chokher Jole, from Mon Mane Na to Ya Ali, his voice felt like that invisible friend who somehow understood emotions I couldn’t yet name. The day the news of his demise broke, it felt like a childhood diary suddenly flipped open - every page holding a song, a memory, a time stamp.For the world, Ya Ali remains one of his most iconic masterpieces - soul-soaked, intense, and impossible to replicate. For me, that song is a reminder of how certain voices do not just sing; they heal, haunt, and hold you at the same time.And then there is Mon Mane Na. For Bengali teens of that era, Dev’s macho, heartbreak-laden, larger-than-life avatar became iconic, and a major part of that happened because Zubeen’s voice gave Dev his emotional pulse. Teenage hearts, including mine, skipped several beats - not just because of Dev’s screen presence but because Zubeen turned every scene into a feeling. His voice could make you blush, cry, dream, and rebel - all at once.

Then comes Subho Mangalam, which till today remains my instant pill of happiness. Even today, when adulthood throws exhaustion my way, that song is enough to take me back to a familiar, warm, safe emotional space — proving that some songs don’t age. And then came the day when Mayabini played during Zubeen’s final journey. That moment, even from afar, felt like a personal loss; as if someone had taken away a part of my childhood that I could never retrieve. It wasn’t just a singer’s farewell; it was the end of a comfort I always assumed would exist.Yet, in my heart, Zubeen Garg is not gone. He was, he is, and he will always remain the safest emotional space I can return to - the one who continues to protect the child in me, especially on days adulthood becomes too loud.