‘God’s divine creation’: How Zubeen’s voice became Justice Ranjan Gogoi’s daily companion

“I have never met Zubeen.”

Justice Ranjan Gogoi said it with a soft smile, the kind that carries years of quiet regret. He was talking to India Today Magazine’s Kaushik Deka, two days after Zubeen Garg breathed his last in Singapore, and somehow the conversation had drifted from loss to something more intimate—memories, connections, the strange ways a voice can become part of your daily life.

“But I listen to any three of Zubeen's songs every day,” the former Chief Justice of India continued, settling back in his chair. It had been his ritual for years, a small comfort that makes him feel truly at home, immersed in the Assam he carries in his heart.

“For me, music means Zubeen,” Justice Gogoi said simply, and there was warmth in his voice now. Not the grief of fresh loss, but the comfort of good memories. Like talking about an old friend, even though they’d never actually met.

That was the thing about Zubeen, Justice Gogoi explained. His voice didn’t ask for credentials or education certificates. It just found you wherever you were…in a marble chamber in Delhi, in a tea shop in Dibrugarh, in your car stuck in Guwahati traffic…and reminded you of something essential about yourself.

“No singer could ever, or will never be able to sing like Zubeen,” Justice Gogoi reflected, his eyes brightening as he spoke. “His voice was out of the world.”

Out of the world, but somehow more connected to this world than anyone else. That was Zubeen’s magic.

Justice Gogoi began describing those morning moments, and one could hear the affection in his voice. How he’d close his eyes and let Zubeen’s songs wash over him, each one a small journey back to red earth and river sounds. 

“He was God’s divine creation,” Justice Gogoi said. These weren’t words of mourning but of appreciation, the way you might describe a sunset that never failed to move you.

As their conversation deepened, the remarkable coincidence that had brought them together seemed to hover in the air between them. Three men from Assam, all sharing the same birthday—November 18—Justice Gogoi, Zubeen, and Kaushik. Spanning years yet connected by something more than just a date on the calendar.

All November 18 babies. All shaped by the same soil, the same rivers, the same monsoons.

But then came the bittersweet realisation. Despite this birthday bond, despite years of devotion to Zubeen’s voice, Justice Gogoi had never actually met Zubeen. Never had the chance to sit together like this, to share stories, to compare notes on carrying Assam in their hearts while living far from home. “I have never met him in person,” he admitted, “and that is my biggest regret.”

Kaushik understood. They both did. Zubeen had that effect on people. He felt so familiar, so much like family, that it was easy to assume there would always be time later for proper introductions.

As their conversation wound down, both men seemed aware they were witnessing something unprecedented unfolding across Assam. Today, Zubeen’s body had landed in Guwahati, and the scenes were unlike anything the state had ever witnessed. Airport staff openly wept as his remains arrived home. Police personnel accompanying the convoy couldn’t hold back tears. Thousands flooded the streets in what might be recorded as one of the largest funeral processions the world has ever seen.

The day after tomorrow, September 23, is the final goodbye. But today belonged to the people, all those voices Zubeen had given songs to, now raising their own voices for him.

Three men born on November 18, a remarkable coincidence that underlines how some connections run deeper than chance. Three sons of Assam’s soil: Justice Gogoi carrying constitutional wisdom, Kaushik telling important stories, and Zubeen making sure nobody ever forgot how to feel. 

Now there were two, sharing memories of the third. Not grieving, exactly, but celebrating...celebrating a voice that had made their mornings brighter, their connection to home stronger, their sense of belonging deeper.

Some coincidences are too perfect to be anything but gifts.