Cultural Identity & Roots Through Zubeen Garg

In a generation that dreams in pixels and runs in fast lanes, Zubeen Garg stood like a song that refused to forget its origin. His voice, no matter how far it travelled, always carried the fragrance of his homeland the sound of rain on tin roofs, the hum of the Brahmaputra, the quiet ache of the Assamese heart.

The lesson is not just that Zubeen loved Assam. It is that he never allowed success to disconnect him from his soil. And that, in today’s restless world, is a form of wisdom our youth desperately needs to learn.

To the youth chasing the horizon remember the soil beneath your feet. Cultural rootedness is not a limitation; it is an identity anchor. Zubeen taught us that being rooted does not mean being confined; it means being defined. He explored, experimented, created, and conquered, but his art always carried the rhythm of home. Even when Jaane Kya Chahe Mann and Ya Ali made him a national sensation, he returned to Assam and said with conviction, “I won’t leave my kingdom.” Those words were not arrogance; they were belonging. They were a declaration that fame without identity is emptiness.


Our generation, in its chase for validation, often measures success by how far we can run from home for a better city, a global job, a bigger name. But Zubeen’s journey flips that definition. He reminds us that the truest form of growth is not measured by how far you go, but by how deeply you remain connected.


You can move to any city, build any dream, learn any craft but never let the noise of ambition drown out the rhythm of your origin. Zubeen never let it. His songs were not written in studios of convenience; they were born out of emotional honesty. That is why they still live because roots give permanence to art. Being rooted is not being small it is being timeless.


Every time he sang in Assamese, Zubeen was not rejecting the larger world he was reminding it that every local voice has global meaning. The world does not celebrate uniformity; it celebrates authenticity. That is what we often forget. In the race to sound like everyone else, we lose the sound that makes us.



Zubeen’s voice taught that cultural confidence is power. He did not need to compromise his art to be relevant; he became relevant because he refused to compromise. That is what it means to have roots they hold you firm when fame tries to make you float. The youth of Assam, or anywhere for that matter, must carry that same sense of belonging.


We do not honour our culture by memorizing it we honour it by living it, by letting it breathe through our choices, our work, and our dreams. Zubeen did not wear his culture as nostalgia; he made it a living, evolving part of his creativity. To be modern is not to abandon what made you it is to reinterpret it, like Zubeen did with every song that mixed folk essence with contemporary beats. That is how you keep culture alive not in textbooks or festivals alone, but in daily life, in how you speak, create, and connect.


Fame can take you anywhere but roots will bring you home. When Zubeen walked through Mumbai’s music corridors, success could have easily swallowed him whole. Bollywood had finally opened its golden gates. Yet, he returned to the place that taught him how to feel. He did not chase cities; he built meaning in one. He could have built an empire in a city of dreams instead; he built a kingdom of memories in the land that gave him dreams. “I won’t leave my kingdom,” he said and in that one line lies an entire philosophy. It is not about geography. It is about loyalty to one’s essence, to one’s origin story. Every young person today needs to ask: what is my kingdom? Is it a city, a language, a set of values, a community, or a belief system? And when the world tempts you to trade it for
convenience, will you have the courage to say no?


That is what Zubeen teaches that sometimes, staying where your heart belongs is a greater rebellion than leaving to be noticed. Rootedness does not limit your wings it gives them direction. Without roots, wings flutter aimlessly. With roots, they know where to return. Zubeen’s art was fearless because it was anchored. He could create freely because he knew exactly who he was and where he came from. That is the lesson the youth must carry:


Do not let your hometown become just a hashtag. Do not let your mother tongue become a memory. Do not let your culture become a costume you wear for festivals. Let it be the pulse that guides your choices the invisible strength that reminds you, “You come from somewhere.” Zubeen did not just sing songs. He sang belonging.


He showed that the most powerful art, the most lasting success, and the most honest life come from those who never lose sight of their beginning. You do not have to live in your kingdom to serve it. You just must never forget it exists within you.


That is what it means to be rooted to carry your home wherever you go. And as his melodies continue to echo through Assam’s hills and hearts, they whisper to every young dreamer — “Go wherever you must, but never forget the soil that sings your name."