How Jakhalabandha fell in love with Zubeen before the world caught on

Long before Zubeen Garg became a cultural phenomenon — the voice that stirred hearts across Assam and beyond — his songs found their earliest, most devoted audience in a small town called Jakhalabandha. 

Tucked away in Nagaon district along Assam’s bustling highway to Upper Assam, this unassuming stopover town unknowingly gave the state’s biggest music icon his first taste of stardom.

It is here that the people of Assam, long before the era of YouTube or Spotify, discovered the magic of Zubeen Garg — the voice that would go on to define generations and transcend boundaries.

Located along the busy corridor connecting central Assam to the upper reaches of the Brahmaputra Valley, Jakhalabandha lies around 174 kilometres from Guwahati via NH 27 and 130 kilometres from Jorhat via NH 715. 

What makes it more than just a transit point is its unique place in Assam’s musical folklore. Since the early 1990s, this small town unknowingly gave one of the biggest “viral” breaks to the then-rising singer Zubeen Garg — at a time when social media was not even an idea.

Back then, the town’s rhythm was set not by internet trends but by the sounds that flowed from roadside dhabas and bus halts. Every day, buses travelling between Upper and Lower Assam would stop at Jakhalabandha’s food joints — places that doubled as cultural theatres. 
Passengers stepping out for tea or snacks were greeted by the same familiar yet endlessly varied sound: Zubeen Garg’s songs. His voice filled the air — one dhaba playing his melancholic tracks, another blaring his peppy hits, all at once creating a unique symphony that wrapped around the town.

Old-timers still recall how the songs “Maya,” “Asha,” and “Pakhi” would echo through the night, merging with the sounds of passing trucks and the rustle of the nearby Kaziranga forests. Even before television interviews and big-stage concerts made him a household name, Jakhalabandha’s dhabas had turned into the earliest broadcasting stations for Zubeen’s music. They were his first radio stations, his first fan clubs — unorganized, spontaneous, and deeply emotional.

The connection between Zubeen Garg and Jakhalabandha also ran through his professional collaborations. Local cultural organizers, with the support of NK Production — a production company closely associated with the singer — often brought small-town events to life with his presence or his songs. 

Be it Bihu functions, stage shows, or music album launches, Jakhalabandha was quietly becoming one of the cultural crossroads of Assam, celebrating local art while amplifying the sound of a young man who was destined to become an icon.

People from the region say that Zubeen’s rise mirrored their own sense of aspiration. Coming from Jorhat, a town in Upper Assam known for its literary and musical traditions, Zubeen’s voice carried both the sophistication of art and the simplicity of rural life. For the people of Jakhalabandha, he was not just a singer — he was one of their own, someone whose songs carried their dialects, their emotions, their heartache, and their hope.

As time passed, the digital age arrived, and Zubeen’s fame spread across India and beyond. But for the people of Jakhalabandha, there was always quiet pride in knowing that they had been among the first to truly “discover” him. They had heard his voice not through streaming apps or FM radio but through loudspeakers on tin-roof dhabas, where tea boiled in kettles and night buses hummed through the highway.

Today, as Assam mourns its beloved son, the legacy comes full circle. The state government has allotted 3.3 acres of land in Kamarbuchi NC village near Guwahati as his final resting place — a cremation ground that will soon become a monument for fans to stop and pay tribute. 

For travellers heading towards Upper Assam, this site will serve as both a place of remembrance and reflection — a reminder of how a small-town boy from Jorhat became the voice of an entire region, and how a modest town called Jakhalabandha helped the world hear him first.

In Jakhalabandha, even today, when the buses slow down and the dusk settles in, the echoes of Zubeen’s songs can still be heard faintly from an old speaker somewhere — as if the town itself continues to hum in his memory, just like it did three decades ago.