Legends
Bhupen Hazarika at 100: The Voice of a Civilization
His was a voice that sang not just of rivers and romance, but of justice, memory and the moral heartbeat of a people. Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri looks at ten enduring classics that trace the journey of a bard who made music a civilizational force.
The Day the Bard of the Brahmaputra Came Home
In her informative and engaging monograph on Bhupen Hazarika, published by SahityaAkademi, Mitra Phukan writes, ‘There are any number of people for whom meeting a star of the stature of Dr Hazarika would have been otherwise impossible, who can recollect how he came to their village to sing at a Bihu … the one-on-one connect [that he managed to establish] was not simply stage behaviour. It was genuine, it came from the heart.’ In 1975 or ’76, our family was privy to this. The great master had come to sing at the Durga Puja celebrations in Bokajan, Assam, where we lived at the time. And on the request of the organizer who was a family friend, Bhupen Hazarika came home.
Not just that he also consented to sing without us having to do much urging. Though a lot of it has faded from my memory, my parents remember it like it was yesterday. One of the songs he sang, I am told, was that eternal childhood favourite of ours: ‘O Horu Bhoniti Muga Riha Pindhili’. It was not a Bhupen Hazarika song – it was written by Dwijendra Mohan Sarmah but it played from every puja pandal and on radios at the time. He followed it up with the song from Chameli Memsaab – we had just watched the film a few days ago: ‘O BideshiBondhu’. He had no qualms about sitting around the humble drawing room, calling for his harmonium and singing for people who were absolute strangers. I have often wondered why he agreed. Maybe because, as Mitra writes: ‘… for him, his audiences were sacred … this was almost a sacred duty, to please and entertain the thronging multitudes … so that they went away happy.’
This version has been posted as tribute to the departed soul of the singer Zubeen Garg.
The Genius of Bhupen Hazarika
To speak of Bhupen Hazarika is to speak of a voice that belongs not merely to Assam or to India but to the wider fraternity of humanity. As we celebrate his centenary, it is worth recalling that his genius lay not just in the mastery of music but in his ability to place music at the intersection of poetry, politics and people’s everyday lives. A singer, composer, lyricist, film-maker, and cultural ambassador, he remains one of the rare figures who could embody an entire civilization’s ethos in song.
Hazarika grew up at a time when the freedom struggle was shaping cultural consciousness. The songs of his youth were imbued with the rhythm of rivers, the sounds of fields and the voices of common people. From early on, he developed an ear for folk traditions, which he would later refine with classical training and academic exposure in the United States, where he encountered the African-American singer Paul Robeson. That meeting transformed his vision, teaching him how music could transcend borders while remaining rooted in local soil. His Assamese rendering of Robeson’s ‘Ol’ Man River’ as ‘Bistirno Parore’ remains one of the most powerful adaptations in Indian music, converting a river song into a social anthem about oppression, resilience and human struggle.
What made Bhupen Hazarika a genius was his ability to weave together seemingly disparate worlds: folk and classical, Assamese tradition and world music, romantic lyricism and political urgency. His compositions carried the depth of poetry and the simplicity of folk song, making them accessible to both the scholar and the layman. He was as comfortable writing an intimate ballad about love and longing as he was giving voice to collective aspirations.
Hazarika’s music resists easy categorization. There is always a quality of riverine flow in it – slow, meandering, swelling into intensity, receding into quietude. His voice, baritone and earthy, lent his songs a gravitas that few singers could replicate. He did not need elaborate orchestration; his songs lived in their words and his voice, with arrangements that drew from local instruments and the folk traditions of the north-east of India.
At the same time, he was a modernizer. He brought Assamese music into the national imagination without diluting its essence. Songs like ‘Dil Hoom Hoom Kare’ (popularized in the film Rudaali) carried the texture of Assamese folk while becoming part of the Hindi film mainstream. His work in Bengali films – where his collaborations with Hemanta Mukhopadhyay and Salil Chowdhury enriched the cultural landscape – added another dimension to his versatility.
If one listens closely, it becomes evident that Bhupen Hazarika was not only a musician but also a chronicler of his times. His lyrics are suffused with empathy, with a moral vision that places humanity at the centre. Songs like ‘Manuhe Manuhor Babey’ (If man does not care for man, what is man?) are not merely melodies but philosophical statements, ethical appeals set to music. They articulate a vision of society where compassion is the highest value.
This deep humanism explains why his music found resonance across boundaries. Whether in Assam, Bengal, or beyond India, listeners recognized in his songs a voice that belonged to them. Hazarika never sang from a distance; his songs were lived experience, carrying the cadences of protest, resilience and hope.
Hazarika was also a pioneer in Assamese cinema. As a composer and film-maker, he expanded the scope of what music could do in film. His scores for Assamese films like Era Bator Sur (1956), Shakuntala (1961), Pratidhwani (1964), and Chameli Memsaab (1975) are landmarks. As Mitra says, ‘Era Bator Sur’ is still considered an outstanding film, not least because of its music’ highlighted by Lata Mangeshkar’s rendition of ‘Jonakorey RaatiAxomire Maati’ that ‘bathed the atmosphere in a dreamy silvery light. Another beautiful song, “Xaagor Xongomot” [see my reference to it as “Sagar Sangame” later] was also immortalized in it. Through all the hurdles, through his busy schedules, he invested a huge amount of time to make eight path-breaking films in Assamese. … Pratidhwani was based loosely on a Khasi folk tale … several well-known national singers like Talat Mahmood and Suman Kalyanpur performed in this film … especially noteworthy is the masterful use of the echo effect in the song “Liyeng Makao”, sung by Talat Mahmood and him … Mahut Bondhu Re remains only the second Bengali film made by an Assamese, after Pramathesh Barua … he wished to take the luminous folk music of Western Assam to the world. This he did with great aplomb, for the songs remain classics to this day.’
Later, his work in Hindi films (Ek Pal, 1986) brought him national recognition. His ability to score music that was rooted in local traditions while appealing to pan-Indian audiences made him unique. His songs for Rudaali (1993) remain etched in memory. LataMangeshkar’s rendition of ‘Dil Hoom Hoom Kare’, composed by Hazarika, carried his signature blend of folk and universal longing. These songs confirmed what listeners in Assam and Bengal had long known: that Hazarika’s music was timeless, and his voice was the conscience of his people.
Bhupen Hazarika’s career was also marked by his role as a cultural bridge. He understood that music was not confined by geography. His time in the United States exposed him to global struggles for justice, and he returned with the conviction that Assamese folk traditions could converse with the world. He frequently spoke of how Robeson’s influence shaped his understanding of music as a tool for social change.
In India, he became a cultural ambassador for Assam, ensuring that the richness of its traditions was visible in the national imagination. At a time when the region was often marginalized, Hazarika made its music central to India’s cultural identity. He did this not by appealing to exoticism but by showing that Assamese songs, with their imagery of rivers, fields, and labour, spoke to universal human conditions.
Over his lifetime, Bhupen Hazarika received numerous honours, including the Padma Bhushan and Padma Vibhushan, the Dadasaheb Phalke Award for his contributions to cinema, and posthumously, the Bharat Ratna, India’s highest civilian award. Yet, perhaps his greatest recognition came from the people whose lives his songs touched. In Assam, his songs are sung at protests, in classrooms, and at cultural gatherings. They live on not as relics but as living traditions, shaping collective memory and identity.
O Bideshi Bondhu (Chameli Memsaab)
‘O Bideshi Bondhu’ is one of Bhupen Hazarika’s most haunting creations, a song that embodies his gift for giving voice to loneliness and yearning. The melody carries a plaintive gentleness, almost like a hesitant conversation with absence itself. At its core lies a void, the awareness of someone who is not there, the ache of separation sharpened by tenderness rather than anguish. What makes it great is the balance Hazarika achieves: the song never slips into melodrama, yet every note seems to tremble with unshed tears. His baritone, warm yet shadowed with sorrow, makes the void palpable, transforming distance into intimacy. The composition is simple, but within that simplicity lies universality – the human experience of longing for a connection that may never return. It is this paradox of intimacy and emptiness,sorrow and beauty, that gives the song its enduring, unforgettable resonance.
Bistirno Parorey / Bistirno Dupare
Mitra Phukan writes perceptively: ‘Rivers were a constant presence in Bhupen Hazarika’s works. Not just the Brahmaputra, but also other rivers … The vast Brahmaputra river system was for him “Borluit”, the Greater Luit. Of course, when there was anger or frustration, the songster addressed the river as Burha, Old Luit.’ Which is how he addresses the river in his cult song, ‘Bistirno Parore’, [and which] ‘in later versions, as the song travelled from Assamese to other languages, became the Ganga’.
‘Bistirno Dupare’ stands as one of Bhupen Hazarika’s most enduring creations, a song whose roots lie in Paul Robeson’s iconic ‘Ol’ Man River’. Hazarika, deeply influenced by Robeson’s voice and politics, transposed the lament of the Mississippi to the banks of the Brahmaputra / Ganga. But while Robeson sang of racial oppression in America, Hazarika infused the Assamese landscape with a cry against poverty, injustice and the silent suffering of millions in India. The song’s greatness lies in this act of translation, turning a universal protest into a deeply local one, without losing its resonance across borders. The melody, sombre and flowing like the river it invokes, amplifies its moral urgency. It is at once elegiac and insurgent, questioning society’s complacency. In its sweep, ‘Bistirno Dupare’ becomes more than a song. It becomes a riverine ballad of protest, carrying forward the humanist spirit that linked Hazarika to Robeson.
Buku Hoom Hoom (Maniram Dewan)
Bhupen Hazarika’s music for Maniram Dewan is steeped in Assamese folk cadences yet resonant with a universal lament. As Mitra writes, ‘Using different kinds of music to wonderful effect, he highlighted the mood of the film at different points. Especially noteworthy are the two folk songs from two different regions along the Brahmaputra over which Maniram goes by boat from his home. The regions of Western Assam are masterfully evoked through folks songs … it was said at the time that only Bhupen Hazarika could show how a person has moved from one region to another seamlessly through song.’
My own favourite is ‘Buku Hoom Hoom’, which Hindi film lovers will recall as ‘DilHoom Hoom Kare’. The Assamese version is austere and earthy, its lyricism drawing from the soil and history of Assam, mourning dispossession. Hazarika’s deep baritone makes the song an incantation, a dirge, a lamentation, carried on a melody at once simple and unshakable. Speaking to me, Mitra says, ‘It’s pure patriotism. Love for the motherland, for whom he is ready to lay down his life. “Aai tore hoi moi moru” – Mother, I die for you. And “Jasim xantona aai mukti probhatere” – Mother, I shall take consolation in the light from the dawn of freedom.’
When transcreated into Hindi for Rudaali, Gulzar reshaped the words with his trademark imagery, retaining the essence of loss but giving it a more lyrical, romantic universality. Rendered by Lata Mangeshkar, the song takes on a different aura – softer, more feminine, even sensual, drenched in an aching fragility that complements the stark desert imagery of the film. Together, these versions illustrate the remarkable adaptability of Hazarika’s music: rooted in Assamese ethos yet expansive enough to embody pan-Indian emotions of grief and endurance.
Mitra adds: ‘I read somewhere that Gulzar was searching for a Hindi equivalent for “hoom hoom”. Ultimately, after much discussion, Bhupen Hazarika, Kalpana Lajmi and he settled on the same word. But the soaring melody is suited also to the tragedy inherent in both renderings. Bhupen Hazarika used diverse melodic structures for his songs. Many were rooted in this region, India’s north-east, specifically Assam. But he brought in melodies from so many other global musical traditions also. The fact that the same melody works so well in two very different cultural/historical contexts shows the universality and inclusiveness of his musical imagination.’
Aami Ek Jajabor
‘Aami Ek Jajabor’ is both a declaration and a philosophy of life. The song captures the essence of the wanderer, rootless yet rooted in humanity. Its lyrics evoke the thrill of constant movement, of seeing the world not as fragmented borders but as a shared home. In its lines, the roads, rivers (yes, rivers are prominent here too: Aami Gangar theke Mississippi hoye Volgar roop dekhechi) and mountains become companions, strangers turn into kin, and each journey becomes a hymn to belonging everywhere and nowhere at once. Yet, beneath the buoyant spirit of wanderlust lies a quiet ache – the knowledge of never being able to stay, of carrying solitude like a shadow. Hazarika infuses this duality with his voice: the freedom of flight intertwined with the loneliness of flightlessness. The song’s greatness lies in how it transforms the personal longing of a nomad into a universal vision – where the world becomes family, and every unknown face, a familiar echo of hope: pather manush aponhoyeche, apon hoyechhe por.
Pratidhwani Suni
‘Pratidhwani Suni’ is that rare song where music becomes an echo of existence itself. The very word pratidhwani, an echo, suggests not just sound returning, but memories, longings and questions reverberating endlessly. As rendered by Bhupen Hazarika, the echo becomes elemental, as if carried by rivers, forests, and the restless heart of Assam. The melody moves with the patience of silence disturbed, each note expanding like ripples that never quite die away. The lyrics speak of resonances we hear yet cannot fully grasp, voices that remain distant, truths that elude us. Beneath the quietude lies something larger: the cry of humanity itself, a vast sea of longing and chaos, its shout reverberating across time. Hazarika’s genius lies in making this chaos sound intimate, turning the echo of the world into a song that lingers in the listener’s soul long after the music has ceased.
Sagar Sangame
One of Bhupen Hazarika’s most resonant creations, here the sea becomes both metaphor and destiny. In its surge of words lies the ceaseless striving of life itself – restless, unmoored, forever seeking confluence. The lyrics evoke the ocean’s eternal rhythm, its rise and fall mirroring the unending human struggle, the longing for fulfilment, for merging into something larger than oneself. Hazarika’s voice, deep and textured like the tide, carries this vision with rare conviction, at once weary and hopeful, vulnerable yet unbreakable. There is in his singing the vastness of the horizon and the turbulence of waves, the heart’s own unrest echoing in the call of the sea. ‘Sagar Sangame’ is not merely a song but a voyage, an anthem of striving against odds, of surrender and persistence, of life’s endless quest, making it one of the great milestones of Bhupen Hazarika’s oceanic imagination.
Ganga Amaar Maa
‘Ganga Amaar Maa, Padma Amaar Maa’ – few lines in Indian music hold such elemental power as Bhupen Hazarika’s hymn to rivers that shape both geography and identity. The song is not merely about the Ganga, but about all rivers that nourish and bind. By invoking Ganga and Padma in the same breath, Hazarika transcends political borders, making rivers emblems of shared heritage and human unity. Then there’s the sheer poetry of “dui chokhe dui jolerdhara Meghna Jamuna (from my eyes, two streams of tears flow – the Meghna and the Jamuna). The lyrics carry a primal simplicity – mother as the river, river as mother – that makes it unforgettable. Its greatness lies in how it tells the story of a river as a story of civilization, of memory, of collective longing. The melody flows with the inevitability of a current, carrying within it sorrow, hope and the inexhaustible continuity of life. That is why the song became a cult classic, an anthem that feels less composed than discovered, as eternal as the rivers themselves.
Manush Manusher Jonno
This is a powerful hymn to human kindness, empathy and solidarity. The refrain ‘Manush Manusher Jonno’ asks whether with a little compassion, a person cannot be humane. The song critiques how society often treats humans as commodities, using one person for another’s gain, without caring for their dignity or life. It urges listeners to reflect: if someone is weak, if they are to cross the raging river of life, won’t you try to help? What loss is there in compassion? ‘Manush Manusher Jonno’ has become more than just a song. It’s an enduring moral reminder. In Bangladesh, for example, in a poll conducted in 2006, it was voted the second-most popular Bengali song after the national anthem. Its resonance lies in its universal message: humanity is not separable, and each person’s life depends on recognizing and nurturing the humanity in others.
It’s a deeply humanistic call to solidarity, compassion and shared dignity. At its core, the song insists that humanity transcends borders, religion, class, or power. In a world often defined by division and exploitation, the song stands as a moral compass, reminding us of our duty to care for others, especially the weak and the voiceless. Bhupen Hazarika’s deep, soulful voice gives the song its emotional weight.
Hey Dola, Hey Dola
This is a powerful, evocative song about class, labour and human dignity. It portrays the lives of bearers who carry the palanquin of the rich or powerful, while themselves enduring hardship, poverty, nakedness, shame, sweat and toil. It does to the palanquin bearer what SalilChowdhury’s ‘Runner’ (poem by Sukanta Bhattacharya) did to the ‘postal runner’. Runner is set to music with a shifting key structure and melody that mirrors the anxiety, urgency and almost painful hope of someone walking long distances, carrying responsibility, moving towards dawn. He makes the ‘postal runner’ into an emblem: the runner’s footsteps, the long path, the eastern horizon turning red – all these are both literal and symbolic, reflecting emotional shifts in the poem: anticipation, fatigue, defiance.
In ‘Hey Dola, Hey Dola’, Hazarika similarly gives voice to those who physically bear the palanquin: the bearers are not invisible; he emphasizes their toil, their sweat, the essential dignity in their labour. The song contrasts what is carried (luxury, prestige) versus those who carry. What makes the song great is its spare yet powerful melody – steady, sombre, weighty– along with Bhupen’s singing: deep, resonant, almost conversational but charged. The phrasing drips sympathy and moral urgency; the song’s message is of recognition and warning: we forget the ones who carry us at our peril. The melody, the voice, the message fuse to humanize and protest.
Bhupen gives voice to the bearers’ suffering, dignity, and their inner life. The song doesn’t pity them; it shows their importance: the palanquin can only be borne because of their strength. It contrasts the opulence inside the palanquin (silk clothes, glitter) with the barely clothed, caked-in-sweat bearers. There’s a warning: if the bearers slip, the palanquin falls; so those inside should not forget who supports them. The tune walks – slow, deliberate yet persistent, like the steps of the bearers. The melody has a roughness and urgency mixed with a mournful beauty. Bhupen’s baritone voice carries both restraint and emotion. It doesn’t go into high dramatics but every phrase is heavy with meaning. Listeners feel the embodied fatigue, the pride and the weariness. It’s a protest song, not overtly political in slogans, but deeply moral. It’s about power relationships, the invisible labour that upholds privilege, and the cost borne by the powerless. Also, it humanizes them: they’re not mere symbols. All this makes ‘Hey Dola, Hey Dola’ a cult song: memorable, moving, socially conscious, poetically rich, and sung by one of the masters.
Naino Mein Darpan Hai (Aarop, 1974)
There are better, more resonant songs in Bhupen Hazarika’s oeuvre. In fact, if one were to talk of his film compositions, Ek Pal and Rudaali probably deserve special essays of their own. However, this song from Aarop, composed by Bhupen Hazarika and sung by Kishore Kumar and Lata Mangeshkar, is a personal favourite. It is a sublime example of how melody can envelop the listener in warmth and longing. From the very first note, Bhupen Hazarika’s signature musical sensibility – rich, fluid, steeped in emotional nuance – sets a tone of expressive elegance. The interplay of Lata’s soaring, crystalline voice with Kishore’s deeper, tender inflections creates contrast without tension, like two threads in a seamless embroidered tapestry. Every rise and fall in the tune, every carefully placed pause, gives space for both the words and the longing behind them to breathe. What stands out is the beauty not just of the vocal performances but of the orchestration: gentle strings, subtle harmonies, perhaps a flute whispering in the wings – all supporting rather than overwhelming. It’s rare for a melody to be so simple yet so emotionally rich; this one lingers long after the music ends.
A Voice for the Ages
A century after his birth, Bhupen Hazarika’s songs remain startlingly relevant. In an era marked by division and alienation, his call for humanity resonates with urgency. His music reminds us of the possibility of empathy across differences, of art as a medium of solidarity. His centenary is not only a moment of commemoration but also of reflection: what does it mean to carry forward his legacy?
Perhaps it means listening again to the rivers he sang about, to the cries of marginalized people he gave voice to, and to the inner restlessness he captured in his melodies. It means remembering that music is not ornament but necessity, not escape but engagement. Bhupen Hazarika was not merely a singer of songs. He was a singer of life itself, of its joys and sorrows, its struggles and triumphs. He stands in the tradition of artists who make us see ourselves anew, who expand our sense of belonging to the world.
At 100, his voice continues to flow like the Brahmaputra – vast, turbulent, nourishing. It carries with it the memory of past struggles and the promise of future hope. In that sense, Bhupen Hazarika does not belong to history alone. He belongs to the ongoing story of humanity, a story that still needs his voice, his music, and his vision.
