The influx of sponsors, commercial interests, and brand endorsements has also deeply affected the festival’s character
As Bohag Bihu or Rongali Bihu approaches, the streets of Guwahati begin to light up with festivity, yet for many cultural observers and nostalgic residents, the festival has slowly turned into a spectacle devoid of its soul. What was once a deeply rooted agrarian celebration full of rituals, community bonding, and reverence for nature has now morphed, in urban Assam, into ticketed mega-concerts, celebrity shows, and a social media frenzy of fleeting moments.
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Rongali Bihu, traditionally observed to mark the Assamese New Year and the arrival of spring, was once a time of immense cultural significance. It celebrated fertility, nature, cattle, and the spirit of rejuvenation. However, the transformation of Guwahati into a bustling metropolis has steadily eroded the festival’s rural rituals, and what remains in the city is more performative than participatory.
A number of traditional rituals that were the cornerstone of Bohag Bihu are rarely practised within city limits anymore. "When we were young, we used to gather at dawn on the first day of Bihu to bathe our cows, decorate them with new harnesses, and smear them with a paste of black gram and turmeric," says an elderly resident of Chandmari. "Now, most children living in flats don’t even know what ‘Goru Bihu’ is."
The festival begins with ‘Goru Bihu’, dedicated to cattle, which is celebrated with great reverence in rural Assam. The cattle are washed in rivers or ponds, fed special treats, and adorned with garlands made from herbs like dighloti and maanimuni. In Guwahati, the practice is largely obsolete due to lack of space, water bodies, and connection with agriculture. “We used to sing Bihu naam in the courtyard and prepare pithas and larus with the whole family,” adds the resident. “Now people just order them online.”
Another fading tradition is ‘Manuh Bihu’, the day when elders are honoured with bihuwan (handwoven gamusa) and blessings are sought. Families used to come together for communal feasts, visit neighbours, and perform husori (group performances with traditional songs and dances) at each other’s homes. In Guwahati today, the gamusa is often reduced to a decorative item handed over at a stage event or political rally, rather than being a heartfelt gesture of respect. Husori has long been lost in the city.
The vibrant ‘Mukoli Bihu’, which allowed young men and women to sing and dance in open fields while building romantic bonds through song exchanges, has also all but disappeared. Urban development has left no such fields, and public parks are now too regulated or commercialised for such free-spirited gatherings.
In its place, what has emerged is the phenomenon of mega Bihu concerts. From Nehru Stadium to Sarusajai Sports Complex, these are grand affairs often featuring Bollywood-style lighting, amplified sound systems, celebrity anchors, and a long lineup of performers—some of whom are far removed from the folk roots of Bihu music.
“There is a sense of pride in breaking world records now,” says a cultural researcher from a city-based university. “This year, again, we hear that thousands will perform together wearing traditional attires and dancing in synchronised fashion. It’s visually striking but spiritually hollow. We are mistaking scale for significance.”
Last year’s attempt to set a Guinness World Record for the largest Bihu dance performance was celebrated widely on TV and social media, but many critics pointed out the mechanical nature of the event. Dancers were trained to follow steps with military precision, often neglecting the emotional spontaneity that defines Bihu.
“People were more focused on their camera angles than the lyrics,” laments a traditional Bihu artist. “Earlier, it was about love, longing, and mischief through words and rhythm. Now it's just about going viral.”
The influx of sponsors, commercial interests, and brand endorsements has also deeply affected the festival’s character. Giant banners, political hoardings, and ticketed venues have made Bihu increasingly inaccessible for many. Cultural troupes complain that lesser-known but authentic performers are being sidelined for more marketable names.
“TV channels and event managers decide the playlist now. We are told not to sing certain slow-paced songs because they ‘don't keep the audience engaged’,” says a Bihu group leader from Maligaon who wished to remain anonymous. “So, instead of celebrating heritage, we’re curating entertainment.”
Many Bihu committees in Guwahati now operate like event management companies, inviting Bollywood artistes or reality show singers to increase crowd turnout. While these performers may draw audiences, the outcome is a hybridised celebration that caters to pop culture rather than Assamese identity.
The younger generation in Guwahati seems increasingly unaware of Bihu’s deeper essence. For them, Rongali Bihu often equates to Instagram reels, new outfits, and celebrity concerts.
“I only remember Bihu as the time when Zubeen Garg or Papon would come to perform at a big ground,” admits a 17-year-old college student from Beltola. “We don’t really do anything at home except maybe wear a mekhela sador for pictures.”
Several schools have also reduced their emphasis on traditional Bihu functions, instead hosting fusion dance competitions or inviting guest artists. Cultural purists believe this dilution is widening the generational gap and making Bihu an annual fashion parade rather than a heartfelt celebration.
Despite the overarching trends, some communities in Guwahati still hold on to the old ways. In parts of Beltola, Kahilipara, and Noonmati, small neighbourhoods come together to celebrate ‘Mukoli Bihu’ in local fields, invite traditional husori groups, and cook authentic Bihu delicacies.
A few local groups organises workshops to teach children how to prepare pithas, play pepa and toka, and sing traditional Bihu songs. “We are trying to sow seeds,” says a member of the group. “We know the city is changing, but if we give up on these practices completely, we’ll just be left with Bihu merchandise and no memory.”
Some efforts should be made at policy levels, the member added. "The Assam government should propose cultural grants for schools to host traditional Bihu workshops and partner with All Assam Students’ Union (AASU) to create awareness about folk practices," he further said.
As Guwahati continues its journey of urbanisation, the essence of Rongali Bihu risks becoming a casualty of modernity. What was once a multi-day festival of love, fertility, respect, and nature has now been squeezed into flashy concerts, performance-based rituals, and a photo opportunity.
While cities are bound to evolve and so must traditions, the complete sidelining of Bihu’s cultural depth in favour of spectacle and commerce has left a gaping void. Unless families, educators, and cultural bodies make a conscious attempt to revive the forgotten customs and reintroduce them to the next generation, Bihu in Guwahati may soon become a festival celebrated without knowing why.
“The real tragedy,” says a cultural historian, “is not that Bihu is changing. It’s that no one remembers what it used to be.”
