As a student, and later as a teacher of Economic Sciences, I often paused over words like poverty and economic dualism. In textbooks, they appeared as neat theories and tidy graphs, yet behind those pages I sensed a silence – something human that numbers alone could never capture. In those moments in my classes, the melodies of Dr. Bhupen Hazarika echo in my mind, for it was in his songs that this silence found its voice.
Bhupen Da did not merely speak of inequality; he sang it into being. He drew such beautiful pictures of social contrast, social exclusion, various aspects of inequality, and many. In his melodies, I discovered what my lessons could not teach me – that economics is not only about figures, but about lives, and that music can make us feel the weight of inequality more deeply than any equation ever could.
Continuing, economic dualism is not a mere economic abstraction- it is a living contradiction. Bhupen Hazarika transformed this reality into song, weaving the contradictions of an unequal world into melodies that speak as vividly as they sing. In his voice, one hears the clash of city lights with village shadows, the triumph of the rich against the silence of the poor, and the march of modern industry against the stillness of subsistence fields.
Hazarika’s melodies do more than entertain; they expose. They remind us that progress in one corner often deepens despair in another, that music itself can bear witness to the fractures of an unequal society.
In Moi Eti Jajabor, when he sings “Moi dekhisu onek gogon sumbi ottalikar xari, tar santei dekhisu kotona grihohin nara-nari” (I have seen rows of towering skyscrapers, and beside them countless homeless men and women), “moi dekhisu kisu ghoror somukh bagisare ase bhori, aru dekhisu moroha fulor papori okalote pora xori” (I have seen houses adorned with blossoming gardens, and I have seen withered flowers scattered in desolation), he is not merely recounting what he has seen, rather he is holding up a mirror to society.
In a single breath, he captures the paradox of progress: skyscrapers rise, yet shadows of homelessness lengthen beneath them. The analogy of “blossoming gardens” set against “withered petals” deepens this contrast, turning complex economic realities into vivid cultural memory. Flourishing gardens symbolize the prosperity of a privileged few, while the withered petals embody the neglect and deprivation of the marginalized.
This symbolic pairing encapsulates the essence of economic dualism – the coexistence of abundance and scarcity, privilege and poverty within the same social fabric. In doing so, Hazarika bridges the gap between economic theory and lived experience, making inequality not just an abstract concept but a felt reality, rendered unforgettable through song.
This imagery aligns closely with W. Arthur Lewis’s Dual-Sector Theory, which explains economic development as a structural divide between a modern, high-productivity sector and a traditional, low-productivity sector.
Hazarika’s “blossoming gardens” reflect the gains of the modern, urban-industrial economy – concentrated wealth, rising infrastructure, and material affluence, while the “withered petals” symbolize the stagnant traditional sector of agriculture, informal work, and the marginalized poor left behind in the trajectory of growth.
The analogy gains even greater depth when situated in Assam’s lived realities: for instance, urban centres and tea plantations generate wealth that accumulates in the hands of a few, while tea garden workers endure exploitative conditions, subsistence farmers struggle to survive, and riverbank erosion victims are rendered landless.
These are not distant abstractions but lived experiences of inequality, where the promise of development coexists with deep marginalization. By embedding this dualism into song, Bhupen Hazarika illustrates both the theoretical imbalance Lewis described and the structural economic fractures of Assam, where progress for some often translates into neglect for many.
In his another song Dola He Dola, Bhupen Hazarika writes: “dolar vitorot tirbir korise sohoki patore paag” (Inside the palanquin (Dola), there glitters a display of fine clothes), “ghone ghone dekhisu lor sor korise tupula suworor aag” (And, again and again I see how it sparkles – a crown of silk upon the head), “mur he loratik eibar bihute nidilu xutare sula” (Alas! on my little boy’s body there isn’t a single garment to wear in this Bihu/festival), “sokulu ulaleu montik nabhangu korhiyai loi jaun dola” (Though tears fill both my eyes, I steel my heart and still I carry the palanquin on).
Here, Dr. Hazarika lays bare the universal plight of the labouring class, those whose strength carries both the literal and symbolic weight of society’s privileged. The palanquin (Dola) is more than a mode of transport – it is a metaphor for exploitation itself. While inside it, the elites ride in silk and jewels, the shoulders beneath tremble with hunger and exhaustion.
Hazarika contrasts the sparkling luxury of the rider with the quiet despair of a labourer’s child, who, during the festival of Bihu, longs for a new garment that never arrives because his father’s toil cannot earn enough to provide one. Through this striking imagery, he captures the essence of economic dualism —the coexistence of opulence and deprivation, dominance and dispossession, within the same social framework.
The song endures as a searing commentary on the paradox of progress, where the comfort of the few rests squarely upon the unacknowledged suffering of the many.
Again, aligning with Lewis’s Dual-Sector Model, this dynamic also reflects the Marxian concept of labour exploitation: the labourers’ sweat generates wealth that benefits the powerful, while their own families struggle to meet basic needs. Hazarika exposes the structural imbalances of society, illustrating how economic dualism and exploitation coexist, and revealing that progress for the few often comes at the expense of the many.
Taken together, Moi Eti Jajabor and Dola He Dola reveal dualism from different perspectives. In the first, Hazarika highlights urban–rural disparities, modernity, and affluence sit beside neglect and poverty. In the second, he focuses on labour-elite relations, the wealth and comfort of the powerful rest upon the unseen toil of workers and the sacrifices of their families. Both perspectives illuminate structural inequality, demonstrating how economic growth and social development can coexist with deprivation and exploitation.
It is essential to note that Dr. Bhupen Hazarika was a committed socialist, consistently voicing the struggles of ordinary people and aspiring to be the “Sudhakontho” (sweet voice) for the “Konthoruddha” (the oppressed). While this article focuses on just two songs, it is clear that his musical oeuvre consistently engages with social critique, giving voice to those marginalized by economic structures and power hierarchies.
Through his songs, Hazarika breathes life into economic theory, transforming the abstract notion of dualism into the rhythms of human stories. He shows us that behind every measure of growth, behind every glimmer of prosperity, there are faces and lives quietly bearing the weight of inequality.
His music becomes a mirror, reflecting both the beauty and the fractures of society, and a voice, giving shape to struggles that numbers alone cannot convey. This lesson resonates as clearly today as it did in his time, reminding us that true progress must reckon with the human cost it carries.
Views expressed are personal. The author is Assistant Professor, Department of Economics, Sibsagar University, Assam.
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