You walk into an old temple in Kerala maybe at dusk, just when the lamps are lit. The air smells of sandalwood, and there’s this slow, soul stirring sound that rises, almost like it’s climbing the very steps of the sanctum. That’s Sopana Sangeetham. It’s not background music. It’s not a performance. It’s more like a prayer that found rhythm. And somehow, after being pushed aside for decades, this music is coming back. Slowly. Quietly. But with a kind of quiet strength only ancient things carry.
What Even Is Sopana Sangeetham?
The name tells a story ‘Sopanam’ means the steps that lead to the deity, and ‘Sangeetham’ is music. Put together, it literally means “music of the steps.” It’s been part of Kerala’s temples for centuries, especially around the 13th or 14th century, when verses like Jayadeva’s Gita Govinda were first sung in these temple corridors. But don’t confuse it with Carnatic music. This isn’t about fast swaras or flashy vocals. It’s simple. Slow. Deep. Each note is stretched like a prayer. Each line especially those devotional ones sung to Krishna or Shiva comes out in a way that feels personal, like a chant just for the divine.
What Makes It Sound So Different?
Then comes the Edakka, an hourglass shaped drum that doesn’t just beat it talks. It follows the singer's tone, almost like a duet. Along with that, there’s the Chengila, a metallic disc that keeps time like a quiet heartbeat. There’s no rush, no crowd pleasing high notes. Just a meditative, flowing tune that pulls you inward. You don’t listen to Sopana Sangeetham to be entertained. You listen to feel something deeper.
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Who Were the Ones Singing It?
Traditionally, families from the Marar and Pothuval communities carried the art. They didn’t learn it from books or apps. It passed from father to son, temple to temple. Temples like Guruvayur, Thirumandhamkunnu, and Pazhoor weren’t just places of worship they were music schools in disguise. Each had its own way, its own style, passed through generations quietly.
But Then, It Started Fading
Like many traditional arts, Sopana Sangeetham didn’t fit the modern mold. People moved on to faster, more “exciting” music. Kids weren’t learning it. Teachers were aging. For a while, it was mostly kept alive inside temples rarely heard outside. Unless you were part of the temple culture, you probably didn’t even know it existed.
A Few Heroes Refused to Let It Die
One of the biggest names in this story is Njeralattu Rama Poduval. A master of the Thirumandhamkunnu school, he believed this music needed to breathe outside temple walls too. He took it to public stages but never diluted it. Others like Janardhanan Nedungadi and Damodara Marar followed suit, inspiring new voices. And today, names like Ambalapuzha Vijayakumar, Ayilur Akhil Marar, and even young learners are keeping the spark alive.
What Changed? The Revival Begins
Over the last few years, small but powerful efforts have started bringing Sopana Sangeetham back into conversations. There were events like Ananda Sangeetham, where kids, seniors, and artists all came together to sing, teach, and celebrate temple music. Then came experimental fusions where Sopana mixed gently with Kathakali music or Mohiniyattam dance. These weren’t commercial tricks. They were respectful blends, designed to introduce this sacred form to curious new ears.
Where Are People Learning It Now?
Places like Kshetra Kala Peetham in Vaikom and Anusthana Kalabhyasana Kendram in Thrissur are doing serious work. They run classes, host workshops, and document ragas that were once only sung not written down. And here’s what’s beautiful: they’re teaching everyone. Boys, girls, people from outside temple families. Anyone who wants to learn. That’s how real revival happens not with rules, but with open doors.
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Why It Needs to Survive
Let’s be honest. In today’s fast, noisy world, Sopana Sangeetham feels like a soft whisper easy to miss, easy to ignore. But here’s why it matters:
- It’s pure Kerala. This music wasn’t borrowed from somewhere else. It was born here. It's ours.
- It’s deeply spiritual. You don’t just hear it. You feel it. It quiets your mind.
- It’s living history. Every note carries centuries of devotion, language, and ritual.
- It’s disappearing. Without support, it’ll slip into silence. And that silence will be our loss.
What’s Still Holding It Back?
For one, nobody talks about it. Ask around most people in Kerala know more about K-pop than Sopana Sangeetham. And that’s not their fault. It’s just not visible. Also, there aren’t enough teachers. Not enough recordings. Not enough funds. And when something doesn’t make money, people tend to forget it exists.
So, What Can We Actually Do?
- Make space for it in schools. A 10-year-old kid hearing it once might grow up to preserve it.
- Record and upload. Even a single YouTube channel can create ripples.
- Support festivals and fellowships. Artists need more than applause they need resources.
- Blend, but respectfully. Let it evolve without losing its soul.
The Final Thought
Sopana Sangeetham isn’t background music, It’s cultural memory
It holds Kerala’s spiritual, artistic, and emotional identity in every line, every raga. And though it was once slipping away, people across villages, towns, and temples are bringing it back note by note, prayer by prayer. You might not find it trending on Instagram. But if you ever hear it really hear it you’ll understand why it must never be forgotten. Because some music doesn’t just fill the air. It fills the silence inside you.
