New Delhi, July 30: Indian classical music, one of the oldest unbroken musical traditions in the world, carries within its notes the echoes of a timeless civilisation. Today, whether it is a sitar recital in Paris or a morning raga on an Indian stage, the music speaks of a history both spiritual and evolving—shaped by ritual, court culture, philosophy, and resistance.
At its core, Indian classical music is not merely a performance art; it is a discipline, a path, and a living repository of India’s cultural memory. Divided broadly into two major traditions—Hindustani music of the North and Carnatic music of the South—its foundations lie deep in sacred texts, yet its growth has been guided by the shifting patterns of history and geography.
As it stands today, Indian classical music is celebrated across the globe. But its origins lie in the early spiritual practices of the subcontinent. The first documented expressions of music in India appear in the Vedas, particularly the Sama Veda, which laid out the foundations of mantra chanting with structured melodic patterns. These chants were more than artistic renderings—they were sacred acts of invoking the divine. The recitation techniques, with strict adherence to pitch and rhythm, sowed the seeds of the ragas and talas that later came to define Indian classical music.
Over time, music in India transcended its purely liturgical role. As kingdoms rose and fell, music travelled—sometimes in temples, sometimes in royal courts, and often through wandering minstrels and mystics. By the early centuries of the Common Era, treatises like Natya Shastra by Bharata and Dattilam by Sage Dattila began to formalise the grammar of music. These texts delved into concepts like swara (notes), raga (melodic frameworks), and tala (rhythm cycles), which remain essential to Indian classical music even today.
The medieval period marked a critical phase in the bifurcation of India’s classical tradition. With the arrival of Islamic rule in the north, musical forms began to absorb Persian and Central Asian influences. This led to the gradual emergence of the Hindustani school of music, which evolved in the Mughal courts and Sufi shrines. Instruments like the sitar and tabla found their place here, and genres such as dhrupad, khayal, and thumri began to flourish. Dhrupad, the oldest surviving form of Hindustani music, was originally devotional and austere, while Khayal introduced a more lyrical and improvisational style that still dominates concert stages.
In the South, the Carnatic tradition retained its continuity through temple patronage and a strong focus on vocal music. Composers such as Purandara Dasa in the 15th century laid the pedagogical foundations for what would become the modern Carnatic system. The 18th century saw the rise of the Trinity of Carnatic music—Tyagaraja, Muthuswami Dikshitar, and Syama Sastri—whose compositions, primarily in praise of Hindu deities, remain central to the repertoire today. Their works not only enriched the melodic and rhythmic structures of Carnatic music but also turned performance into a deeply devotional act.
While the divergence between Hindustani and Carnatic traditions solidified geographically and stylistically, both remained rooted in the same foundational principles of raga and tala. Yet the experiences that shaped them were vastly different. Hindustani music developed more in urban, courtly spaces, adapting to audiences and royal tastes. Carnatic music remained anchored in the temple and domestic settings, with a stronger emphasis on compositional precision and spiritual devotion.
The colonial period brought about new challenges and opportunities. British administrators initially dismissed Indian music as primitive, but efforts by scholars like Vishnu Narayan Bhatkhande and V D Paluskar in the early 20th century attempted to codify and reform music education. Bhatkhande systematised Hindustani music theory into accessible texts and created a framework for teaching ragas. Paluskar, on the other hand, made music education accessible to the public, detaching it from its traditional dependence on royal patronage and hereditary musicians.
Simultaneously, recording technology and broadcasting began to shape Indian classical music’s modern journey. The advent of All India Radio brought classical performances into the homes of millions, elevating artists like M S Subbulakshmi, Ravi Shankar, Bhimsen Joshi, and Kishori Amonkar into national icons. Concert halls replaced royal courts, and classical music became both performance and pedagogy, increasingly formalised through institutions, competitions, and certificates.
The second half of the 20th century saw Indian classical music stepping onto the world stage. Pandit Ravi Shankar’s collaborations with George Harrison and Yehudi Menuhin introduced the sitar to Western audiences, while L Subramaniam’s violin concerts captivated global listeners. With diasporic movements and increased global interest in Eastern spirituality, Indian music became a tool of cultural diplomacy, intellectual exchange, and artistic fusion.
Today, Indian classical music stands at an interesting crossroads. Technology has made it more accessible than ever, with online tutorials, digital concerts, and global classrooms. Young musicians are experimenting with fusion, blending classical ragas with jazz, electronic music, and film scores. Yet purists continue to preserve the sanctity of the tradition through rigorous practice and dedication to the guru-shishya (teacher-student) model that has sustained the art for millennia.
There is also a growing interest in reviving forgotten forms like haveli sangeet, sopana sangeetham, and rare ragas that had fallen into disuse. Efforts are being made to document oral traditions and support endangered instruments such as the rudra veena and sarangi. Simultaneously, women have gained greater visibility in what was once a male-dominated field, with icons like Annapurna Devi, Aruna Sairam, and Kaushiki Chakraborty leading the way.
Despite these changes, the soul of Indian classical music remains unchanged. Whether it is the slow unfolding of a raga at dawn or a thunderous crescendo in a midnight concert, it continues to evoke emotion, discipline, and transcendence. It teaches listeners to value patience, presence, and the delicate balance between structure and spontaneity.
In a world moving ever faster, Indian classical music offers a space to pause, to listen deeply, and to connect with something that feels at once ancient and eternal. Its origin may be lost in the mists of time, but its journey is very much alive—resonating from the veena of Saraswati to the earbuds of a teenager halfway across the world.
