BY JYOTHSNA HEGDE
Duluth, GA, July 25, 2025: On a golden summer evening of June 29, 2025, as twilight tiptoed across Duluth, the Gurukul Event Center transformed into a sanctified space of rhythm, reverence, and resounding cultural pride. The Kerala Hindus of Georgia (KHGA), long known for their heartfelt efforts to keep Kerala’s classical traditions alive within the diaspora, curated an extraordinary evening that was at once a journey into the past and a celebration of enduring heritage.
The spotlight of the evening shone on two time-honored and deeply spiritual art forms—Sopanasangeetham and Ottanthullal—each distinct in character yet bound by the thread of devotion. Together, they brought to life the evocative tale of Rukmini Kalyanam, the divine union of Krishna and Rukmini, weaving music, movement, satire, and soul into an unforgettable performance.
The evening unfolded under the graceful stewardship of Mini Nair, who, on behalf of KHGA, anchored the event with a quiet elegance and deep cultural sensitivity.
The program opened with the mellifluous strains of Sopanasangeetham, performed by Sri Ambalapuzha Vijayakumar. Dressed in the unassuming attire that matched the humble origins of the art form, he sat cross-legged in serene composure, evoking the timeless image of temple musicians seated on the sopanam—the sacred stone steps leading to the sanctum sanctorum of a Kerala temple. As his voice rose in soulful devotion, time seemed to slow.
Each note, each verse carried the fragrance of temple lamps, the stillness of dawn pujas, and the whispered prayers of generations. Singing from the Geeta Govindam and other sacred compositions, Vijayakumar’s renditions were rich in bhava (emotion) and unwavering in their adherence to the classical grammar of the form. The audience was lulled into a meditative state, as though standing on the edge of a temple pond under moonlight, listening to the echoes of divinity.
Sopanasangeetham, in its essence, is not performance—it is offering. It does not aim to dazzle but to dissolve the ego, drawing both the artist and the listener inward. In today’s world of frenetic speed and noise, this art form becomes an antidote—reminding us to pause, reflect, and connect with something eternal. Vijayakumar’s performance was a gift, a spiritual invocation that sanctified the space for the narrative to follow.
If Sopanasangeetham was the sacred whisper of devotion, Ottanthullal came next as a riotous, colorful outburst of theatrical genius. The performers, Sri Ambalapuzha Suresh Varma and Sri Sivadev, burst onto the stage in vibrant costumes adorned with shimmering ornaments and painted faces that echoed the exaggerated theatricality of temple folk traditions. Their expressions were exaggerated, their movements calculatedly flamboyant—and yet, beneath the jest and satire, a serious artistry unfolded.
In Ottanthullal, poetry and performance intertwine. Invented by the legendary Kunchan Nambiar as a response to societal injustice and the exclusivity of classical arts, this form democratized expression. It brought performance out of elite courts and into the public arena, often delivering biting social critique through humor, irony, and parody. And true to that spirit, the evening’s Ottanthullal performance infused the mythological tale of Rukmini Kalyanam with both reverence and irreverence—drawing hearty laughter from the audience even as it subtly prodded at timeless human follies.
Suresh Varma and Sivadev embodied multiple characters with seamless transitions—one moment the yearning Rukmini, penning her love to Krishna, the next moment the pompous messenger or the bewildered king. Their dexterity in voice modulation, facial expression, and rhythmic movement captivated the audience, who found themselves swept up in the performers’ magnetic storytelling.
Amid the bursts of laughter came moments of poignant clarity: when love defied tradition, when divine will overcame royal decree, when dharma stood firm against tyranny. The performance reminded us that mythology is not frozen in time; it evolves with every telling, adapting to the sensibilities of each generation. Ottanthullal, with its satirical edge, acts as both mirror and lamp—reflecting our societal truths while illuminating paths forward.
Elevating both these art forms was the brilliant Sri Harikrishnan, whose mastery of the Mridangam provided the rhythmic spine of the evening. His fingers danced across the double-headed drum, drawing out patterns that echoed with ancient memory. His beats conversed with the vocalist’s phrases and mirrored the actor’s movements, creating a pulsating heartbeat that drove the performance forward. His accompaniment was not merely supportive—it was symbiotic, breathing life into every dramatic pause, every crescendo of emotion.
Together, these artists created more than a performance. They resurrected a sacred world of Kerala’s artistic heritage—a world where temples were not just places of worship, but living theaters of music, dance, and storytelling. In an age where cultural roots often fade in the swirl of migration and modernity, KHGA’s event served as a vital tether to ancestral identity. It was a reminder to the Indian American community, especially the younger generation, that tradition need not be relic—it can be relevance, revival, and joy.
The tale of Rukmini Kalyanam, with its themes of love, agency, divine will, and destiny, resonated powerfully with the audience. More than a story from scripture, it became a lens through which the community could view their own diasporic journey—rooted in tradition, yet ever seeking new expressions. The union of Rukmini and Krishna, forged not by coercion but by mutual longing and divine design, mirrored the union of art and audience that night: authentic, profound, and transformative.
As the final curtain fell and the performers were met with thunderous applause, a quiet sense of fulfillment lingered in the air. It was the satisfaction of witnessing something rare and beautiful, of being part of a cultural continuum that stretches across oceans and generations.
KHGA’s evening of Ottanthullal and Sopanasangeetham was not merely an event—it was an offering, a celebration, and an act of cultural devotion. Through sound and silence, jest and prayer, it rekindled the sacred fire of Kerala’s artistic soul in the hearts of those far from its shores. And in that rekindling, it created something enduring: a living legacy that continues to sing, dance, and speak.
