In the highlands of Meghalaya, musical instruments are more than tools of sound, they are vessels of tradition, identity, and cosmology. Among the Khasi people, each musical instrument carries symbolic significance: some are used to summon ancestral spirits, others to mark agricultural milestones or preserve oral histories—and of course, some simply to entertain.
Handcrafted from the land itself—bamboo, wood, animal hide, and gut, Khasi instruments are shaped as much by ritual as by skill. No two are exactly alike, and their forms often mirror the landscapes and beliefs of the people who make them. Today, their music lives on—not only in village ceremonies and seasonal dances, but also in Shillong’s evolving indie and fusion scenes.
Bruno Latour, the influential philosopher of technology, once remarked, “Change the instruments and you will change the entire social theory that goes with them.” Nowhere is this insight more vividly realized than in the traditional instruments of the Khasi people.
Historically, Tangmuri players were not mere musicians but spiritual intermediaries, and some clans guarded the tuning of the instrument as sacred knowledge, passed down through generations.
In recent years, Khasi instruments have found vibrant new life—bridging tradition and modernity. Fusion band Summersalt made national headlines with their Duitara-infused tracks in Rock On!! 2, filmed partly in Shillong, introducing haunting Khasi melodies to a wider audience. Bands like Na Rympei and 4th Element have since taken the sound further, weaving traditional instruments into blues, jazz, and indie rock—streaming into Spotify playlists and festival lineups alike.
The revival isn’t limited to the hills. At the 2024 Northeast India Music Summit, a Tangmuri layered over synths stole the show, signaling a bold, cross-genre future. Meanwhile, global recognition grows: UNESCO’s review of Shad Suk Mynsiem as Intangible Cultural Heritage has spotlighted ritual instrumentation, while films like The Song We Sang and viral shorts from creators like India InFrames are amplifying Khasi music on the world stage.
If you’re spending time in Meghalaya, Khasi music offers more than just a soundtrack—it offers a way to understand the place. In villages like Smit and Nongriat, some homestays now include musical workshops, where you can learn to carve a Duitara or try the drums used in local festivals. During events like Shad Suk Mynsiem, you’ll hear the music not from a stage, but from within the crowd—drums pulsing, the Tangmuri cutting through the mist.
These instruments carry more than melody. They’re part of daily life—blessed before they’re played, shaped by seasons, and tied to moments of love, loss, and celebration. To hear them here, in their landscape, is to be let in on something old and ongoing.
It’s not a performance. It’s how the hills speak.
If you want to experience Khasi music in its most authentic and intimate form, make your way to Pynter, where ChaloHoppo has been working since 2015 to revive and celebrate the village’s deep musical roots. Here, a local band—once the last of its kind—brings to life songs first composed generations ago while tending animals in the fields, melodies threaded with morals like “Don’t forget where you are from” and “Love and take care of your mother.” Many of these musicians have written for some of the most famous Khasi artists, yet their own craft was slowly fading under the pull of Western influences—until ChaloHoppo began bringing guests, rekindling both livelihoods and pride.
What began as simple performances on verandas soon grew into a humble hut that served as both stage and music school for village children. In 2024, with support from the Government of Meghalaya, it blossomed into a restaurant, a small hotel, and an open-air amphitheater. Today, every visit we host is celebrated like a homecoming, with guests welcomed not just as spectators, but as part of a living, evolving tradition. So come—pull up a chair, share a meal, and let the music fold around you like an old friend you didn’t know you’d been missing.
So when you next wander through Meghalaya—cradling tea in a misty Shillong café or watching dawn spill over a bamboo eave in Mawlynnong—pause. Let the wind speak. That whisper of strings in the breeze, that echo of drums rolling through the valley—it’s more than music.It’s memory, humming in the bones of the hills. And if you’re quiet enough, you might hear the land itself leaning in, asking: Are you listening?
Reach out to us to plan your visit, or join one of our curated cultural immersions.
