‘Was It Worth It?’: A First-Time Concertgoer’s review of Atif Aslam’s Show

For someone like me who had never been to a concert before in her entire life, attending Atif Aslam's concert felt like a feast for the senses. When a friend of mine asked, without a trace of forewarning, "Would you go to Atif Aslam's concert? I'm buying the tickets because they might sell out soon." I replied, "Count me in for a ticket as well," without hesitation, as I couldn't let this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to witness childhood nostalgia slip away like that.

Fast forward to the time when I reached the venue, Bangladesh Army Stadium. It was almost 5:15pm, and there was still a sea of people waiting in the queue to get inside. The lines seemed endless—a breathing mass of anticipation, frustration, and sweat. 

When the crowd couldn't control itself any longer, the army decided to show up at the very last moment. When we finally got in around 7:05pm, my firsthand experience was of a mob coming toward me at full speed as they broke through the barricades. I could hear the people in charge saying, "Don't we have a bat to fight them off?" without actually doing anything.

To add to the audacity, the police started assaulting audience members at the entrance with valid tickets without acknowledging what was happening in that situation. Although they later managed to identify the assailants, beat them, and throw them out of the stadium, the chaos was undeniable.

Despite all the hassles, was Atif worth it? True to form, the artiste sang with a passion that made each note hit home. His concert kicked off with a style that only he could pull off.

On the big screen, an opening video played where he boldly claimed, "My song has its own kind of creativity," set to a tune we all recognised. And when he says it's creative, you just nod along, because somehow, he makes it feel like it actually is.

Donning a grey hoodie that read, "Trust the process, success takes hard work," he proved throughout the concert how he lived up to this phrase. While the audience eventually grew worn out, his energy never waned.

When he sang classics like "Tera Hone Laga Hoon" from the film "Ajab Prem Ki Ghazab Kahani", I could clearly time travel 11 years back to 2014, when I would listen to this song on my MP3 player or perhaps download it onto my computer. Then, there I was, witnessing the music of the very man right before my eyes, in a crowd where I truly belonged.

The proverbial 'magical moment' happened when he performed "Dil Diyan Gallan". Just like in the music video where Katrina walked down the stairs, and charms showered around her. You wouldn't believe me when I say the atmosphere was recreated to match the video exactly. Atif belted out the song, and the confetti from the music video fell upon the audience.

Last night, Atif was in full-on qawwali mode, performing "Tajdar-e-Haram" and "Kun Faya Kun". The Bangladeshi organisers, however, were clearly inspired by his song "Kuch Is Tarah" (just like this) when it came to mismanagement and power cuts. Atif, ever the professional, seemed to pray through his songs, as if saying, "No more mishaps, please." Who were we to complain? When the artiste himself said, "Keep your spirits high, power cuts are just part of the concert experience."

Even his smallest gestures during the concert were a treat for the eyes. While performing my all-time favourite, "Aaoge Jab Tum Saajna", Atif made a heart sign with his hands, and at that moment, every struggle; the long wait, numb feet, and suffocation felt entirely worthwhile. 

The experience as a whole was not as rosy as I made it sound. If I were to speak from the perspective of an audience, Bangladesh is not yet an ideal place to host concerts, especially for international artistes like Atif Aslam.

The crowd size is simply too large for any available space. I, as a front-zone audience member, couldn't even see Atif perform live and had to rely on the screen. I might as well have just opted for YouTube for that kind of experience.

The concert was divided into three sections; magical, front, and general zones. However, if you managed to buy a ticket worth Tk 10,000 in the magical zone, consider yourself lucky because, in reality, there was no such thing as general or front zones—just a chaotic crowd with poor management.

Setting my emotions apart from Atif, the night wasn't complete without another Pakistani artiste, Abdul Hannan, who poured his heart out in singing hits like "Iraada", that definitely set the bar for romance.

To top it off, our very own Kaaktaal and Tahsan gave their full efforts to make the night a memorable one for us, the audience.

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‘Losing voice was the most traumatic experience of my life’

I didn't realise it until I got home, but writing this feels like speaking for every other Atifian who carries him as a core memory of their childhood. This man represents our childhood; he made our first heartbreaks somewhat easier through his tracks and accompanied us during those nights before falling asleep. And even a decade ago, our headphones were well-acquainted with his voice and tunes.

So, when I wondered again, was it worth the hassle? I would say, as a first-time concertgoer, I wouldn't have missed the chance to relive that childhood nostalgia. When such an opportunity presented itself, how could I ever let it pass? But in the future, I would definitely not set myself up for this kind of experience again.