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A.R. Rahman’s Wonderment Tour in Mumbai: Drum-Offs, Guest Stars and Dhanush's Cameo
On Saturday night, the maestro A.R. Rahman offered a sprawling and chaotic, but ultimately moving celebration of sound.
By the time Jai Ho rang out into the sultry evening air at DY Patil Stadium, the crowd had already been sitting for hours in the unforgiving May heat. Some had queued since 2 PM. The queues were long, the walk to the seat was longer, and the anticipation had curdled slightly into irritation. But then the stage lights flared, the music began, and all was forgiven.
There are many versions of A.R. Rahman. There’s the reclusive genius, the spiritual seeker, the crossover star. On Saturday night, Mumbai met yet another Rahman—an artist determined to turn prayer into performance.
It was the global premiere of The Wonderment Tour, and in theory, it set out to “redefine live entertainment in India.” What unfolded was a fascinating push-pull between polish and spontaneity, humility and hubris, old and new. Somewhere in the strobe lights, Rahman tried valiantly to thread them all together.
The show opened with Jai Ho, the Oscar winner that has now become shorthand for his global stature. But the energy truly shifted when Jonita Gandhi took over the stage. Tasked with singing classics originally voiced by Asha Bhosle, Alka Yagnik and Shreya Ghoshal, Gandhi moved effortlessly between eras and moods. From Kahi Aag Lage to Agar Tum Saath Ho to Barso Re Megha, she was precise and radiant. Later, standing by Rahman at a piano singing Vida Karo, she showed a quieter side of performance art reminding audiences that restraint, too, can dazzle.
Gandhi was flanked by a formidable group of vocalists: Hriday Gattani, Nakul Abhyankar, Soubhagya Mohapatra, Shifa Ruby, Amina Rafiq, Shaoni, Bhavin Pushkarna, and Nitesh Aher—many of whom were relatively new to such a massive platform. The concert also featured Zanai Bhosle, Asha Bhosle’s granddaughter, who performed Rangeela Re.
Rahman’s band, meanwhile, was stealing the show. There was Nilanjana Ghosh Dastidar, bassist and vocalist; Sanket Naik, percussionist and singer; and Ashwin Srinivasan, who turned the flute into a force of nature.
And then there was Evelyn Soto. A Colombian percussionist with firecracker energy and a stage presence that could rival any frontman, Soto was a revelation. At one point, Rahman pretended to “teach” her how to play the drums. It was equal parts awkward and endearing. But it led into one of the night’s most electric moments: a drum-off between Soto and Ranjit Barot, Rahman’s long-time collaborator and possibly the most respected percussionist in the country. It was loud, thrilling, and, for a brief moment, the stadium felt like it was levitating.
Someone in the crowd asked another, “Yeh drummer kaun hai?”—referring to Evelyn. The reply came without hesitation: “Bohot famous hogi toh pata chal hi jayega.” We’ll find out her name when she becomes famous. When, not if. As though it was already a given that fame would find this young musician with her electric presence and unmissable talent.
Not all the risks paid off entirely, but just as people began drifting toward the food stalls, Rahman played his trump card: the guest stars.
If Gandhi carried the concert musically, it was Sukhwinder Singh who detonated it. He bounded onto the stage like a man summoned by rhythm itself, tore through Ramta Jogi with his trademark wildness, and referred to Rahman, affectionately, as his “God-friend”—a malapropism that somehow made perfect sense. He would return again for Chaiyya Chaiyya, leaving the stage in a trance of his own making.
Soon after came Nadaan Parindey by Mohit Chauhan, and then Kun Faya Kun, which remains one of the most stirring live tracks in Rahman’s repertoire. In an extraordinary moment of cultural unity, thousands of people echoed Rahman as he softly said “Sallallahu `alayhi wa sallam” —a salutation of peace.
Earlier that evening, the opening act, Yellow Diary, had performed their haunting track Kashmir, which carries the line: “Kashmir tera hua mere bina to kya tera; Kashmir mera bhi ho tere bina to kya mera.” (What is Kashmir to you, if not shared with me? And what is it to me, if it isn't ours together?). The words floated over the stadium like half a plea, half a prophecy. They would land, eventually, with unexpected clarity, a foreshadowing of the night’s most unifying moment.
There was also one big surprise tucked away for the final hour: Dhanush. The actor joined Rahman to perform Adangaatha Asuran, a song from Raayan, written and sung by Dhanush himself. The energy surged. The song hit hard. The surprise worked. The crowd erupted.
Shiamak Davar’s dancers came on for the larger-than-life numbers, and between their choreography and Rahman’s frequent costume changes, it was clear this was not meant to be a purist’s concert. This was a show. But the experienced veteran performer that Rahman is, he knows how to land a show. And he did—with Maa Tujhe Salaam. The crowd stood. People sang.
The Wonderment Tour is an attempt to gather everything that Rahman has been and everything he hopes to be. It had its fluctuations, but it is also earnest and ambitious. And in today’s landscape of auto-tuned live shows, that alone is a wonder.