A New Year’s Invocation.

On this New Year’s Day, I’m summoning an old dream—one that has followed me since I was 16. This recurring vision came unbidden, untouched by anything I’d experienced in the real world. At least, not yet.

I’m standing on a beach, alone. The air hums with the ominous wail of sirens—the kind you hear in old war films. No source, no warning—just this eerie soundscape against a backdrop of coastal serenity. The beach feels familiar, reminiscent of the rugged Oregon coastline I once explored with my grandmother. The sun casts its golden glow; the sea sparkles in a deceptive calm. But then, the horizon begins to rise—an impossible vertical ascent. A wave. Immense and inevitable.

I run. Instinct takes over as I climb through dunes and brush, reaching an unfamiliar barrier: a near-vertical sandy hill. Clawing my way up, I glance back—the wave has grown, now towering like the Space Needle itself. Over 500 feet, it looms.

That first dream etched itself into my mind. Over time, the sirens disappeared, but the wave remained—a rogue giant emerging from nowhere. My curiosity led me to study tsunamis and earthquakes, only to find my dreams didn’t quite fit the science. There was no seismic warning, no oceanic drawback—just this tidal behemoth. Each new dream painted a different beach, a fresh landscape, as if my mind enjoyed flexing its creativity. No two settings were ever the same.

These days, I find myself drawn to the sea with my camera. In Mumbai, places like Juhu Beach teem with life, making it perfect for someone like me, a people photographer. Armed with my “secret camera” (details coming soon), I’ve mastered in-camera motion effects, producing dreamlike images that rival anything I could conjure in post-processing.

This year, I’ve decided to embrace my dreams. Instead of running from them, I’ll channel them into my work. If you’re stuck creatively, as I was, maybe your dreams are trying to tell you something too.