How Photography Found Me

I don’t really remember the first time I held a camera.
But apparently, the camera remembered me.

My mom tells me that even when I was just one or two years old, I used to get excited every time someone picked up a camera. Not for the people, not for the posing, but for the sound. That click. That shutter noise. I couldn’t say much back then, but I apparently kept saying “Khichaa… Khichaa,” trying to imitate the sound the camera made.

At that time, nobody thought much of it. Just a kid fascinated by noise, by movement, by shiny things. Childhood habits don’t always mean something, right?

Turns out, maybe they do.

Growing up, photography was never something I consciously “chose.” It just kept hovering around me quietly. In my early teens, my mom started food blogging in Delhi, and I automatically became her photographer. No formal role, no pressure, just me clicking photos of plates before we ate.

But even then, something felt clear to me. I remember telling my mom multiple times, very confidently, that I didn’t like clicking humans much. I couldn’t explain why. It wasn’t awkwardness or shyness. I just didn’t feel connected to portraits. What excited me was the street, the randomness, animals, birds, things that didn’t pose or perform.

Looking back, that should’ve been a sign.

At the same time, my phone photography started growing without me realizing it. We travelled a lot, moved around, saw different places, and suddenly I had all these subjects in front of me. Streets, skies, insects, shadows, random corners people usually walk past without noticing.

I still remember one moment very clearly. I must have been around 12 or 13. I had an Asus phone back then, and for that time, the camera was actually pretty good. One day, I clicked a picture of a housefly. Just a normal housefly. Nothing exotic.

But when I saw that photo, I remember thinking, wait… did I actually click this?
That moment stayed with me. That quiet disbelief. Like, maybe I had some skill here. Maybe my eyes were doing something my hands didn’t even understand yet.

I’ll probably attach that photo to this blog because it means more to me than many “better” photos I’ve clicked since.

Around that phase, people started telling me something I heard again and again:
“You have an eye for photography.”
“You notice things others don’t.”

And honestly, that felt good. Not in an ego way, but in a oh, so this weird habit of noticing random things isn’t useless kind of way.

Then came a moment I still feel a little bittersweet about.

Seeing how much I enjoyed photography, my mom decided to gift me a camera. No consulting experts, no deep research. With very limited knowledge, we ordered a cheap Canon DSLR. I was excited beyond words. A real camera. My own camera.

But strangely, I never connected with it.

We had that camera for a very short time. I don’t even fully know why it didn’t click. Maybe I wasn’t ready. Maybe the camera didn’t suit me. Maybe my expectations were wrong. Whatever it was, we sold it. And today, I probably have barely ten good photos from that phase.

After that, I almost convinced myself that phone photography was enough. In my head, phones were doing a “good enough” job, and maybe cameras just weren’t my thing.

Years passed.

In 2019, we shifted to Goa. Life changed in many ways. New place, new rhythm, new priorities. Photography slowly slipped into the background. I wasn’t thinking about buying a camera anymore. It wasn’t even on my mind.

Skip forward to 2025.

I was finishing my graduation in English Honours, and we planned a holiday to Japan. Like any normal person, I started watching YouTube videos about what to buy cheap in Japan. Phones. Sneakers. Brands like Samsung, iPhone, Onitsuka Tiger, Supreme.

And then one name kept popping up.

Sony.

Something clicked again. Not loudly. Just a quiet nudge. I remember thinking, maybe I should buy a camera. Maybe I should actually take photography seriously this time.

But that didn’t happen in Japan. Things didn’t work out the way I imagined. No camera came back with me. And honestly, that was probably for the best.

Because the months that followed were far more important.

Back home, I started researching properly. Budget cameras. Wildlife photography. Lenses. Sensor sizes. Everything. And one thing was very clear in my head, I wanted to do wildlife photography. Not weddings. Not portraits. Wildlife.

But reality hits hard when you start looking at prices. Wildlife lenses cost more than dreams. Spending one and a half lakh on a lens when you’re just starting out felt insane. I wasn’t even sure if I’d be good enough. Or consistent enough.

Still, the pull didn’t go away.

In September, I finally bought my second ever camera. A Sony a6700 with a Tamron 70–300 lens.

And honestly? I was over the moon.

That feeling of holding the camera, setting it up, stepping outside, it felt different this time. Real. Intentional. Like I wasn’t chasing a phase anymore. I was choosing something.

And I need to say this clearly, none of this would’ve happened without my mom. Her belief in me, her support, her willingness to back my dreams even when things aren’t guaranteed, that matters more than any gear I own.

Once the camera came, the next question hit me.
Now what?

Wildlife photography sounded romantic until I looked at safari prices. Packages starting at twenty thousand felt impossible for a beginner. I felt stuck again. Like I had the tool but no path.

I remember feeling a little heartbroken. Wondering if I’d made the wrong decision.

And then… birding happened.

But that story deserves its own space.
Because birding didn’t just change my photography.
It changed how I look at waiting, patience, silence, and success.

That comes next.

For now, this is where it all began. Somewhere between a toddler saying “Khichaa,” a housefly on an Asus phone, a camera that didn’t stay, and another camera that finally felt like home.

Some stories don’t start with intention.
They start with attraction.

And this one stayed.