Kenneth Sagar creates space for people to be seen, heard, and truly understood — whether through his photography or his podcast. His show, Chase Those Dreams, isn’t about success — it is about the journey. The doubts, the choices, and the moments that shape who we become. That is why people open up to him in ways they rarely do anywhere else.

In this conversation, Kenneth shares his own story — one shaped by trust, unexpected encounters that change everything (by the way, did you know he spent most of his youth training to become a cricketer?), and a deep belief in living with purpose beyond achievements.

— Kenneth, you have spent so much time telling other people’s stories; now it is time to share yours. You are from India, right?

— I was born in the UAE, in Abu Dhabi, where I lived until I was about nine. Then we moved to India for my education, and that is where I grew up. My parents come from a middle-class background, and my dad spent his entire career working in the UAE to support our family back home.

— What did he do? And what about your mom?

— He was an electrical engineer. He spent his life here in the UAE, managing building maintenance and running contracts. He passed away in 2014.

Growing up, we didn’t really understand the weight of what he was doing for us. For us, life was simple — school, hobbies, friends’ birthdays, having a home, having food. That was our world. We didn’t see the reality outside of it — that someone was working almost every single day of the month just to make that life possible for us.

My mom was the one holding everything together at home. We were two boys — energetic, into sports, always on the move — and she had to keep us grounded. Looking back, I think we turned out a bit more aware because of that. We understood, in our own way, that we had a responsibility towards her too. We couldn’t just be reckless kids all the time.

For me, growing up, everything revolved around sports. I wanted to be a cricketer — that was the dream. Represent the country one day. So from the age of nine, my life was disciplined. I’d wake up at 5 am, train till 8, go to school, come back, train again from 5 pm to 7 pm, and then finish homework. That was my routine — seven days a week.

— So there wasn’t really space for anything else? Was it just cricket?

— Exactly. No typical teenage stuff — no partying, no smoking, nothing like that. I needed to stay fit, stay focused, perform across all age groups — under 11, under 13, under 15, under 16. And I was really good.

Then came that moment around 20–21, where everything comes down to selection. The top 25–30 players who move to the highest level. I was performing at my peak. Everyone around me was confident — “You’re going to make it.” And I believed it too.

We went through weeks of training, matches, evaluations. And then came the final day — they started announcing names. 5, 10, 15… my name still hadn’t come up. I started getting nervous.

Then around 23, they called out this one name — a guy who hadn’t really performed. Later, I realised his father was part of the management. So… my name wasn’t there.

I remember seeing his dad come forward, shaking hands with everyone. And that is when it hit me. That is how it works.

That was the last day I ever played the sport. It wasn’t even anger; it was a realisation that it is not always about talent. Sometimes it is about who you know, where you come from, your connections.

And suddenly, I am 21 — no real education, no degree, no career. I didn’t know what to do. But I knew I had to start somewhere. So I just began walking into offices, introducing myself — “I don’t have experience, but I am willing to learn.”

Most people said no. But one place gave me a chance. We spoke for hours, and they said, “There’s nothing on your CV, but we like who you are.” They took a chance on me — gave me six months to prove myself.

That was my first job, in a US mortgage company back in my hometown. Within three months, I got a full-time role. That is how my career started.

— And when did you pick up a camera?

— At the same time, there was something else quietly building in the background. Growing up, my dad used to take photos — not posed ones, just real, candid moments. And I always noticed how different they felt.

Even when I was playing, he’d secretly record my matches, hiding somewhere so I wouldn’t get nervous. Then we’d go home, watch the footage, and he’d break it down — what I did well, what I could improve. I didn’t realise it then, but that stayed with me.

In my early 20s, I picked up an old camera and just started taking pictures — random things, streets, moments, whatever caught my eye. I created a Facebook page and started posting them with small captions.

And people started responding. People from different parts of the world. They were seeing meaning in my photos, stories I didn’t even realise I was telling.

At that point, I didn’t even consider myself a photographer. I was just someone with a camera. But something was happening.

Still, my mindset was practical — I needed to make money. So I focused on work.

Eventually, I tried moving to another city, about eight hours away, just to see if I could live independently. I didn’t even tell my mom the full truth — I just said I was visiting friends.

And I went back to the same process — walking into offices, asking for opportunities. But this time, it was tougher. People wanted degrees, experience — things I didn’t have.

I went to maybe 30 places in one day. Rejection after rejection. No food, no breaks — just trying to figure things out.

Then, at the very last place, I walked in again. Same story. The HR looked at my CV and said, “There’s nothing here.” But we talked. And after a while, she said, “You know what — this paper doesn’t reflect who you are. I’ll put you through to the manager. What happens next is on you.”

— Oh my God, it is so important to meet people who don’t just look at your CV, but truly see something in you.

— Yes! I walked in, went through six rounds of interviews, and by 8 pm, I was exhausted and hadn’t even eaten. Then they told me they wanted to hire me purely because they liked me. It was a UK-based company working with Sky TV — six months probation, but I was made permanent in three. That experience changed me, because it wasn’t about the job; it was about how I was growing as a person. At the same time, I was still taking photos, just walking around, capturing moments, and my page slowly grew from friends and family to thousands of people connecting with my work. That is when I first felt like maybe there was something here, but reality kicked in: you still need money, so work stayed the priority.

Living away from home wasn’t easy — I even broke my elbow once and couldn’t afford treatment at first, so I had to deal with it alone until my landlord helped me. Those moments really shape you. After two years, I felt ready to move to Dubai. It was booming, but again — no degree, no clear path. But then I got a call.

It was with a big power rental company. I met the regional head, and instead of going through my CV, we just talked about life. He told me he wanted me on the team not for what I’d done, but for who I could become. But he also said something I never forgot: “You’re not made for the corporate world. You’re a free spirit. One day you’ll hate this. And when you do, tell me — I’ll help you find something else.”

A week later, I got the offer — way more than I expected. That job became a turning point. I stayed 16 years, grew across regions, but deep down it became routine — good money, not fulfilling.

Photography was always there on the side, but I didn’t fully believe it could be a career. Then my dad passed away in 2014, and it hit me hard — I realised he had built a life for us, but never got to live it himself. During COVID, that feeling came back even stronger. So in 2021, my wife and I made a decision to quit. With no plan, just savings and the belief that we’d figure it out.

I stepped away and asked myself — okay, I want to do something in the creative space… but how? At that time, a friend of mine had an agency, and she kept telling me, “You’re meant for this — you can run things and be creative at the same time.”

So I thought, what is the worst that can happen? Let’s try.

I partnered with her and started working in the agency. And that is where I began to understand how I could take my creativity — photography, filmmaking — to the next level.

But more importantly, I started noticing something. There was a huge gap in storytelling.

There were plenty of agencies, photographers, filmmakers — but everything was about luxury, money, quick shoots. No one really wanted to invest time in understanding people, their stories, their journeys.

Because storytelling takes time. It takes effort. And most people just want to shoot, deliver, get paid, and move on. So I thought — okay, I want to build something for the community. Something that actually tells real stories.

— I assume that is how your podcast, Chase Those Dreams, came about.

— Exactly. I just wanted to talk to real people — not about success, but about what it actually took to get there. That “in-between” is what interests me. So I started the podcast — no script, just real conversations, doing everything myself.

I remember being scared to check the first episode, but it hit around 5,000 views. And people told me, “It feels real.” That is when it clicked — there is a difference between telling a story and actually reliving it.

From there, I just kept going. I reached out to people I respected, and those conversations went deep, way beyond what people usually share. That is when I knew this is what I am meant to do.

Everything connected — photography, filmmaking, podcasting — all storytelling. I eventually stepped away from agency work because it didn’t align with me and focused on this fully.

I also realised artists’ stories weren’t being told because they couldn’t always afford it, so I chose to invest my time in them. That is how my work started getting recognised — people would see something and ask, “Did Ken shoot this?”

For me, that is enough. It has never been about titles — it is about telling real stories. And if someone watches something and feels, “That’s exactly who this person is,” then I have done my job.

— I was wondering, how would you define the key quality in your character that has helped you along the way?

— I think one thing I have realised about myself is that when I walk into a space, I walk in as if I belong. And that is not easy — many people stay quiet, don’t connect, and just leave. But for me, it is the opposite. I try to make people feel comfortable, and that sense of belonging just happens.

That is why people have trusted me. Every manager who took a chance on me said the same thing — they weren’t investing in my background, they were investing in me. And I think that comes from how I show up. I am just real.

I show up fully. I give you who I am, and after that, it is up to you — whether you trust it or not. And I think that is what carried me through everything.

— You have told so many stories of different people — is there one that still stands out to you?

— There was this really interesting moment. I reached out to Hana AlNabulsi, an Ironwoman, an athlete doing Ironmans, with a strong presence in the community. She got back to me, saying she checked my work and would love to meet.

We met at 25hours, and I remember thinking I needed to be mindful of how I approached this. But then she literally ran up to me, hugged me, and the energy was just instant. We sat down, spoke for a couple of hours, and I told her I’d love to have her on my podcast. She said she’d check it out and get back to me.

Later that night, she messaged saying, “I’ve been waiting for something like this — not the usual podcasts about drama or achievements, but something real.” The only condition she had was timing — she sleeps early and wakes up at 4 am, so she asked if we could shoot at 6 or 7 in the morning. I was like… okay. The studio wasn’t even open that early, but a founder gave me the keys, went the night before, set everything up, and we started at 6 am.

She showed up right after training, hair still wet, and we just sat down and talked. And her story… it was powerful. She had to leave the UAE at one point because she was not able to dress the way she needed as an athlete. So she moved to Canada, competed from there, reached high levels — even Olympic pathways — and then eventually got called back and told, “You can be who you want here, just come home.”

But what really stood out wasn’t her achievements — it was her purpose. She wanted to speak to young girls in the region. She’d go to schools and ask them simple but powerful questions — “Did you choose this life, or was it chosen for you? Does it stop you from being who you want to be?”

And I remember one moment in the podcast where she looked straight into the camera and said, “To all parents — don’t put your kids in a box. Let them breathe. Guide them, but don’t define their world for them.” That stayed with me.

— Are there people you still dream of speaking to?

— I think the only person who still feels completely out of my reach is David Beckham. He has been my icon since I was a kid. It started with something simple — I just wanted to capture him one day, and I actually did when he came here to MOE. And that moment just reassured everything for me.

It is about the person he is — the son, the husband, the father. The way he carries himself, how present he is in his life. The relationship he has with his daughter, for example, is just beautiful.

And I still feel like I have so many questions I’d want to ask him one day.

— Which question would you like to ask him?

— I have always wanted to ask him one thing — if there is anything in his life he regrets. Because I genuinely can’t point to a single moment where he got it wrong. All I see is everything he has done right.