Sound has always been my north star, secret handshake with the universe, and favorite way to turn chaos into beauty.

I grew up in Tehran, where life was anything but ordinary. My dad was the pujari at the city’s only Hindu temple, and my mom was an artist with a knack for making the invisible visible. Our world was one of incense, pigments, and a reverence for creativity that shaped who I am. While living in Iran, we often traveled to India, where I marveled at the music and rituals that seemed to hum with life itself. Those early years were an unspoken lesson in how sound isn’t just something you hear — it’s something you feel, something that connects.

Then came the move to America, a seismic shift that threw me into a world where everything was loud, fast, and slightly offbeat. Suddenly, the sacred rhythms of my childhood gave way to the crash and clatter of suburban life. It was disorienting, sure, but also strangely liberating. I found solace in music — the kind made in garages, fueled by rebellion, and aimed squarely at the absurdity of it all. We were making noise, but it felt like a kind of truth.

Fast forward to now: life has taken me through highs, lows, and a few heartbreaks that defy description. Through it all, sound has been my constant. It’s my way of asking questions and sometimes finding answers, blending plant frequencies, modular synths, and the occasional happy accident into something more significant than the sum of its parts.

These days, I split my time between being a radio DJ at KVMR, studying sound design, and being an artist chasing the edges of what sound can do. Whether writing, spinning records, hosting my podcast, or creating immersive soundscapes, I’m driven by a simple but profound idea: that sound is one of the few things that can genuinely bridge the gaps between us.

So, what do you say? Let’s tune in, turn it up, and see where it takes us.