I had the incredible opportunity to conduct an in-depth interview with Pranati Khanna, the exceptionally talented lead metal vocalist of the dynamic band Peekay. Peekay is not just any band; it is a genre-fluid modern metal act that has carved out a distinct niche for itself within the ever-evolving landscape of contemporary music. Originating in the vibrant city of Hyderabad, India, this innovative group has since expanded its horizons and is now based between the bustling cultural hub of Los Angeles and the diverse musical scene of India.
Amit Ahuja: Let’s start at the beginning. Where did you grow up, and what was the atmosphere of your hometown—its people, culture, and daily rhythms—really like? Can you paint a picture of the little details that made it feel like home? How did that environment, whether supportive, challenging, or somewhere in between, shape both the person and the artist you were becoming? And looking back now, are there particular memories or lessons from that time that feel especially formative?
Pranati Khanna: I grew up in Hyderabad, India — a city that holds an old soul and restless energy in the same breath. It’s loud, crowded, spiritual, chaotic, artistic, and deeply emotional all at once. My childhood moved between my home, my grandparents’ house next door, tennis lessons, classrooms, Bharatanatyam classes, tuitions, busy streets, and long, quiet moments alone with music and sketchbooks. The days had a steady rhythm of discipline, faith, family, noise, and an undercurrent of constant motion.
I wasn’t very focused on school in the traditional sense — I wanted to pursue tennis and the arts far more seriously. But in a largely academic-focused Indian school system, and the expectations that came with it at home, that wasn’t encouraged in the way I needed. So very early on, I learned what it meant to hustle quietly for the things I loved. Making my own path within a system that valued structure over self-expression became normal to me at a young age.
One memory that feels especially formative is the shift I experienced after early childhood. I won awards for tennis, writing, art, and running track all the way till high school — but when it came to academics, after about fourth grade, I stopped ever receiving “gold stars” or “A Grade” certificates. Slowly, the praise disappeared. I was belittled by teachers and made to feel, in countless subtle and not-so-subtle ways, that I was dumb or useless because I didn’t fit the academic mould.
What that taught me, very early on, was that if I wanted to be seen or heard, I would have to use my voice — loudly, relentlessly, and without apology. And in many ways, that lesson became the foundation of everything I do now.
Amit Ahuja: Your roots inevitably influence the way you move through the world. How do you feel your upbringing still echoes through your life and your music today? Were there values, moments, or cultural experiences from your family or community that continue to shape your creativity or the way you connect with listeners? And do you ever notice pieces of your background—sounds, stories, emotions—finding their way into your lyrics or performances, even unintentionally?
Pranati Khanna: My upbringing echoes through everything I do — sometimes consciously, and often in ways I only realize afterward. Music was always playing in my home. My parents constantly had something on in the background — different genres, different moods — and because of that, sound became part of the atmosphere of my life rather than something distant or special. Music wasn’t a hobby in our house; it was just there, like air. I think that’s where my instinct to communicate through sound really began.
Growing up in a household shaped by both Hindu and Christian faith gave me a deep sensitivity to people’s inner worlds. I was constantly surrounded by stories of devotion, doubt, struggle, healing, and transformation from more than one spiritual language. As a child, I quietly observed the adults around me and realized that beneath what they showed the world, they carried complex emotional and spiritual battles of their own. That awareness still shapes the way I write today — even when my music moves into darker or more chaotic spaces, there is always a quiet search for meaning running underneath it.
Many of my lyrics are rooted in my study of the Bible, while most of my visual and video concepts are deeply influenced by my love for classical Indian dance and the mythological stories of India. The drama, symbolism, and emotional intensity of our culture inevitably bleed into everything I create. My own traumas, questions, and growing pains live in my voice too — in both the singing and the screaming. I think my art has become the space where all of those worlds are finally allowed to exist together, honestly and without censorship.
Amit Ahuja: As an Indian American artist in the alternative rock and metal world, how does your heritage influence your artistic identity? With India seeing a rising wave of heavy and alternative music, do you feel a sense of pride—or even responsibility—being part of that momentum? How do you balance honoring your roots with embracing the global, experimental spirit of modern alt-rock and metal? And do you think that fusion gives your work a unique emotional edge?
Pranati Khanna: I grew up with intense contrasts: ancient tradition and modern chaos, spirituality and rebellion, softness and ferocity. That duality naturally mirrors the emotional language of heavy music, so in many ways my background feels instinctively aligned with the genre rather than separate from it.
With India currently experiencing a rising wave of heavy and alternative music, I do feel both pride and a sense of responsibility. For a long time, artists from our part of the world were seen as outsiders in this genre, almost like we had to prove that we belonged in a global conversation that didn’t necessarily imagine us in it. Being part of this movement now feels meaningful — not in a performative way, but in a quiet, grounded way where representation happens through simply showing up, consistently and authentically. I want young artists back home to see that this path is possible without having to dilute who they are.
Balancing my roots with the global, experimental spirit of modern alt-rock and metal doesn’t feel like a conflict to me — it feels like a conversation. I carry my cultural memory, spiritual history, and emotional language into a sound that is very international, very contemporary. I don’t try to force the fusion; it happens naturally because those worlds already coexist inside me. My influences are global, but my emotional vocabulary is deeply Indian.
There’s also a much deeper historical weight that lives in me — the trauma of Partition is still very real in my blood and DNA. On one side of my family, my grandparents fled their homes to make it to India. On the other, they fought on the frontlines of war. That legacy of displacement, survival, anger, and anxiety exists inside me in a way I didn’t choose, but was born into. It’s a slightly unsettling thought at times — realizing that some emotions precede your own life — but it’s also something I’ve learned to accept as part of who I am.
And yes, I do think that fusion gives my work a unique emotional edge. There’s a certain intensity, vulnerability, and dramatic depth that comes from that intersection — the weight of ancestry meeting the freedom of experimentation. It creates a space where rage and reverence, collapse and transcendence, tradition and reinvention can all exist in the same breath. That tension is where my music truly lives.
Amit Ahuja: Can you take us back to the pivotal moment when you first realized music was something you needed to create? Was it a song, a performance, or a personal experience that sparked that realization? How did it shape the artistic path you chose? And before beginning your solo work and forming your current band, were there earlier projects or collaborations that helped define your sound?
Pranati Khanna: Oddly, my life has never been very soft or gentle. The first truly shattering trauma that I was forced to live through happened when I was fourteen. I witnessed the death of the man who worked as our driver — a kind, gentle presence in our home. He was picking mangoes from a tree in our yard one hot summer afternoon, climbed too high without any safety, and fell. I was alone at home when it happened. I heard a scream, a terrible sound, and ran outside to find him on the ground. I tried to help him, to resuscitate him, but I felt his last breath leave his body. By the time others arrived and the ambulance was called, he was already gone.
That experience broke something open inside me. It showed me a depth of pain I didn’t know existed, and I realized very quickly that nothing I would ever feel again could quite compare to that moment of helplessness. The first song I ever wrote was forced out of me in the aftermath of that experience. It was called “Tell Me.” I didn’t choose to become a songwriter that day — it chose me. From that point on, the songs simply began to pour out.
As life continued, more trauma followed, my mental health deteriorated over time, and music became my only real form of survival. I wrote constantly because I had to. It was my therapy long before I ever understood what therapy really meant. The first nine or ten songs I wrote were performed with my first band, The Ragamuffins, which was a pop/rock/alternative project. That period taught me how to perform, how to collaborate, and how to put emotion into sound — but it still wasn’t the full truth of who I was.
Over time, a deeper rage began to surface — born from a succession of injustices, personal silencing, and the pressure to remain “polite,” “feminine,” and emotionally contained. I felt like I was suffocating inside that version of myself. I was experiencing severe anxiety and heart palpitations to the point of being put on heart monitors multiple times. One day I realized that if I didn’t let the scream out, it might actually destroy me physically.
So I screamed — and I haven’t felt healthier since. Heavy music didn’t just become a genre for me; it became a release, a language, and a lifeline. That evolution ultimately led me to the sound I inhabit now and to forming the projects I’m part of today — a space where I’m finally able to be emotionally, spiritually, and physically honest without restraint.
Amit Ahuja: What initially drew you into the alternative rock and metal scene? Was it the intensity, the instrumentation, the emotional depth, or the cultural attitude of the genre? Did your connection to this music build gradually, or did you know right away that this was where you belonged artistically?
Pranati Khanna: My introduction to alternative rock and metal began at home. My parents listened to a wide spectrum of music — everything from Black Sabbath and CCR to The Beatles and The Rolling Stones. Rock was always part of the atmosphere I grew up in. But even as a child, I instinctively gravitated toward the heavier side of that spectrum. I fell in love with Judas Priest early on, and once my parents saw how deeply I connected with it, they supported that curiosity by burning CDs for me, buying me albums, and helping me explore the genre further.
Growing up in Hyderabad, access to newer international bands wasn’t immediate or easy at the time. My sister and I slowly discovered artists like Linkin Park, Limp Bizkit, P.O.D., and Korn, and I became deeply immersed in the nu-metal scene.
At the same time, I was never drawn exclusively to one sound. I loved pop-rock artists like Avril Lavigne and Alanis Morissette, and over time I explored thrash and death metal as well. As my world expanded, so did my taste. I realized that I was equally moved by softness and brutality, melody and distortion. I’ve never been a one-dimensional listener — I also love soul and R&B. My relationship with music has always been guided by emotional honesty rather than genre boundaries. It’s always depended on the mood, the season of life, and what I needed to feel or process in that moment.
Amit Ahuja: As a female vocalist in a genre often viewed as male-dominated, what has your journey been like? Have you faced unique challenges—creative, professional, or personal—that shaped how you approach your music or your stage presence? On the other hand, do you feel your perspective brings a distinctive strength or insight to the sound? And how have your interactions with fans, fellow musicians, and the industry impacted your growth?
Pranati Khanna: I’ve been deeply grateful for the reception I’ve had as a newcomer in the heavy music space in India. People have witnessed my journey in real time and embraced the many phases I’ve gone through as an artist, and that support has meant everything to me. When Peekay was first announced at metal festivals, the reaction was mixed at best. There were a lot of snarky remarks and skepticism — and interestingly, it didn’t come only from men. Some of it came from women as well. But once people actually watched us live, the noise quieted. The music spoke for itself, and we gained new fans through performance rather than perception. Slow and steady really did win the race for us.
Peekay is a female-led band named after my pet name, and that alone is intentional. We follow the narrative of an Indian woman navigating life in the modern world. Our songs confront trauma, abandonment, patriarchal conditioning, emotional suppression, and the inherited weight of being female in a male-dominated society.
That perspective isn’t an add-on to our sound — it is the foundation of it. My voice, both literally and creatively, comes from that lived reality, and I do believe it brings a distinct emotional lens and urgency to the music.
Being a woman in this genre has shaped the way I approach the stage as well. I’ve had to learn how to occupy space unapologetically — to be loud, confrontational, tender, and vulnerable without shrinking myself to make others comfortable. That journey has been both challenging and empowering. The industry can be intimidating, but it has also shown me moments of real solidarity and respect when you stand firmly in your truth.
Our fans, fellow musicians, and collaborators have played a huge role in our growth. The support we’ve received from the community has been generous and sincere, and I’m endlessly grateful for it. We truly wouldn’t be growing at all without them. At the end of the day, Peekay exists to amplify voices that were once told to stay quiet — and the fact that people are listening now still feels surreal and humbling.
Amit Ahuja: Who are the artists or songs that have left a lasting mark on you? How have they influenced the way you write, perform, or think about music? Are there aspects of their artistry—whether lyrical honesty, sonic identity, or stage presence—that you consciously or subconsciously carry into your own work?
Pranati Khanna: My musical DNA is built from a very wide and sometimes unexpected range of artists. Bands and artists like Pantera, Heart, Madonna, Alanis Morissette, Björk, AURORA, Bad Omens, Black Label Society, Sleep Token, Architects, Sade, and Alice Cooper have all left lasting marks on me — as both a writer and a performer — in very different ways.
From the heavier world, I learned how catharsis, aggression, and vulnerability can coexist in one sound. From artists like Alanis, Björk, and AURORA, I absorbed the importance of emotional honesty, softness, strangeness, and spiritual openness. From Madonna and Alice Cooper, I learned the power of theatricality, reinvention, and command on stage — that performance is not just sound, but presence, storytelling, and fearlessness.
I don’t consciously copy any one artist, but I absolutely pull fragments from all of them — a vocal inflection here, an emotional risk there, a sense of drama, a refusal to stay in one box. Some of it shows up in the way I write, some in how I move on stage, and some in the way I’m unafraid to hold beauty and brutality in the same breath. All of those influences live inside me now, blended into something that feels unmistakably my own.
Amit Ahuja: Do you remember the first moment you realized your voice was something worth sharing? Whether it was singing for family, performing in public, or hearing yourself recorded—what made you think, “This is something I want to pursue”?
Pranati Khanna: I don’t think there was one single, cinematic moment where everything suddenly clicked. It was something that revealed itself slowly over time. I sang constantly as a child — at home, at family gatherings, in school — and little by little I began to notice how people responded when I sang. There was a quiet shift in the room, a kind of attention and emotion that felt different from anything else I did.
As I grew older and started hearing my own voice recorded, performing in front of others, and pushing myself vocally, I realized there was something there that went beyond just enjoyment. My voice became a place where I felt most honest and most alive. Over time, that feeling grew into a conviction that this wasn’t just something I loved — it was something I needed to take seriously and keep developing. It wasn’t a single spark; it was a slow, undeniable pull.
Amit Ahuja: Which vocalists shaped your sound early on? Did you undergo formal training, or did your voice develop more organically through trial, emotion, and experience? And how have those influences evolved as your own style matured?
Pranati Khanna: I’m about as raw as they come when it comes to vocals. I never had formal training, and in the beginning, I didn’t model my voice after any one singer in a technical sense. Whatever sound my body naturally made, I worked with it. I followed instinct, emotion, and physical sensation rather than rules. My voice developed through trial, intensity, lived experience, and necessity more than method. I learned by doing — by writing, performing, straining, breaking, recovering, and doing it all again.
Amit Ahuja: Every vocalist eventually discovers the qualities that make their voice uniquely theirs. How did you come to understand your tone, phrasing, range, or emotional expression? Were there periods of insecurity or experimentation before you found what felt authentic?
Pranati Khanna: I’ve always been very aware that my voice sits in a much lower register and carries a huskier texture than what’s usually expected from female vocalists. Early on, I actually saw that as a flaw. I tried to smooth it out, lighten it, or work around it because I didn’t yet understand that it was the very thing that made my voice distinct.
A major turning point came when I began studying jazz standards and performing closely with a dear friend who was also a beloved teacher in the city. He taught me, patiently and intentionally, how to listen to my own tone, how to nurture it rather than fight it, and how to lean into what made it different instead of apologizing for it. Through that process, I learned how to shape my phrasing, control my dynamics, and use emotional restraint as power. That’s when my voice began to feel like a signature rather than a limitation.
There were definitely periods of insecurity and experimentation before that clarity arrived. I questioned myself constantly — whether I was “enough,” whether I sounded “right,” whether I fit into any mold at all. But over time, I realized that authenticity isn’t about fitting a standard; it’s about committing fully to what’s already in you. What I once tried to correct became what I now protect most fiercely.
Amit Ahuja: Let’s shift to the band. Can you walk us through the early days of Peekay? When did the project first take shape, and what moments or milestones signalled its rise? Every band has an origin story—the rehearsals, the chemistry, the breakthroughs. What did those beginnings look like for you? And for new listeners, what is the meaning behind the name “Peekay”—is there a personal or symbolic story behind it?
Pranati Khanna: The origins of PEEKAY go way back—way before it was ever a metal project, way before LA, way before any of us imagined opening for bands like Avenged Sevenfold or Jinjer.
Eddy and I have been making music together since around 2014, back when our first band The Ragamuffins came to life. That was my first real band—my first rehearsal rooms, my first festivals, my first “holy shit, we’re really doing this” moments. We released an EP, played a ton of venues, lived that classic early-band chaos. It was beautiful.
Life happened, as it does—people got married, moved countries—and The Ragamuffins dissolved. But Eddy and I weren’t done. During the pandemic, the two of us started writing again, this time under the name PEEKAY. Back then it was a Pop/R&B project because I was performing jazz shows constantly, and that bled into the writing. The early PEEKAY sound had a lot more satin and shimmer than distortion.
The name “PEEKAY” itself is personal—it’s my nickname, but it also became a character. A modern Indian woman’s perspective, her internal monologue, her love stories, her fractures, her faith, her fight. Even when the sound transformed, she stayed the same. That narrative voice is the thread.
Over time, though, something became very clear: the pop sound wasn’t truly us. We were experimenting with what was trendy at the time, but our creative instincts kept dragging us back toward the music we grew up on—rock, metal, heaviness, emotion, bite. So we rebuilt. Rex, who played bass for The Ragamuffins, came back into the fold. Alex, our early Ragamuffins drummer, joined for a while before moving on, and then Clinton stepped in and completed the lineup.
That’s when things clicked. That’s when we found our metalcore sound—something emotionally heavy, sonically heavy, and unmistakably authentic to all of us. And from there, the milestones started rolling: Bangalore Open Air, Bandland, opening for Avenged Sevenfold, opening for Jinjer, headlining pub shows across India, building this insane and devoted fanbase.
And now the story has crossed continents. I have a new PEEKAY lineup in Los Angeles, and I’m also writing with Freycus—a band I’m releasing an EP with in 2026. It feels like the universe is widening the map for this project. Same heart, same character, same voice—just expanding into new collaborations and new stages.
PEEKAY started as a name Now she’s a world, a story, and a force that keeps evolving.
Amit Ahuja: Tell us about your creative process. Where do your songs typically begin—an emotion, a personal experience, a story, or a broader theme? How do you develop that initial spark into a fully realized piece? And have you formed a particular routine or collaborative rhythm with your bandmates when it comes to writing and refining your music?
Pranati Khanna: My writing process almost always starts alone, at my desk, with Logic Pro open and my guitar in my lap. I usually begin by stitching together a feeling—beats, samples, a melody line, a chord progression—and then I just let whatever is sitting in my chest spill out onto the page. Every PEEKAY song starts as an internal dialogue. It’s me talking to myself about the things that devour us.
A lot of my writing circles around that idea of being consumed—by the internet, by substances, by depression, by expectations, by ambition, by love, by faith, by art itself. Bleed is the perfect example: it’s about losing yourself so deeply to your craft that it takes pieces of you with it. And as a woman, that theme hits even harder. We give ourselves away constantly—our peace, our emotional labor, our bodies, our time—because that’s what we’re taught to do for the “greater good.” So much of PEEKAY is about fighting that erosion while still acknowledging that it happens.
But I never end a song in the dark. Lyrically, I always leave a way out—some truth, some defiance, some thread of hope. It’s not about escaping the darkness; it’s about moving through it and finding your voice on the other side.
Once the skeleton of the song is written, I send it to Eddy, and that’s where the magic explodes. He takes my rough ideas and turns them into these massive, intricate arrangements. All those phat riffs—that’s him. Then he, Clint, and Rex build out the rhythm section together until the track feels alive and breathing. That’s our creative rhythm and it works because we trust each other completely.
For production, we’ve been lucky to work with Keshav Dhar for years—he shaped so much of our early sound. But since moving to LA, I’ve been working with Neil Engle for vocals, mixing, and mastering. He’s brought a new level of intensity and clarity to the music, especially now that we’re really leaning into the metalcore identity of the project.
So the process is the spark starts with me, the fire gets built by the boys, and the final lightning strike happens in the studio. It’s chaotic and emotional and weirdly sacred—and it’s led to the most honest music I’ve ever made.
Amit Ahuja: Some of your standout tracks—Bleed, Horizon, Hyperspace—carry distinct emotional landscapes. Can you share the stories or inspirations behind them? What ideas or feelings were you hoping to explore? Do any of these songs hold special personal significance or represent key moments in your creative evolution?
Pranati Khanna: All three of those songs mark different points in my evolution—not just as a songwriter, but as a human being trying to make sense of her own chaos.
Bleed was the turning point. That song came from a place of absolute exhaustion and devotion—the kind of devotion that costs you something. It’s about what it means to give yourself to your art so completely that it takes blood, time, sanity, relationships… everything. I wrote it during a season where I was questioning whether the sacrifices were worth it. And the answer I landed on was yes, even if it hurts—because creation is the one thing I’ve never walked away from. Bleed is basically me saying: “I’ll give everything, but I will not lose myself.” It’s one of the most honest pieces I’ve ever written.
Horizon was born out of longing. It’s that aching, quiet hope you feel when you’re stuck in a sinking place but you still, somehow, believe there’s a sunrise meant for you. It was written during a time when nothing in my life felt stable—relationships, geography, career, identity—and I needed to remind myself that movement is still movement, even when it’s slow. That song is me staring at the edge of something scary but choosing faith anyway. It’s gentle and bruised and resilient.
Hyperspace is the opposite energy. It’s fast, frantic, futuristic—written during a moment when I felt like the world was spinning too quickly to keep up with. Social media, overstimulation, the pressure to constantly produce… it’s like being shot into a void without a map. Hyperspace was my way of screaming into that void. It’s the chaos of modern life turned into sound, but there’s still a human heartbeat under it—still that tiny voice trying to find direction in the noise.
Together, these songs show the full spectrum of where PEEKAY exists the devotion (Bleed), the yearning (Horizon), and the chaos (Hyperspace). They’re milestones for me because each one pushed me deeper into my own truth—sonically, lyrically, and emotionally. They mark the moments where I realized, “Oh… this is the artist I’m becoming.”
Amit Ahuja: The music video for “Bleed” is visually striking and emotionally layered. When you created it, what deeper message or overarching idea did you hope viewers would take away—not just about the song itself, but about the world, mood, and narrative the video brings to life?
Pranati Khanna: With Bleed, I didn’t just want to make a music video—I wanted to build a world. The song already carries this heavy sense of sacrifice and devotion, so visually I wanted to show what it feels like to give yourself away for something you believe in, something you’re creating, something that’s consuming you.
The deeper message is really about the cost of being an artist, especially a woman.
There’s a constant tension between the beauty of creation and the brutality of what it demands from you. The paint, the sweat, the disorientation in the video—all of that is symbolic of being torn open by your own passion. It’s messy. It’s vulnerable. And it’s honest. I didn’t want to glamorize the struggle; I wanted to show the truth of it.
At the same time, the video isn’t hopeless. There’s a strange kind of transcendence in the chaos. Even as everything is unraveling, there’s this feeling that something powerful is being born. Bleed is about the moment you choose to stay with your craft even when it hurts—even when it feels like you’re losing parts of yourself to it. Because the act of creation also saves you.
I hoped viewers would walk away with this sense that the world of PEEKAY is dark, emotional, and raw, but it’s not nihilistic. There’s always a pulse of defiance under the surface. Always a hand reaching toward the light. The video is basically a visual sermon on the idea that you can survive the things that tear you apart—and sometimes they even transform you.
That’s the mood, that’s the atmosphere, that’s the narrative thread: the violence of becoming, and the beauty in refusing to stop.
Amit Ahuja: Every creative path includes moments of rejection and struggle. What advice would you offer artists navigating those difficult experiences? How have you personally turned disappointment into resilience or growth? Is there a moment from your own journey that captures that transformation?
Pranati Khanna: I’ve faced rejection more times than I can count—both as an artist and as a small business owner. I think anyone who creates knows what it feels like to pour yourself into something and still be told “not this” or “not now.” For a long time, I took those moments personally. Now I see them differently.
The biggest thing I want other artists to know is this: God doesn’t reject—He redirects. What we want isn’t always what’s meant for us. And that is a hard truth when you’re ambitious, passionate, and hungry to build something. But I’ve learned that His timing is perfect, even when mine isn’t. Growth is uncomfortable. Following instructions can feel irritating, limiting, even unfair at times. But obedience and faith go hand in hand.
Every “no” I’ve received ended up being a redirection toward something better—something I wasn’t ready for yet, or something I didn’t even know I needed. And every time, the thing that was right for me came at the exact moment it needed to.
There’s a moment that really changed my perspective: moving to LA on an artist visa. I left behind everything familiar, and I arrived full of hope… only to face setback after setback, professionally and personally. It felt like everything was falling apart at the same time. But that season forced me to grow, to sharpen my craft, to deepen my faith, and to build resilience I didn’t know I had. And then the breakthroughs came—shows, collaborations, a new band lineup, new creative opportunities. None of that would’ve happened if the earlier things I prayed for had worked out.
So my advice is this: Keep doing the work. Stay faithful. Don’t let a closed door convince you that your story is over. Rejection is not the end—it’s often the clearing of the path. The right things and the right timing for you are always around the corner. You just have to keep walking.
Amit Ahuja: As you look ahead, what excites you most—new music, touring, collaborations, or personal milestones? And when you create, does it feel like release, self-discovery, confrontation, or something else entirely? Ultimately, what do you hope listeners carry with them after experiencing your work?
Pranati Khanna: What excites me most right now is the music that’s coming. Cast in Chaos—the full PEEKAY EP—is finally taking shape, and it feels like the most complete, intentional body of work I’ve ever created. It holds every era of me: the faith, the rage, the softness, the chaos, the evolution. And at the same time, I’m also working on a collaborative EP with Freycus that’s releasing in 2026. Two similar sonic universes, and both are things I’m insanely proud of. They represent two halves of my artistic identity, and I feel blessed that I get to explore both.
Beyond the studio, I’m excited for the shows we’re dreaming up—across India, in the U.S., and hopefully other countries too. I want to take this music everywhere it’s meant to go. The world feels wide open to me right now, like it’s saying, “If you’re ready, step in.” And I am ready.
On a personal level, I’m looking forward to settling into life in LA even more—really owning this bi-continental existence with confidence instead of feeling split between two worlds. I’m learning that both geographies feed my creativity in different ways, and instead of choosing one, I get to stand in the middle and draw from both.
Creatively, making music is all of it at once: release, confrontation, and discovery. It forces me to face myself, but it also frees me. It’s where I meet God, where I meet my fears, and where I become the version of me I’m striving toward.
What I hope listeners carry with them is strength. Even when my songs start in dark places, they don’t end there. I want people to walk away feeling like their battles are survivable, that hope is real, that their stories matter. If my music can make someone feel seen, or braver, or a little less alone—that’s everything to me.
This next chapter feels huge. It feels aligned. And I’m stepping into it with open hands, a loud heart, and a fire I can’t put out.
Amit Ahuja: When you’re in the creative process, does it feel more like emotional release, introspection, or confronting something deeper within yourself—or some combination of all three? Why do you think that is?
Pranati Khanna: It is complete surrender, honesty and release. Always.
Amit Ahuja: Is there a message you hope fans walk away with after hearing your music, or do you prefer to leave the interpretation in their hands?
Pranati Khanna: I just want everyone to know they’re not alone in their struggles and there is light at the end of the tunnel. I want those experiencing loneliness and mental health issues to reach out for help as well. But that said - this is art. And I want everyone to derive their own meaning from our music!
Amit Ahuja: Who are three people who have profoundly shaped your life—artistically, personally, or professionally? What impact did they have, and how do their lessons continue to resonate with you today?
Pranati Khanna: The easy answer—and honestly the truest one—is: The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. My faith is the biggest shaping force in my life. It anchors me when the world feels chaotic, it corrects me when I drift, and it reminds me that my purpose is bigger than charts or shows or achievements. God has redirected me far more often than He’s rejected me, and that lesson alone has carried me through every storm.
But if I had to choose three people in the earthly sense, then it would be: my family, my mentors/collaborators, and my own lived experience.
Amit Ahuja: Outside of music, what stories or art forms inspire you? Are there films, books, series, or podcasts that resonate deeply with your creative side? What is it about those mediums—their storytelling, their emotional depth, their craftsmanship—that fuels your imagination?
Pranati Khanna: I’ve always said I’m an artist before I’m a musician. Music is just one language I speak—but visual art is the one I learned first. I paint, I sketch, I experiment with digital art, acrylic on canvas, photography, and heavy photo manipulation. I’ve had multiple exhibitions over the years, and that world still feels like home to me. It’s where I first learned how to communicate emotion without words.
I’m also a graphic designer by profession, so visuals are woven into everything I do. I illustrate almost all of our artwork, and I love directing, conceptualising, and editing our music videos. That entire process—the framing, the mood, the symbolism, the colour palettes—lights up a different part of my brain. It’s storytelling you can see, not just hear.
In terms of what inspires me… it’s all over the place, honestly
Amit Ahuja: Many artists speak about the connection between creativity and mental health. Can you share your experiences navigating that balance, whether within your musical journey or in your personal life? What tools, support systems, or practices have been meaningful for you? And what advice would you offer young artists learning to protect their well-being while pursuing their craft?
Pranati Khanna: Creativity and mental health are so intertwined for me that sometimes it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. Art has saved me more times than I can count, but it has also pushed me to confront parts of myself I would’ve preferred to ignore. When you create from your own experiences—your wounds, your faith, your fears, your inner monologue—it’s impossible not to feel the impact on your mental health.
There have been seasons where writing was the only way I could make sense of what I was going through. And there were seasons where writing hurt—where looking inward felt like scraping open old bruises. But I’ve learned that both sides are part of the journey. Creation isn’t always catharsis; sometimes it’s confrontation. Sometimes it’s obedience. Sometimes it’s survival.
The tools that help me while I am creating are simple but powerful:
Pray. You are not here by accident and you are not alone. You were created. Keep in touch with your Creator.
Exercise. Run, dance, swim I don’t care- just exercise every day if you can!
Therapy. Have a good therapist you visit a few times a month if you can afford it. Especially if you suffer with anxiety and depression. I have dealt with both for 20 years now and I started therapy late but it helped me understand the root cause of things.
Friends and family. Keep your circle small and tight. Laugh, eat, relax as often as you can. It will keep you grounded
Love. If you have a good partner who builds you up, honours you and is your partner - that’s a lot of the battle won.
Amit Ahuja: Finally, as we wrap up, what thoughts or reflections would you like to leave with your fans—and with anyone out there chasing a dream? Is there a message or truth that feels particularly important to share right now?
Pranati Khanna: Life’s not always going to look the way you thought it would.
But if you pray over it, obey instruction you receive from Beyond and follow through bravely - it will look so much better than you could have ever imagined.
Amit Ahuja: Many thanks to Pranati Khanna for sharing her story and her band with us.
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