Every meaningful story begins with a moment of curiosity. For Praveen Koval, that curiosity has become the driving force behind everything he creates. Whether writing a song, directing a film, authoring a book, or solving complex engineering challenges, his work is united by a simple desire to understand people, their emotions, and the experiences that shape their lives. Rather than separating art from life, Koval treats creativity as an ongoing conversation about what it means to be human.
His path into music wasn’t conventional. Before audiences discovered his songwriting, Koval had already established himself in engineering and technology, where analytical thinking and innovation defined his career. Yet creativity remained a constant companion waiting for the right moment to take center stage. Encouraged by his wife, Usha, he pursued filmmaking at the New York Film Academy, discovering that the same curiosity which helped him solve technical problems could also uncover deeply personal stories worth sharing.
That perspective is evident throughout his latest single, “Goodnight My Love,“ a heartfelt piece inspired by an intimate question about whether love continues while we sleep. Originally conceived as a birthday gift for his wife, the song gradually evolved into something much larger, exploring the emotional connections that remain with us even when words fall silent. Like much of Koval’s work, it blurs the boundaries between music and cinema, inviting listeners to experience a story rather than simply hear a song.
In this exclusive conversation with Spinex Music, Praveen Koval reflects on his unique creative journey, the philosophy behind his storytelling, the intersection of engineering and art, and why empathy remains the foundation of every project he creates.
For readers discovering your work for the first time, could you introduce yourself and share your journey as a songwriter and filmmaker? What first inspired you to use storytelling as the foundation of your creative career?
Looking back, I don’t think I chose storytelling. Curiosity chose it for me.
I’ve always been fascinated by people and the stories they carry. The same moment can mean something completely different to two different people, and I’ve spent years wondering why. That curiosity became the thread connecting everything I do, whether it’s engineering, music, filmmaking, or writing.
Professionally, I built my career in engineering and technology, but creativity had always been quietly waiting in the background. For a long time, I chose the practical path and quietly set those creative dreams aside. It was my wife, Usha, who encouraged me to revisit that part of myself and eventually pursue filmmaking at the New York Film Academy. Looking back, that wasn’t a career change as much as it was a return to something I’d carried with me all along. Engineering taught me to keep asking “why” until I understood a problem. Storytelling taught me to keep asking “why” until I understood a person. In hindsight, those aren’t very different skills.
Filmmaking changed the way I looked at stories. It taught me that silence, imagery, and the smallest human moments can sometimes say more than dialogue ever could. The more I explored visual storytelling, the more naturally I found myself writing songs. Music became another way of telling the same kinds of stories, just through melody instead of a camera.
Before I write a lyric or think about a melody, I try to step into the life of the person at the heart of the story. Once I do, the song usually knows where it wants to go.
Whether I’m writing music, making films, or writing books, my goal remains the same: to create stories that help us understand ourselves and one another a little better.
Your latest single, Goodnight My Love, was written as a birthday gift for your wife and explores the beautiful idea that love continues even in our dreams. What inspired that concept, and how did such a personal moment evolve into a song you wanted to share with the world?
The birthday gift came later. The song actually began with a question.
We spend nearly a third of our lives asleep, and I found myself wondering why love should simply pause during that time. If someone is such an important part of your life while you’re awake, why can’t dreams become another place where that relationship continues? That idea stayed with me for quite a while, and eventually it became the heart of Goodnight My Love.
As I wrote it, I realized it wasn’t just about my own relationship. At some point, I stopped thinking of it as only a birthday gift and started seeing it as a story that many people might recognize in their own lives. Almost everyone knows what it feels like to miss someone, to think about them before falling asleep, or to hope they’ll somehow still be part of your thoughts until morning. That was the moment I realized the song no longer belonged only to us. It had the potential to become part of someone else’s story as well.
Releasing it on my wife Usha’s birthday felt like the most meaningful way to share it, because that’s where the song first found its home. It was my gift to her before it became anyone else’s.
But once it was finished, I hoped others might find a part of themselves in it. I think that’s one of the beautiful things about music. It often begins with one person’s experience, but if it’s honest enough, listeners eventually discover pieces of their own lives within it.
Having studied filmmaking at the New York Film Academy, you’ve developed a unique ability to blend cinematic storytelling with music. How has your experience behind the camera influenced the way you write songs, and what does film allow you to express that music alone sometimes cannot?
Studying filmmaking changed the way I think long before it changed the way I directed.
It taught me that every story begins with a person. When developing a character for a film, I find myself asking questions like, “Who are they? What happened before this moment? What are they feeling but not saying?” That habit changed the way I think about storytelling itself. Every creative decision becomes clearer when it serves the same emotional truth.
Film also made me appreciate the power of what isn’t said. A glance, a pause, an empty room, or a moment of silence can sometimes communicate more than dialogue ever could. I’ve carried that lesson into my songwriting as well. Even in music, I try to leave space for listeners to bring their own experiences into the story instead of explaining every emotion.
To me, music and film complement one another. Music has a unique ability to capture emotion in a way that words alone often can’t. Film gives that emotion a world to live in. Together, they allow me to tell stories from different angles while staying true to the same idea. The medium may change, but the story remains at the center.
You’ve often said that every song begins with a story rather than a genre. Could you walk us through your creative process, from the moment an idea first appears to the finished song and its accompanying visual narrative?
For me, songs rarely begin with music. They usually begin with an observation that stays with me.
Sometimes it’s a question, like the one that became Goodnight My Love. Sometimes it’s an image, a conversation, or a quiet moment that keeps returning to my mind. I don’t rush to write lyrics. Instead, I spend time trying to understand why that moment affected me and, more importantly, whose perspective I’m trying to step into.
Once I understand the character, everything else begins to fall into place. The lyrics, the melody, and even the production all begin serving the same feeling. I’ve learned not to become attached to individual ideas if they don’t serve the story. The song always comes first.
Because of my filmmaking background, the visual side of the story usually develops alongside the music rather than after it’s finished. As I’m writing, I’m often imagining scenes, locations, colors, and moments of silence that deepen the emotion. By the time the song is complete, the visual narrative already feels like part of the same story.
For me, that’s when a project feels complete. The music and the visuals are simply two different ways of helping people experience the same emotion.
The music video for Goodnight My Love expands the song through a looping dream narrative that blurs the line between reality and imagination. How important is visual storytelling to your artistic vision, and what message were you hoping viewers would take away from the film?
I’ve never seen visual storytelling as something separate from music. To me, some emotions are easier to feel than they are to explain, and that’s where film becomes another way of telling the story.
With Goodnight My Love, I didn’t want the music video to simply illustrate the lyrics. I wanted it to extend the story. The looping dream narrative allowed us to blur the line between reality and imagination, so viewers could experience the same uncertainty as the characters. Was it a dream? Was it a memory? Or was love creating a space where those boundaries no longer mattered? I didn’t want to answer those questions. I wanted people to sit with them.
More than anything, I hope the film reminds people that love isn’t always defined by physical presence. Sometimes the people who matter most continue living in our thoughts, our memories, and perhaps even our dreams. Whether viewers experience it as a dream, a memory, or simply a metaphor for love doesn’t really matter to me. I think the most meaningful stories leave room for people to bring their own experiences and discover their own meaning.
Your work moves naturally between contemporary pop, indie, electronic influences, English, Hindi, and subtle touches of Urdu and Sufi expression. How do these different artistic and cultural influences come together while still allowing each project to maintain its own unique identity?
I’ve never thought of language or genre as the place where a song begins. To me, they’re simply tools for telling a story.
Every project begins with a different emotion, a different character, or a different question. Once I understand what the story is trying to say, the creative choices begin to feel much more natural. Some stories feel more natural in English. Others carry a different emotional weight in Hindi or benefit from the poetic beauty of Urdu. The same is true for the music. Sometimes a contemporary pop sound serves the story best, while another idea may naturally lean toward indie or electronic influences.
Growing up in India and later building my life in the United States has also shaped the way I experience stories. Both cultures have influenced me in different ways, and I don’t feel the need to separate them when I create. They simply become part of the same creative voice.
What keeps everything connected isn’t the genre or the language. It’s the story I’m trying to tell. As long as that story feels honest and emotionally true, I trust it will find the language, the sound, and the style it needs.
Alongside your work in music and filmmaking, you’ve also built a career in engineering and technology. How do these seemingly different worlds influence one another, and has your technical background changed the way you approach creativity and problem-solving as an artist?
People often see engineering and creativity as completely different worlds, but I’ve never experienced them that way. I don’t switch between engineering and creativity. They constantly inform one another. One helps me understand how things work, while the other helps me understand why people feel the way they do. What also inspires me is that both have the potential to positively impact billions of people, even though they do it in very different ways.
Engineering has taught me much more than technical problem-solving. Leading global engineering teams taught me that even the most difficult technical challenges ultimately come down to people, communication, and trust. It has taught me discipline, how to manage complex projects, collaborate with globally distributed teams, organize ideas, and make the most of my time. One thing engineering has taught me is that good ideas don’t become reality on their own. They need discipline, planning, collaboration, and consistent execution. Those lessons have been just as valuable in music and filmmaking as they have been in technology.
At the same time, storytelling reminds me that behind every product, every technology, and every innovation are real people. Technology can help us create, experiment, and remove barriers, but it doesn’t replace lived experience, relationships, or emotion. Those are still at the heart of every meaningful story.
Together, engineering and creativity have shaped not only how I create, but also how I lead, collaborate, and see the world.
A recurring theme throughout your work is the belief that “Everyone Has a Story.” What does that philosophy mean to you personally, and how has it shaped both your songwriting and the way you connect with audiences?
“Everyone Has a Story” is much more than a tagline to me. It’s the way I try to see the world.
I’ve come to believe that every person is shaped by experiences we often can’t see. Their relationships, fears, hopes, struggles, and memories all influence how they see the world. When we take the time to understand that journey, it’s often easier to replace judgment with empathy. That’s something I try to carry into every part of my life, not just my creative work.
That philosophy shapes every song I write. Before I think about lyrics or melodies, I try to step into the life of the person at the heart of the story. I want listeners to feel like they’re stepping into someone else’s life for a few minutes, rather than simply listening to a song.
It has also shaped the way I connect with audiences. I don’t expect everyone to experience my music the way I do, because every listener brings their own memories and emotions to it. If someone hears one of my songs and it reminds them of a person they love, a moment they lived through, or simply helps them feel understood, then the story has found a new life beyond me. To me, that’s the most meaningful connection I could ever hope to make through my work.
Your songs often explore love, identity, hope, and human connection through deeply personal yet universally relatable narratives. As a storyteller, how do you strike the balance between drawing from your own experiences and creating music that listeners can see themselves in?
Many of my songs begin with something personal, but I never want them to end there.
A personal experience is often the starting point because it’s honest. But once I begin writing, I start asking a different question. What is the emotion or idea at the heart of this story that someone else might recognize in their own life? That’s the point where the focus shifts from my experience to something more universal.
Handprint is a good example. It began with a personal realization, but I never wanted it to remain my story. I wanted listeners to ask themselves what their own “handprint” might represent, and whether they’ve been overlooking the strength that has been within them all along. That’s where I usually draw the line. I keep the emotion honest, but I leave enough space for people to discover their own meaning. The details belong to me, but the question belongs to everyone.
I’ve learned that the more honestly you write about an emotion, the easier it becomes for other people to find themselves in it. When that happens, the song stops being just mine and begins a new journey with every listener.
Looking ahead, what excites you most about the next chapter of your artistic journey? Are there any upcoming releases, films, collaborations, or long-term creative goals that you’d like to share with our readers, and what legacy do you ultimately hope your stories will leave behind?
What excites me most is that I genuinely feel like I’m only at the beginning of this journey. The more I create, the more curious I become, and I hope that curiosity never goes away.
Right now, I’m focused on building a body of work across music, filmmaking, and writing. There are more songs already taking shape, new visual stories I can’t wait to bring to life, and I’m also working on books that explore many of the same ideas about identity, human connection, and the stories we carry. No matter the medium, I hope each project feels like another chapter in the same creative journey.
I’m also excited to collaborate with people from different creative backgrounds and cultures. Every collaboration brings a new perspective, and I think that’s one of the best ways to keep growing as both a storyteller and a person.
As for legacy, I don’t think about numbers or recognition as much as I think about longevity. If someone discovers one of my songs, a film, or a book years from now and it helps them feel understood, gives them hope, or simply makes them see themselves a little differently, then I think I’ve succeeded. At the end of the day, I don’t want people to remember me only for the stories I told. I hope they remember how those stories made them feel.
