Part 1

Name: Ahikaa Arora
Nationality: Singaporean
Occupation: Singer, songwriter, voice teacher
Current Release: Ahikaa Arora's new single “Providence” is out now.

If you enjoyed this Ahikaa Arora interview and would like to know more about her music, visit her on Instagram.



Where does the impulse to create something come from for you? What role do often-quoted sources of inspiration like dreams, other forms of art, personal relationships, politics etc play?

The impulse to create often feels like a thought planted in my mind by something greater than myself and a force beyond logic. What follows is almost a physical response: I’ll suddenly need to write down a phrase, hum a melody into the voice memo app, or sit at the piano. It’s intuitive, like something pulling me in. I don’t always understand it. I trust it.

There are moments when I write from the height of an intense emotion, and others when I create from a place of stillness - peaceful, open, and slightly detached from whatever happened that impacted me. I’ve noticed that I channel things best when I’m in that calmer state. When my mind is uncluttered, I’m not forcing anything, instead I’m allowing the ideas to reveal themselves, as though I’m receiving them rather than crafting them.

In contrast, creating at the peak of emotion can sometimes feel too chaotic, almost like reaching for something in the midst of nothingness. And when I try to write purely from an intellectual place, it can feel a bit unnatural, mechanical, disconnected. Still, I recognize that both intuition and intellect have a role in the creative process. Maybe that’s why we’ve been given both - to balance receiving with shaping.

Inspiration comes from many places - poetry, relationships, dreams, conversations, places I’ve been to, places I’ve never been, nature - but only if they hit me at the right frequency. For instance, my recent single “Providence” was sparked by a moment on the beach reading Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet. He wrote about keeping pace with the rhythm of creation, and it moved me to tears. It was as if he had articulated something I had been feeling but hadn’t come to express - one of those “life imitates art, art imitates life” moments.

I remember walking on the sand (yes, I know, very dramatic) and thinking about that poem. It stayed with me. By the time I got home, I felt this urge I couldn’t ignore and I had to sit at the piano and write. Why? Because it landed. I felt those words on the page. Mentally, emotionally, even physically. The only way to respond was to create.

At its core, the impulse to create feels biological. If I ignore it, I get restless, like I’m carrying around something heavy and unsettling that needs to be released. It's not always fun. Sometimes I sit down and write garbage. But I’ve come to understand that even that’s part of the process. What matters is showing up when the impulse calls - because when it does, I can’t really do anything else until I answer it in whatever way possible.

For you to get started, do there need to be concrete ideas – or what some have called a 'visualisation' of the finished work? What does the balance between planning and chance look like for you?

I usually don’t really start with concrete ideas. It’s more instinctual - a walk in nature, a fleeting conversation, or just a moment that shifts something internally - those might draw me to the piano to start writing a song.

From there, it’s sort of about letting my hands find chords I like or connect with, and sometimes, a melody will follow. I sing gibberish until lyrics begin to emerge, again, often guided by emotion and what feels right rather than logic or intellect. Sometimes, as the gibberish and then lyrics start to form, a concept will also start to take shape.

I do keep a little book of words and phrases that strike me such as song titles, thoughts I don’t want to forget, dreams, or just words I find beautiful or interesting. One I recently jotted down is phosphenes, which are those blurry shapes you see when your eyes are closed, caused by neural activity. I’m fascinated by how metaphorical that feels: seeing something even in darkness, shaped by what’s within rather than what's outside. It’s definitely going to be a song at some point!

As a song begins to take some sort of shape - when the melodies find their structure, even if unconventional - when the song starts to make a little more sense in my mind, that's when a kind of visualization happens. I start to sense textures, instruments that would work in the song, the kind of background vocals that I’ll end up singing, the emotional tone. I can sometimes see the color palette and the visual world the song could live in. Once the essence of the song starts to reveal itself, that's when those secondary yet important and complimentary elements start to come in.

For me, the balance between planning and chance is less about control and more about conversation. I try to listen closely to the song, to my gut, to whatever’s moving through me in that moment. If I try to plan too much too soon, I’ve noticed that it suffocates the idea and limit the possibilities of where I can go, before it even has a chance to breathe and play. So I let things be a bit messy at first - experimental, playful, instinctive.

But eventually, there’s a turning point where the song asks for more commitment and more intellect. That’s when I start making decisions with more intention by shaping the structure and trusting what’s already there. It’s less about perfecting and more about honoring the song’s natural evolution - knowing when to step in, and when to step back, and it feels like that will be an ongoing journey.

A practice I need to continue to engage in.

Is there a preparation phase for your process? Do you require your tools to be laid out in a particular way, for example, do you need to do 'research' or create 'early versions'?

I really love this question and I’ll answer it two different ways. First, on a broader level, preparation is a fascinating concept to me, especially when it comes to creativity and the creative process. I believe that throughout our lives, we’re constantly preparing whether we realize it or not.

Speaking for myself, I often don’t recognize when I’m in a phase of preparation until much later. Every experience, every relationship, every reaction and response to what life throws at us, every moment of reflection, every lesson learned - even what we take in daily through our five senses: what we read, watch, listen to, and observe - is preparation. Every emotion felt adds to the foundation. All of it lays the groundwork for creativity. The situations we face shape and fuel our creative instincts.

Even looking ahead or reflecting on the past becomes a form of preparation, gathering insight to inspire what comes next. In countless subtle ways, preparation is always unfolding, setting the stage for creativity to emerge quietly.

On a more practical level, I’ve noticed there are certain tools and conditions that help me enter a creative space. Sometimes, I need to take long, deep breaths or meditate before I begin - it helps me feel grounded, present, and connected to myself. I also need a piano (any piano will do), my phone, my songwriting notebook, and a pen. These are my essential tools/the instruments through which ideas begin to take form.

Depending on how I’m feeling, I sometimes need a hot, comporting cup of coffee to sip in between, a latte to be specific. It’s almost like a soft blanket wrapped around me. At times, I also prefer to create in low light or near-darkness. There’s something about the absence of visual stimulation that sharpens my other senses. When the world is dimmed, I can hear more, feel more, and connect more deeply with the internal world I’m trying to express. That kind of sensory quiet helps me sink into the process without distraction.

I also tend to create more freely on weekends. With a full-time job, it can be hard to shift gears into a creative mindset after a demanding workday. When I’m stressed or overwhelmed - when my mind is racing or my body feels tense and I feel closed and contracted both physically and mentally - creativity doesn’t flow.

But on weekends, I feel more relaxed and spacious. I’m not rushing. There’s a softness and a freedom that allows creative energy to flow more naturally. In that space of openness, the creative process has room to unfold.

For “Providence”, what did you start with? If there were conceptual considerations, what were they?

“Providence” started with a very raw, very real, uncomfortable feeling: that I couldn’t keep up with this world and its pace.

After graduating from college with a degree in music business, I expected to jump into the industry. But when that didn’t happen, I started silently spiralling. Everyone around me, my peers and friends, seemed to be moving forward, landing jobs, building careers, and I was stuck - “unemployed”, comparing myself constantly, and questioning whether I had anything to offer. Every scroll through LinkedIn or Instagram just made it worse. I felt like I was falling behind in life.

At first, there was no “concept” - just emotion. A sense of shame, self-doubt, and disconnection from the thing I loved most: music. I had convinced myself I needed to prove something to the world before I could return to it. But despite chasing job after job, interview after interview, then rejection after rejection only left me more empty.

Then, something shifted. I had started reading The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, and his words cut through the noise. It was like he had written out what I had been feeling all along — the tension between our inner calling and the outer pressure to “succeed.” That’s when the conceptual side of the song came into focus.

I knew I wanted “Providence” to speak from a spiritual place. I wanted the voice in the song to feel like something divine - a presence that wasn’t judging me, but gently pushing me forward. Now that I look back, it poured out from raw emotion and became a song where god spoke to me, telling me the words I needed to hear.

As I began writing, I realized I didn’t want the song to just come from me - I needed it to feel like it was coming to me. I was craving reassurance and direction, not from people, but from something higher. The voice in the song became God’s/ or the voice of something beyond me, gently but firmly pulling me back to myself. Like a whisper that said: I’ll wait for you … but I’ll wait no more (lyrics in the song).

That’s how “Providence” came to life. Not as a completely planned concept, more as a personal reckoning.

Tell me a bit about the way the new material developed and gradually took its final form, please.

I worked with Edwin Wong, a great producer based here in Singapore. He really helped shape the song into something more memorable - leaning into a stronger, more pop-driven structure while still preserving the emotional core.

From the bare bones of just me singing and playing the chords on piano, we began building it out via endless zoom sessions. I knew I wanted to bring in elements that reflected my roots - sounds that honored my Indian culture. We layered in guitar, bass, lush synth pads, and Edwin found this incredible tabla sample that gave it a subtle but distinct texture and movement that perfectly mirrored the pace of creation / keep up element of the song.

I also experimented with vocal improvisations - doing free runs and riffs - and Edwin ended up pitching some of them up to create this almost otherworldly layer. Once I went into the studio to record the final vocals, we carefully comped everything until it felt just right.

The last step before mixing was shaping the background vocals. I wanted them to have a spacious, floating quality. Something soft, but still full of emotional weight. I took a week to experiment and play around with different textures and layers, but I didn’t want to record those parts in the studio. I wanted to be in the comfort of my own room, just me and a mic. That setting gave me the freedom to be more intuitive and personal with those harmonies - and I think you can feel that in the final version.

The mix took a while to get right. I wanted there to be contrast between sections (more of a gradual build, rather than everything hitting at once or feeling stagnant the whole way through). I also wanted my voice to be front and centre, since this was meant to be “God’s” voice delivering a message. The synths had to feel ethereal and atmospheric, creating space around the vocal rather than competing with it.

After a lot of back and forth, I think we finally found that balance. Each section breathes in its own way, and the dynamics now feel intentional and emotionally true to the song.