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Kanika Ahuja

Driftwood: noun. 1 Wood floating on a body of water, cast ashore. 2 Polished wood, an ornamental decoration, welcomed home.

The driftwood in my house, makes for a centre table. Oval glass topped, with no real legs to stand on, it is an earthquake warning, wobbly beneath its own weight.

Worn out by more stillness than turmoil, driftwood is uneven, wears a wrinkled skin, with scars and gaps where the water cut through.

Polished black under a clear glass veil, it is stuck in monochrome in technicolour 2019, feels 35 years out of place, but rooted at the centre of every conversation never moves an inch away.

Driftwood: adjective. 1 A clash of currents, waves of my grandmother’s youth over the tea gardens of Assam 2 The smell of varnish stiff like starch in folded sarees, draped in the balconies of New Delhi.

Kanika Ahuja, a Masters student studying English Literature, believes in the inexplicable joy of sunshines and smiles. Surrounded by stories, she weaves words into moments that cast projections like shadows on sunny days, keeping her company, always. She is a poet, a performer and an educator of poetry, working towards finding her own voice while also helping others find theirs. Someone who should never be left alone in a Stationery Store, Kanika hoards verses on sticky notes in mason jars to be set free like paper boats on rainy days. She believes in magic, and cupcakes, and can be found sprinkling cinnamon over everything.

Kanika Ahuja
Kanika Ahuja
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