You know that one jacket you bought when you were fifteen? It had sequined collars and zippers on the shoulders and made your mother wince a little when you sashayed outside in it.

It makes you wince now, too. For old times’ sake, you try it on every now and then and all of a sudden you’re fifteen again. Sequined and zippered. But it just doesn’t fit anymore. It’s time to let that jacket go.

This blog – Catalysts and Poisons – is my sequined jacket that I’m letting go of. I now post every week on: https://deekshabhat.wordpress.com/

I hope you find the time to give it a look and maybe leave a comment or two. 

Letting this blog go is bittersweet to say the least. I don’t think I’ve ever had a space like this. A space for honesty, growth and work that brought meaning to my dullest days. But the jacket just doesn’t fit anymore. And I’m letting it go. 

I hope and pray that you’re having the happiest new year. And if you stuck around, thanks for reading this all the way through.

God bless you all, you beautiful, beautiful people.


TIL #1

Today I learned:

Courage is about the tiny things. 

It’s not battling dragons and flooring trolls. It’s not rescuing damsels from burning towers or scaling glass mountains. It’s not saving the world from a zombie apocalypse or sacrificing yourself to the gods to appease them. 

It’s not always confrontations, battles and war. 

Sometimes, it’s about coming to terms with a truth about yourself, so atomic and yet so fundamental, that it has the potential to rattle all the shelves of china in your heart; enough for a scare, but not quite enough to topple them over. 

Sometimes, it’s about independence. It’s‚Äčknowing that papa won’t always be there to check for monsters under your bed. It’s arming yourself with a broom and poking the emptiness beneath your four-poster before you tuck yourself in (all four limbs safely covered by the blanket of course)

And sometimes, it’s knowing that you are your own best friend. And that sometimes, you have no choice but to believe in yourself. Because everybody’s magnifying glasses are focused on themselves. We are gigantic in our mind’s eye. We dwarf even those we love.  

And that’s okay. 

We are our own best friends. 

And that’s okay. 

A little less tiny

I cringe when I read the trash that I used to pass off as poetry three years ago. I cringe when I read the trash that I pass off as poetry today.

But this cringe? This is a cringe I value. This is a cringe that my life, as a future stringer of words, depends on. How often do we underestimate the sheer power and value of growth? Of having evolved from a tiny, bullied sapling into a… well, a slightly less tiny sapling. Still bullied. Still pretentious. Still overly dramatising and romanticising the abstract concepts of love, loss, and happiness. But a little less tiny. And a little more stable when a gust of wind decides to blow over my leaves.

See? Right there? The temptation to edit in the words ‘moth-eaten’ as a melodramatic adjective for my figurative leaves. So powerful. So strong. So unnecessary! And it is this knowledge of my inadequacy as a converter of thoughts into sentences that has me getting off this blue, ketchup stained swivel chair, leaping in the air, clicking my heels, and squeaking,

‘At least I know!’

Because, at least I know! At least I know where my fault-lines lie. Sure, I’m not ready to drift gracefully over them in my tutu and ballerina shoes and then land on the other side post executing a fancy pirouette. I’m most likely to stumble headlong, get tiny pebbles lodged in my ears and hair and swallow a mouthful of dirt on the way down. But, at least I know!

Hello there fault-line, you sly old thing! Bet you thought I didn’t see you coming.

And now, as I sit here, giggling at the notoriously blue sky three hundred feet above me, picking out the stray blades of grass in my hair and the mud in my teeth, I realise the crevice I’ve lodged my foot into is one of incoherence. Of presenting my reader – if anybody out there is still reading this, hello! I give you my last butternut cookie as a token of my gratitude – with a shoddily constructed platter of bland sentences, inconsequential story telling, and irrelevant personal trivia that they are bound to gag at the sight of.

But at least I know!

Signing off,
An eighteen year old girl who is a little less tiny than she was before