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Raised by Magic, and Those Who Create It Effortlessly 

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The opinions expressed in this article are the writer’s own and do not reflect the views of Her Campus.
This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Ashoka chapter.

Edited by Prisha Visveswaran

I am twenty one years old. 

It doesn’t come easily to me. 

Much of how I define myself – right from the lingering curve at the edge of my smile, to the way I hold a cup of tea – I can see them painted all over. 

And some days I can’t help but feel like art. 

Being raised by the strongest force of nature – women – is a blessing you cannot take lightly. If there’s a reason I’m religious it’s because they’re my god. 

Mom

Sharp. Organized. Girlboss. Hilarious. Loving. Beautiful. 

It’s an understatement, if I say my mom has raised me. Yes, she has fed me and read books to me and taught me how to write. But she also did a clever thing. She made me much like her, and I could not be more joyous about it. 

She’s fierce.

She made sure, spending every second with me, that I am fierce too. It took me a while to understand why she was being so harsh with me on some days. I would get side eyes when I was talking to some boys she particularly disapproved of – they are so not worth your time and intellect, she would say. She would hold my shoulders up when I couldn’t get through the commitments I had made. She got me through them.

You’re strong. You’re intelligent. You’re sufficient. Giving up isn’t in your dictionary. Keep going. 

She wouldn’t say much else out of modesty but she stayed there right behind me holding me up when I drooped, and also, by simply holding me sometimes. There are many moments when she inadvertently reminds me of Goddess Durga. And then I know it is not so inadvertent. She is intentional in claiming her power and being kind enough to pass some of it down to me. She is all that Durga symbolizes – she is all but the epitome of womanhood. 

We both love to shop. She pampers me with all of the dresses – the ones she approves of and the ones she’s still somewhat skeptical of. 

The trips to boutiques are always funny, because we are both reminded that we are just girls – very easy to please, very easy to love, especially easy to hurt. Girls who laugh at anything and everything. Girls who are, dare I say, friends. 

She understands the aphrodisia of being twenty one. Hers was not that far away. 

The cashiers at clothing stores always confuse me as my mother’s sister. When my grandmother sees me wearing my mom’s older clothes, she gasps. She says I look just like her. Sometimes she thinks I am her.

Maybe I am her, afterall. 

There’s something ineffable about the mother-daughter relationship, an ironic statement for me to make after drawing most written inspiration from the flash of lightning that my mom is, but the more I sit down to think about how to capture her essence into words, the more it eludes me. 

So my mom will remain the first woman I was ever in awe of, and everyday I will hope I become a little bit like her. 

Bua 

Healing. Warm. The Epitome of Strength and Care. Beautiful.

It’s rare to be so similar to your father’s sister who should have had experiences so far removed from your context. 

But then you spend time with her, you let her warm golden light absorb you in it, and in her you find both a teacher and a friend. She will open you up to a fantastical but unbelievably real and grounded world of healing. And for the first time in your life, not in exaggeration, you will meet your authentic self and you will fall in love with her – the way she feels, thinks, does. 

I’m so grateful to have learned how much the spiritual world offers us in my day-long conversations with her – something that would be a laughing stock for some people, but in more ways than one, a savior for me. I have learned about the magical results of intentions, mindfulness, getting in touch with your innermost selves, and loving all of the inner children within you before you try to heal or change them. Isn’t that all of us need anyway? A little bit of acceptance, a little bit of love. 

Letting her know me and my fears in ways not a lot people do, and being lucky enough to have her confide in me in ways only two souls, who have known each other much longer 

My bua taught me how to drink life when I was barely twenty years old.  Especially when it takes lifetimes for people to realize it’s an elixir. 

Yet, I have so much left to learn. But it makes me less anxious when I know she’s one phone call away in Singapore to guide me. 

She will teach me some techniques to protect my energy and a new thing she is learning in one of her classes. 

She will say little, and it will be exactly what I need. 

I will feel healed. I will feel even more ready to heal. 

Stuti Sharma

Ashoka '24

Stuti is a third year Psychology major and Creative Writing minor at Ashoka University. She loves writing and can be found impulse-buying jhumkas, unnecessary outfits and fridge magnets, and consuming the most absurd media ever. She is the token mom of the group surrounded by walking reminders of how short she is. She already loves you.