It's been 30 years since I saw my mother. In that time, there has been lots of commentary about her - - I rarely respond. It feels like the right time to remember the real her. I want to share some of my memories in the run up to the anniversary.

My mother actually had 2 doctrates. As a medical doctor, she would go and treat anyone who needed her, whether they were her enemies or not. To have the power to heal and the duty to use it was something she felt profoundly.

Civilians, soldiers, militants - she was their doctor. She was also a research scientist who was fearless in her pursuit of truth and who followed where the evidence led. There was no one too powerful not to criticize. Truth was an act of love and loyalty.

Rajani did not become accustomed to grief or fear. She was heartbroken when students went missing, came home and cried at the stories she heard. She cried from fear as well. I fell asleep so many nights, listening to her tears.

The next morning she would be bright, brave, determined and hopeful. She taught me courage coexisted with vulnerability, kindness & sensitivity. She had empathy & generosity to nearly everyone she met, except powerful people who turned their face away.

She wrote this dedication to me on my 10th birthday, enjoining me to be of “strong heart, strong head and strong emotion”. We both knew this was a recipe for public disapproval- but the only freedom available to us in our stifled, silenced world.

She worried that she wasn’t a good mother, but told a friend, “I know my daughters will grow up to be strong women, stronger than me - and when they do, they will know what a good mother I was.”

In the last few years, she became a more distilled and powerful version of herself, as if all inessentials were being discarded. But whenever the power came on, she would play music and make me dance with her. She was smiles and playfulness in peacetime.

She was also a workaholic: up at dawn to prepare for classes. Kept an immaculate house. Ran her uni department. She then did all the advocacy, investigation and human rights work in the evening. All this while dealing with the war and its challenges.

She could be very fierce! And not just to army generals or her bosses....she would challenge me to think of others, be more considerate, kinder, thoughtful. But she would listen to me as well and apologise or change her mind.

She was very sweet in other ways. She once stayed up late at night doing a term’s worth of sewing homework for me. I didn’t realise she knew I hadn’t done it. She tried to make life as fun as possible and protect me from the war.

I have these clear, treasured memories - not just of events, but of her - the space she took up, her gaze, her emotions - because life felt very very short in Jaffna. But I never thought it would be her who would die.

My mother wanted life - for everyone. She was utterly uninterested in the politics of death and martyrdom. She helped me find joy in a cup of tea after a bombing raid, the freedom of a day or an hour of silence or peace. We found reasons to laugh and smile. Then they killed her.

Thanks to Rajan Hoole’s detailed investigation a few years ago we have detailed info about how it was planned and carried out. Now I know she remonstrated with her killer even after the first shot. My fierce mother.

It was only when I heard this, that I truly knew she has been killed and not simply disappeared from my life that day, riding back to the university, wearing the elegant sari which was my favourite: a white gauze sari with a print of green and yellow leaves.