Lalani, or Tita as she was affectionately known, was the youngest in a family of seven. She was a bright spark in school and excelled in everything she undertook.
She completed her education at the University of Peradeniya, where she spent some of the happiest years of her life. Her teaching career began soon after she graduated from university. Even after an early retirement, she was a very sought after teacher. Her popularity grew with the years.
She was one of the best teachers I ever had – not just because she was my mother but because of her excellent teaching techniques. I still remember the literary phrases and Buddhist gaathas she taught me.
I also recall the numerous telephone calls and notes of appreciation she would get whenever her students passed their exams with flying colours.
She was responsible for all my academic achievements. I remember the evenings after school when she patiently sat with me and taught me her pet subjects.
She was a wonderful listener, in times of joy and woe. We looked up to her for advice at all the turning points in our lives.
Lalani was an all-rounder in every sense. She was a wonderful cook, and as a seamstress she could sew anything just by looking at a fashion magazine. The items of household linen she sewed for her friends were miraculous works of art. Her memory will live on in the dozens of hand-made gifts she gave her friends and relatives.
She selflessly helped anyone or anything that came her way, be it human or animal. The stray animals she fed and caressed are too numerous to count.
She taught many students free of charge. The words “monetary gain” were not in her vocabulary.
Her best trait was her positive attitude to life. She never gave up, even when all those around her stopped believing in their dreams. She always tried to see the sunshine and erase the gloom.
This quality helped her live through the agonies of the cancer that would plague the last 18 years of her life.
She fought the battle with unwavering spirit, with Thaaththa’s unbelievable support. When she stood face to face with death, she smiled. She made us realise how lucky we were to be alive and in good health, something most of us take for granted.
Her much-anticipated visit to Australia to visit my family was not to be. On October 11, 2008, she finally gave in, leaving me and Thaaththa behind, two weeks before her intended trip. I prayed she would live to see my children grow up so she could impart her values to them. But I am grateful that she was at least able to see them before she passed away.
Her face and words, and the memories we made together as mother and daughter for nearly 34 years, are etched in my heart. My admiration for her, as my mother and as a “gloriously wonderful” person, who lived with grace and humanity till the very end, will live on.
The void you have left in our lives will remain so forever. Amma, I will always miss you.
Hasanthi Nihara Mallawa
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