"There was war. I was afraid for my child, my husband, I was afraid," she told me. Her closest family is still in Vavuniya. "My parents have told me there are no more problems, there is peace now," she adds.

Her husband was a farmer in Sri Lanka, here he takes contract paint jobs. "He is away a lot, and comes home once a week to check in." She lives with her son in one of the camps run by the Indian government.

Like in many wars, there have been thousands of civilian casualties - husbands, brothers, sisters, uncles and in Pushpa's case, her father. "I cannot go back," she says her eyes spilling over with tears. "I still remember," she says, as she brushes them away and continues.

In Pushpa's village, there were 25 people taken one night, "mostly men," she recalls. They were all returned, dumped in a pile on a road, either severely injured or dead. Her father was amongst the fatalities.

Pushpa's brother was in a camp in northern Sri Lanka. "I went to visit him before we came to India, but we were separated by a fence." They were not able to talk much. She came to India in 2009 by boat.

"There were 100 families in my village before, now there are two remaining - I cannot go back." Her tears begin afresh.

SEVEN KILOMETRES APART

I have been unable to get my visa to Sri Lanka to visit the northern part of the country, so this is my first personal view of the conflict and its impact on Sri Lankans uprooted by war.

In Sri Lanka, the long conflict that came to an end last year has displaced almost 300,000 people. Many are still living in camps in the northern part of the island in the Vanni region. Slowly, the people are moving back home.

India's Tamil Nadu is vast and diverse. We pass lush green hills interwoven with palm-tree-shaded lagoons with a patchwork of crop fields. The distances between the camps are huge and many hours are spent on the road.

I have been able to retrace the journey of a Sri Lankan refugee arriving by boat. First is the strip of beach where the refugees arrive, often by night, and are left on Adam's Bridge sand dune in Rameshwaran.

In legends, I am told, one could walk between India and Sri Lanka. Apparently the countries are only seven kilometres apart at their closest points.

The new arrivals then pay for a ride in a beach buggy [open truck] to a main road. Next stop is a police check, then the transit camp. Here it takes a few days for intelligence agencies to clear the arrivals. Finally, they are sent to one of the 100-plus camps.

PUSH AND PULL

Colleagues who have been visiting the camps in India over the last few years tell me that this is the first time they sense hope and that many refugees see the "light at the end of the tunnel."

A journalist, who has recently been to Sri Lanka, tells me: "The majority of the Tamils in Sri Lanka just want to get on with their lives."

She observes that the Tamil minority, who have been fighting the Sinhalese majority for autonomy in the north of Sri Lanka, have gained nothing in almost three decades of fighting. "They are back to square one."

For those that have been the victims of war - civilians sandwiched between the government and the rebels - the memories are still powerful and will push or pull.

To go back home or to remain refugees in India will be a personal and subjective choice for each family as they closely track the fragile peace in Sri Lanka.

Podi, a widow, was married to a Tamil and they have lived in a camp in India for over twenty years. "My children and grandchildren do not want to go back - for them India is home."

What about her? "I would like to go back and live my last years in Ceylon [the Colonial name for Sri Lanka]. But I will go alone."

For captions, click on bottom right of screen for full-screen mode, then click on show info. Copyright Malini Morzaria/ECHO

Malini Morzaria works for the European Commission Humanitarian department (ECHO) based in New Delhi, India.