tell me about it

One of Singapore’s sweeter love stories, taken from (surprise, surprise) the New Paper. When I read it, I commented that it was reassuring to know that men do have hearts, and that they do use them. Tiffy’s response? “Only old men lah.”

:(

LOVE endures.

Especially for a man who left a lasting footprint in Singapore’s history.

Six words encapsulated Mr S Rajaratnam’s love for his soulmate and the depth of his grief when she died.

Those six words: ‘I will miss my darling Piroska’.

Handwritten by the man who penned Singapore’s pledge, they adorned simple post-it notes pasted below a black-and-white portrait of Mr Rajaratnam’s one true love.

The photo takes centrestage in the living room of their matrimonial home.

After his wife, Ms Piroska Feher, a Hungarian, died of pneumonia in 1989 at age 75, Mr Rajaratnam, moved the portrait from their master bedroom to the hallway.

Why?

Mr Rajaratnam and his wife, Piroska, while they were still dating in England.

‘So that he can always see her face,’ the couple’s long-time Filipino maid, Miss Cecilia Tandoc, 49, said of the former Second Deputy Prime Minister.

‘He always said that he loves his wife, and his eyes are only on her.’

All around their Chancery Lane bungalow were other treasured photos of the couple - some together, some alone, some hung on the walls, some placed on shelves.

Indeed, with no children, all they had was each other. And it showed.

Which is why when Mr Rajaratnam realised he was losing his memory, he started to stick post-it notes around his home.

But the label below Piroska’s portrait stood out.

It was a declaration of undying love.

In many ways, theirs was like a love story out of Hollywood.

Raja and Piroska, as they came to be known, met in London in 1937.

He was 22, and an Indian foreign student studying law at King’s College.

She was 23, a Hungarian refugee yearning for a better life.

Two very different people from two very different worlds.

But against the odds, they fell in love.

Their paths first crossed at the unlikeliest of places: A left-wing book club, surrounded by Marxist sympathisers.

What bonded them was simple youthful idealism.

WAR-TIME ROMANCE

Then came the madness of World War II.

Undaunted, the couple adapted and their courtship continued.

Their favourite dating spot: Bomb shelters, even as death and carnage rained down outside.

Then a few years later, they got married amid disapproving looks from the rest of society.

As Tampines GRC MP Irene Ng, who’s now writing a biography of Mr Rajaratnam, explained: ‘In those days, it was very uncommon for an Asian man to marry a Western woman.

‘So it showed Raja for what he was - a very independent-minded man who looked beyond race.’

Even Mr Rajaratnam’s family in his Malayan hometown of Seremban were against it.

‘But it was a marriage of love,’ Ms Ng told The New Paper.

‘Eventually the family accepted her as one of their own.’

Little did the newlyweds know their best days were still ahead of them.

When Mr Rajaratnam returned to Singapore in 1950, she was at his side.

They started a new life together at his Chancery Lane home.

While he stamped his mark as a journalist and then a politician, she spent her days tending to their lovenest.

‘She was a very good housewife, but she also shared his passion for reading,’ Ms Ng recalled.

Both brimming with ideas and opinions, they would have many animated conversations about the books they read, despite having ‘different tastes’.

Mr Rajaratnam, who was also Singapore’s Foreign Minister, preferred more intellectual fare, like philosophy and politics, while she liked gardening.

‘She was literally more down to earth,’ Ms Ng said with a smile.

As part of her research, the MP had gone through Mr Rajaratnam’s own papers and files at his home to paint a revealing picture of the man and the woman he loved so dearly.

For example, she found out, besides entertaining friends at home, the couple would always enjoy breakfast and tea together, whatever day of the week.

Decades later, whatever his achievements as a public figure, it was those private moments with his wife which meant the world to him.

That world came crashing down on 18 Aug 1989, when she breathed her last.

He was never the same again.

‘When she passed away, a part of him died,’ said Ms Ng.

‘He would brood at home at night, sitting alone in his living room where he used to sit with Piroska.’

Two years later, when Ms Ng met him at the verandah of his home, he again spoke about how his late wife loved their garden.

Even old friends like President SR Nathan, who had known Mr Rajaratnam as a colleague and a mentor in the diplomatic service, could feel the heartbreak and emptiness in him.

It was the ‘devastating effect’ of her death, Mr Nathan wrote in a tribute message, which ‘finally brought about the gradual decline in his health and his state of mind.’

‘He never publicly grieved over her loss. But those who knew him were conscious that loneliness was what was eating into him in his final years.’

It’s been said a serious heart attack can kill you quickly. But a broken heart kills you slowly.

But for Raja and Piroska, now united in the afterlife, there’s no more need for post-it notes or pining for past memories.

Thus this love story ends.