He’s a stranger. Yet, mesmerized by his smile she finds herself gazing at him with ease.
Who can this person be! She tries to recall. “Maybe my groom,” she thinks. Her eyes gleam and a smile appears.[break]
“Do you know me?” the stranger asks. She nods her head. That charming smile appears again on his face. “Do you care for me?” She nods her head again, still gazing at him.
Noticing those eyes fixed on him, he throws another question: “Do you really like me?” She replies back with the same nod.
“Then why aren’t you talking to me?"
Soon, her mother enters the room. Anju gets up from the bed and stands by her. Her mother then says to the stranger, “She’s very young and you’re taking her far away. She’s your responsibility now.”
This is part of a conversation between Anju Poudel the girl, and Kamal Mani Dixit the stranger as mentioned in “Tyo Goro Haat” – a compilation of short Nepali stories written by Anju. It took place on June 12, 1949 at Anju’s home in Sarlahi district.
At that time, Kamal Mani Dixit was 20 and a college graduate working in Calcutta while Anju was a fifth grade student.
“She was just a child at that time who didn’t know anything about life,” Kamal recalls. “But since my parents had arranged the marriage for me, I had to oblige them. That was how society functioned then. We didn’t disobey our parents.”
After the wedding, they came to Kathmandu and lived with Kamal’s parents. However, Kamal had to leave for Calcutta to continue his work. Anju then enrolled in Basant College in Banaras where she did her secondary level education.
“The separation didn’t have much effect on me because probably I wasn’t much of a romantic,” Kamal says. “But I waited eagerly for her letters, which I received twice a month on average. Her letters didn’t have much – just formal greetings and best wishes. And I didn’t expect more than that from a girl of 12 or 13. But I can’t explain why I always looked forward to receiving them.”
This ended sometime around 1954 when Kamal was recalled to Kathmandu. He called Anju back to Kathmandu where she completed her SLC examinations.
But being together didn’t allow them the privilege of living as man and wife.
“My family, including my parents, were at the service of Rani Jagadamba Kumari Devi Rana then, and we lived with her in her palace,” he says. “All we were given to live in was a small space in a big hall partitioned by curtains, which didn’t allow privacy.”
Once again, Kamal obediently accepted whatever was given to him by his parents.
The couple got a separate room only after Kamal and his parents moved to their house at Patan Dhoka.
“So we started our life together 10 years after our marriage,” Kamal says. Soon after their first son Kunda Dixit was born. In 1959, their second son Kanak Mani Dixit was born, and two years later their third child and only daughter Rupa arrived.
The couple started living independently only around 1967 when Kamal’s parents moved to live with his younger brother in what today is known as Rato Bangala complex.
Since then, the couple spent some of the most memorable years of their lives together, binding their relationship in ways “which can’t be explained,” as Kamal says.
“After we were on our own, we traveled a lot, mostly to attend Rotary meetings. We visited Singapore, the US, Scotland, France, and China. My wife was always with me. I was very happy,” Kamal says.
Gradually, Kamal’s dependence on Anju also began to grow.
“She knew my favorite food and I liked dishes prepared by her. She was also my wardrobe manager – she knew exactly what I liked to wear, and she packed everything for me when I traveled alone,” he says.
“I liked the sweaters she knitted for me, and I used only those made by her. She was also a perfect gardener. In fact, she was good at everything she did. That’s why people called her a perfect housewife.”
But now things have changed. For the last 10 years, that hyperactive woman and the better half of Kamal has Alzheimer’s.
“Today she can’t eat or drink by herself. She can’t go to the toilet on her own, either,” Kamal says. “The only things she does these days are smile when people are around and blurt out occasional ‘Aiyaa!’ when there’s pain. She mostly sits like a statue, without expressions on her face.”
This hasn’t been easy for him, either.
“But what can I do?” he says. “I should’ve known something was amiss when she couldn’t recollect past events while writing her autobiography. But Alzheimer’s wasn’t a common disease back then, and nobody knew much about it.”
But Kamal spends as much time with her as possible.
“I have my morning tea with her and we watch television together, though I’m not sure whether she understands what’s being said,” he says. “I also do all I can to prolong her life.”
But he knows her condition is gradually getting worse and she’s not going to get any better.
“I’m happy we’ve both shared wonderful days together. Most of the time, we were blissfully happy, except for minor disputes we had on rare occasions. And I’ll always miss the marital bliss,” Kamal Mani Dixit concludes. “But I can’t always dwell on the things of the past. We have to move on, and I think that’s what I’m trying to do.”
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