His two adorable little boys needed a mother just like me because their own mom was too self-absorbed to be there for them. Apparently it would be love at first sight between the pint sized brats and me, and J — with whom I was pregnant — would fit right in the mix. In a matter of weeks Malhar had proselytized me into accepting the blended family as the ultimate Utopia. Up until then, my position had been "It will be a cold day in hell before I get into his kids', my kids', and their kids' situation." Apparently, with Malhar coming into my life, hell had frozen over quite nicely.

Then there was "the great Indian novel" he was working on. It had been a work in progress for a few years at the time of our meeting. His passion for it was akin to mine for J when I was pregnant with her. I could easily relate. I knew at once I could help push it out the door and, God willing, with cryptic a dedication like "To the beautiful seashell that washed up to my shore one summer" on its flyleaf, a Pulitzer might have "washed up" as well. I thought he had what it took. In other words, I was suffering from fantastic illusions of grandeur.

We parted ways too soon for any of that to happen, but he persisted with me via anonymous phone calls for a whole year after he was officially with someone else. Our breakup had been nothing short of hysterical, as can be imagined -what with my life's grand design being taken away and handed over to someone who was my exact opposite in every way. How did that make any sense?

What did that giggly cow in Wal-Mart couture know about uses of iambic pentameter in expressing feelings of love and loss? In hindsight there was significant jealousy in pronouncing that verdict upon the over-endowed, but bland-looking new woman in Malhar's life. Here was a man who had shown impeccable taste in marrying who he had the first time around. She was smart, charming, stylish, sophisticated and had versatile interests. The fact that she was doing great professionally was only an interesting side note. Did I mention she was quite a looker? The man had everything going for him.

Post-ex, he may have done better than the Wal-Mart couture-cow he chose to be his lawfully wedded second wife. In his defense, Malhar would say as he often did to me "You are like Jolt cola. I want to be with a woman around whom I can relax and just be myself. I don't always need cerebral stimulation and I don't want to keep up with someone like you and worry about what might happen if you got bored."