DNA of fiction: Vish Dhamija

One of my friends recently saw - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and we got chatting. She had the same argument I had initially - if Benjamin was born as an octogenarian infant, then he shouldn't have become a tot [physically] as he aged backwards.
Would that have made the story any more plausible? Maybe yes. Maybe not.
It's common belief that fact begets fiction. And although the belief is correct, I regard it as only half the truth.
Let me give you an analogy: Take fact as a highly promiscuous mother of fiction. Now wouldn't it be smart-alec to assume that every child she bears would grow up to resemble her? Let's complexify the problem further - would you still predict the same outcome if you're completely ignorant about the father? If the gene pool of the father is, even remotely, as rich and strong as JK Rowling's, then wouldn't it be ridiculous to expect the child [fiction] to take more than a tchotchke from the poor mother? On the other hand, if the gene pool of the father - like John Grisham - is fairly similar to the mother's, you can expect the child to closely resemble the mother [fact] - a tighter, predictable fiction, where everything fits the legal framework.
How implausible or unpredictable can fiction get - depends on the author; how implausible or farfetched should it get, does not have an answer. I guess, that is artistic licence all creative folks have.
People who do not appreciate promiscuity should read biographies and history, though I admit some of the biographies I've read are more whimsical than fiction. As for history - that isn't devoid of fantasies either.

Who the f*@k is Alice?

I might have vehemently denied it at all times in the past [I still do and forever will], but if truth be told I have some [a little] mutated gene of OCD. I prefer [read as written: prefer] my shirts in a certain order in the wardrobe - hung with hangers facing a particular side; the tracks in my iPod have to [have to, have to, have to] be in a cut & dried arrangement; the contacts in my iPhone are stored by first-names. No exceptions preferred [read as written: preferred; I didn't say unacceptable].
But the motif of this blog isn't about my preferences [sic]; it's not about me either; it's about the contacts in my iPhone.
The other day, I couldn't find a phone number of a friend in my contacts and was very annoyed [with self]. How could I not have a number I wanted while I had so many numbers I didn't need any more? I set myself a task to organise my contacts/iPhonebook at the earliest opportunity.
Today was the day - I sat with the Old Monk for iPhone spring cleaning, but got stuck at "A" itself...when I saw one of the contacts - 'Who the f*@k was Alice Johnson?*'
My mind took a while to find its way through the labyrinth - she was the business analyst when I was working on project X; what a fantastic time we had; what fun and learning...wonder where she would be now and if she ever thought about me? Will we ever meet again? I thought about giving her a call but stopped halfway after dialling - what if her phone number had changed [it's been five years]. And even if it hadn't, what would I say after I say hello? There wouldn't be much to talk [shy as I am] about. Why subject her and myself through a miserable [How's you x 17 times, with nothing else to say] conversation? I smiled and disconnected [Please note - she made me smile]. Nah - I couldn't delete her - we had such a good time.
I scrolled down and got stuck on another one [A. K.*]. I jogged my memory to ferret him out and it was a case of repeating decimal - the guy worked for me in Benetton and we had some great time together - again I didn't know where he was; the possibility [not probability] of his telephone number being the one listed in my diary [after 12 years] was contrary to any reason. I smiled as his name took me more than a decade back. I couldn't delete him...!
And then it dawned - your contact book isn't just that - it is a diary [full] of memories - memories that have been latent for some time; times you've enjoyed and forgotten not because they aren't worth remembering or cherishing today, but there's so much else going on in your life that the past inadvertently takes a back seat [it's like an old movie you've seen years ago - a month back, accidentally, while switching channels I saw Erich Segal's Love Story being screened and I didn't (read: couldn't) move for the next 90 minutes].
No, I could not erase those unuseful numbers from my contacts. It didn't matter if I won't need them anymore. I know I wouldn't call some of the people in my contacts ever - but I cannot erase them. I cannot black out the good [or bad] memories associated with those names.
Try your phonebook...it will make you smile. Or, maybe I am a sentimental fool.
*Names changed.