Daksh Dey
‘Bhaiya, yaar,’ Gaurav protests. ‘Why are you not coming?’
I ignore the question just as I have for the last twenty times he has asked me.
‘Both Aanchal’s and your clothes are marked according to the functions—cocktail, wedding, reception,’ I remind him. ‘Give me a couple of picture options. And, of course, don’t tear them, drop anything on them or lose them. We have to give them all back.’
‘Bhaiya, please come, no. We will both travel first class. My treat!’
Gaurav’s immaturity seems to grow with each passing year. He’s becoming more like the thirteen-year-old mad fans who idolize him. I ignore his wasteful and unaffordable offer, knowing that if I let him loose with his credit card, he’d quickly amass a debt larger than some small island nation’s.
‘Listen to me, Gaurav. You’re allowed to lose everything but your passport. There are a bunch of events lined up and you can’t afford to be stuck there. There’s team practice too. There are radical changes in the new Fortnite. I have made a list of pain points.’
He nods distractedly. Then, his face contorts into a pathetic, sad-puppy expression he has been making since the day Vanita announced her wedding.
‘I can’t believe I’m going to watch Vanita get married to that bastard!’
‘It’s absolutely believable because you’re an idiot. And don’t give me shit about closure. You guys had nothing. All this drama for nothing. You can still choose not to go.’
‘It’s not—’
There’s only so long you can argue with a wall. ‘Don’t get too drunk or kiss someone in public. It’s all illegal there and you can’t bribe your way out of jail,’ I warn him.
Gaurav has just started to drink occasionally, often without my permission, hidden from me, breaking our pact. Gamers expire young. By the age of twenty-four, reaction time dulls, rendering them uncompetitive. Alcohol and drugs speed up that process. To counter that, we crafted for Gaurav a social-media persona so he could extend his career and didn’t have to rely on championship wins. But even then, he needs to be sharp and game as if his life depends on it.
‘That’s why you should come with me, Bhaiya,’ he pleads. ‘Listen, Bhaiya, we will be at our hotel. You don’t have to meet Didi. I won’t even tell her you’re there. Please, Bhaiya.’
I ask the porter to start walking with Gaurav’s trolley.
‘I will miss you, Bhaiya.’
‘Get a fucking haircut.’
He’s convinced man-buns are cool thanks to his Instagram fans. One of these days I’m going to take garden shears to it. Gaurav hugs me. It’s still as weird and squirmy as the first time. It was right after our team, Phoenix Rising, won its first major gaming convention, which put us on the map as the rising stars in the Asian gaming scene.
‘I love you, Bhaiya.’
I love him, too, but of course, I’m not going to scream it out at an airport.
‘Do you want me to say something to Didi?’ he asks me with a wink.
And because he knows what I’m going to say, he slaps his big headphones over his ears.
‘Ask her to fuck off,’ I tell Gaurav. ‘Tell your sister that she’s the worst person in all of history and I hope every day of her existence is the pure definition of torture.’
He waves and follows his porter into Delhi International Airport. A group of adoring fans, none of them older than twenty, spot him and flock around him, showering him with praises. They whip out their phones for pictures. He obliges everyone with a smile and a hug. Apart from his gaming skills—unmatched in Asia—it’s also his way with his fans that make him as popular as he is. Within minutes, his Discord group comes alive.
Gaurav Madan spotted at Delhi Airport!
My phone explodes with notifications from Gaurav’s social-media accounts. The DMs pour in, begging for autographs, meetups and offers to give Gaurav blowjobs. Gaurav remains oblivious, having been absent from Instagram for over a year.
The last thing he needs is distraction. He’s prone to getting addicted to the siren calls of social media, spending hours on it if it’s on his phone. We made an executive decision to cut him off, cold turkey.
As team principal and part owner of Phoenix Rising Gaming, it’s up to me to manage his—and the team’s—online presence.
At the gaming conferences overseas, other team managers tell me I have done a great job building the team into a recognizable brand. Gaurav likes to credit his success to me as well, which is an overstatement because, at the end of the day, he’s the one with the keyboard and the game plans.
But there’s one person who thinks I’m a parasite, a bloodsucking leech sucking on Gaurav’s flesh.
