The curious case of Virat Kohli

It’ll be very difficult to pin-point to an exact time. Was it the winter of ’94, when West Indies toured India and the Sachin-Lara contest took debating to a whole new level? Was it the Kiwis’ tour the following year? But my obsession with cricket had surely reached its zenith during the World Cup in 1996. Sachin and Kumble had already announced themselves on the international stage; Dravid showed up a few months later, timing it with Ganguly’s re-emergence. Laxman took only half a season to follow.

Oh, what a time it was, to be an Indian cricket fan. Cricket completely took over our free-time discussions. Posters of these cricketers adorned the empty spaces in our walls, TV ate away into our homework time, Sportstar magazine allowance became part of our pocket money. Our parents wouldn’t probably have been too worried about us – our heroes were good men. You wouldn’t find better idols – impeccable on and off the field. One was a child prodigy who still managed to keep his feet firmly on the ground, another was a son to doctors. While one taught us how to be tough and not take things lying down, another taught us how to persevere. Hell, one was even a bespectacled engineer.

Alas, we have grown and times have changed. Indian defeats no longer bring tears into our eyes. Cricket is no longer our top-most priority. We have stopped believing in cricketing fairy tales. Most of these good men have left the scene (but not before having left behind a legacy). The one prodigy who continues to battle is no longer a child, and perhaps a little self-introspection on his part would reveal that even his feet are no longer grounded.

Many promising youngsters have come, but have flattered to deceive. But maybe the fault was ours – we were incapable of really caring for anyone else anymore. Then the world witnessed the arrival of someone by the name of Virat Kohli. But how could we like him? He was a spoilt brat. Success had come all too easily for him – such men are surely doomed. It was a World Cup Under-19 campaign that brought him to the limelight. The IPL, yes that all-evil, godforsaken IPL, was where he best fit. Sigh, he even got endorsements even before he donned the national colours.

He established himself into the team riding on some very fine performances. Experts already called him one of the most complete batsmen in the world arena. He dazzled with his stroke play, mesmerized with his skills, represented the future. But surely we wouldn’t become his fan. He brings sisters and mothers into the fray ever so frequently. Our idols never did that. Our idols were perfect ambassadors of their countries – and perfect ambassadors do not give the finger to fans on a foreign land. Our parents would never approve. What would our other idols think? The pedestal is special – reserved for special people. Perhaps, the day of making idols was gone. Perhaps, Charles Barkley, the famous and controversial ex-basketball player was right when he said in that famous Nike Commercial that parents and teachers, and not athletes should be our idols.

Then one fine day in the February of 2012, Hobart happened. India had to chase down 321 off 40 overs to give themselves a chance of reaching the finals. These targets were not possible – not for a team which had refused to try and chase 87 off 15 overs, just 8 months earlier. Sachin had just fallen to Malinga. It was the time we should have switched off our television sets and carried on with our lives. But our remotes stayed put. Kohli pulled off a breathtaking flick off the first legitimate delivery he faced – straight to the mid-wicket boundary – off a Malinga yorker. The commentator on air was too speechless to say a word. Despite it being the last delivery of the over, the broadcasters forgot to switch on the commercials. The camera panned to his face. The expletives were to come much later, but at that moment, his face let out the “thousand-yard stare”. We didn’t need the commentators to tell us that he meant business. The ignorant fool actually believed the chase was possible. About two hours later, the ignorant fool had pulled of the chase – with 20 balls to spare. He performed an encore in Dhaka 18 days later. Memories of Centurion 2003 came flooding in after watching his knock against Pakistan in the T20 World Cup.

He was someone who had rekindled our faith in cricketing fairy tales.

In the same T20 tournament, India had to defend a low score to reach the semi finals. The ‘think-tanks’ chose to play it safe and went for a meaningless victory. Some even celebrated at the ‘victory’. There was one person that day wearing blue who wasn’t impressed. There was one person to whom the failure had rankled.

There was someone who still shed tears at Indian defeats.

His father had passed away in the middle of a Ranji match in 2008, with him batting overnight. He surprised everyone when he turned on to bat the next morning, and played a match-savings innings for Delhi, before he went for the funeral.

There is someone out there for whom cricket is still the top most priority.

Perhaps, Charles Barkley was wrong after all. Perhaps, we were all looking at the wrong qualities. Perhaps, we are wrong in expecting our idols to be perfect.

Maybe, just maybe, one day Sachin will be looking at his television set and will tell his wife that Kohli reminds him of his own batting. The baton just has to pass.

For me, the pedestal already has a new occupant.