The emotion that is Virat Kohli

"The master, showing his majesty."

Ian Bishop's baritone echoed through my ears. Virat Kohli had pulled off yet another run chase in ODIs, and this time, he did it against the newly knighted whipping boys of cricket – Sri Lanka. The match was a dead rubber, with India having won the most pointless contest of all time by a 4-0 margin already, but Kohli had other demons to conquer. He had made only a handful of runs prior to that innings, and armchair critics were beginning to frantically search for Photoshopped memes and one liners about Kohli's dip in form.

He answered them all, and did so with style. With class. With serene timing suffused with flashes of brute power. He did it while wickets fell around him, while India's bete noire – janta Mendis – wreaked havoc, and he managed to chase an Indian loss away, again. And that's the moment I realized – this man may just be something special.

Was I wrong to assume that?

Cricket has engulfed us for a large chunk of our lives. For Indians, cricket isn't just a game between 22 players on the field. It's a battleground, a war zone – a raging turner is a "minefield"; while a bouncy track is "venomous". Indians have consecrated cricket to divine status. It's not an avocation, it's a passion – a part of our modus vivendi, a routine that we must follow.

It's defined our moods, our emotions, and our superstitions. We have made it our religion, and we have deified most of the players who play it too. VVS Laxman – God of the 4th innings, Sourav Ganguly – God of the Offside, Shane Warne – God of Spin; and, of course, Sachin Tendulkar – The God of Cricket. These players evoked a love and a passion for the game that many thought would be unparalled.

"The Golden Era" of cricket – punctuated with Adam Gilchrist's unbelievable brilliance, Wasim Akram's befuddling outswingers, Jonty Rhodes' hare-like athleticism – was truly a treat for the cricket puritan. Which is why many felt that the era of classical cricket ended with the advent of T20 cricket and cash-rich leagues all over the world. Some lamented the dearth of batsmen willing to hang on in dire situations, while others bemoaned bowlers' inability to coerce mistakes from the batsman on highways.

I, too, thought that we may never see a good, quality classical batsman again. A batsman with the mind of a sage but the demeanour of a warrior. A truly GREAT batsman.

Oh, I was wrong, and how.

Kohli burst on the scene in late 2008, with an U-19 World Cup and a chip on his shoulder. He was brash, he was arrogant, and his hubris led to an ordinary start to his international career. He always had the talent – not many could whip a yorker to midwicket or cover with equal precision – and the will to succeed too, as indicated by his match saving 90 for Delhi on the day his father passed away. But he never had the temperament to grind it out at the international level.

He won India a few matches, but his off field shenanigans, his love for invectives (he once flipped the bird to an unruly Australian crowd) and his ‘Delhi boy’ attitude never endeared him to the masses. Many thought he was a flash in the pan, who'd be brought down to earth soon.

Oh, they were wrong too; and how.

Kohli has transformed from a chubby, rude batsman playing on the maidans of Delhi to a batting behemoth that has bowlers scurrying to the drawing board. He now enters a stadium to reverberating disyllabic chants – "Koh-li, Koh-li" and catches the eye of every fielder on the ground. He raises his arms aloft (a small tribute to his late father, perhaps) and whips his muscles around like a windmill, ready to take the bowler head on, ready to dismiss the ball out of his sight, ready to walk on water – if that's what MS Dhoni expected of him.

He takes his stance, and a million eyes watch on intently. The grandfather who stopped watching cricket after Sachin retired wears his glasses and gazes at Kohli tap his bat on the pitch. The little sister who barely watches cricket runs into the room to watch her favourite heartthrob flex his biceps. The millennial cricket fan, disillusioned with the constant failures of Rohit Sharma and Shikhar Dhawan, suddenly begins to invoke God, pleading him to not get Kohli out.

I wear my India jersey and switch on the TV and clench my fist. A billion hearts pound as the man faces his first ball.

Kohli's innings follows the template trade-marked by him. First 15 balls – just singles. Occasionally hare across for two. Occasionally, convert a single into a two. And ever so occasionally, intimidate the fielder into conceding two. He picks and chooses the gaps in the field at will. A single here, a dab there; a cheeky boundary follows it all up.

The required run rate has picked up, Suresh Raina has fallen to another short ball, and Kohli's mentor, friend and guide – MS Dhoni is not even off the mark. But Kohli is unperturbed. He has the face of a warrior, and he's baying for blood.

Was he wrong to be this confident?

India need 39 in 18 balls. Kohli has his eye in. His trusted comrade Dhoni is by his side. He canvasses the field – Harsha Bhogle famously said that Kohli has a positioning system in his mind – and decides on the points to attack. Australian all-rounder James Faulkner, wily customer, famous in India purely for being derided by Kohli in the most spectacular fashion – "I've smashed you enough in my life, just go and bowl" – has the ball. Kohli knows that Faulkner goes either for the yorker or the slower short ball.

And predictably, Kohli also knows that he's going to get four.

A swat to the leg side, Finch dives in vain, India inch closer. The next ball, a yorker, gets dismissed for four near point. Indian fans cling on, fingernails absent, hair falling off. Kohli's eyes pierce Faulkner – poor ol' Jimmy knows he's getting pasted right now. And boom, goes the dynamite. Kohli dismisses a short delivery for six over long off.

He was the boss now. Short, slow or full, it was going to be dismissed. Steven Smith was desperately invoking Glenn Mcgrath for some answers. Kohli had started off with 36 off 31 balls. He smashed 46 in the next 20. Where do you bowl to this man? How do you bowl to him?

Were the Australians wrong in under-estimating him?

The truth is, it wasn't the fault of the Australians. Or the Pakistanis, or every other nation that has borne the brunt of Virat Kohli's sheer class. The emotion that is Virat Kohli is tough to explain. You Root for him, for he has forged the foundation of new age Indian cricket like a Smithy, yet you feel like whipping him with a Kane in exasperation, when he gets out to a quality delivery.* His timing, his precision and his placement evoke nothing but awe – many have tried imitating his stance and bottom hand shot making, but nobody has bettered him – and his running between the wickets gives the spectator goosebumps.

It's a feeling that has love, that has respect and that has a lot of enthusiasm for Kohli to succeed. But above all, it's a feeling of admiration. Many a time we vicariously imagine ourselves to be cricketers and gauge what shots we could or should play in a situation. But not in my wildest dreams can I ever imagine to pierce the field like Kohli does.

Kohli has truly transformed himself into a well-oiled run machine. The man is the face of ad campaigns, the harbinger of aggressive India, Dhoni's heir apparent, and also Australia's arch nemesis. He is everything India loves.

Kohli is no longer the despicable, boorish teenager who thought he could conquer the world. He is now a mature, responsible, aggressive batsman who, incidentally, has actually conquered the world.

Virat Kohli is no longer the bad boy of Indian cricket. He is the boy of Indian cricket.

And this time, I know I'm not wrong.

*All the puns were intended.