It was in Adelaide in 2014 that Virat Kohli laid down his marker and set out his philosophy—not with words, but through a blazing bat and burning eyes that defied all convention and most logic.
It was the first Test of the series, and the city of churches had served up an unusually batting-friendly surface. Typically, Australia like to welcome visiting teams, especially those from the subcontinent. at their one-time fortress, the Gabba in Brisbane. But the passing of Phil Hughes and last-minute changes to the schedule meant that the Adelaide Oval was where things would kick off.
Australia piled on the runs, and Kohli crafted a beautiful first-innings score of 115. But the real Kohli emerged in the final innings of the game, when India were set a notional target of 364. Wickets fell, Nathan Lyon settled into a metronomic groove, and a healthy 242 for 2, where all four results were possible, turned into 277 for 5.
Wriddhiman Saha joined Kohli in the middle and was given a simple instruction: hit Lyon as far as has he possibly could, not just over the ropes but out of the ground into the grounds of the cathedral where Vijay Hazare had famously worshipped before becoming the first Indian to score twin tons at the venue back in the 1947-48 season.
Saha clattered one six and a four, but was exhorted to go on, and Lyon was too clever for him. With little batting to come, you would have expected Kohli to farm the strike and shut down the chase, batting for a draw as the shadows lengthened, keeping the scoreline intact at 0-0 before the remaining Tests followed.
But, the stand-in captain was not thinking like that. Even as Rahul Dravid, commentating on the series, sat in a vacant booth watching the action, counting down the deliveries left to ‘survive’, batsmen crashed and burned, Kohli hitting some audacious big shots on the way to 141 before he fell, and India eventually lost by 48 runs.
Kohli was the opposite of apologetic in the aftermath, making it clear that his way was not to play for draws, not to protect yesterday’s gains while keeping the powder dry for tomorrow. His method, and any team that played under him, was to relentlessly chase the win to the exclusion of all else. Kohli did not want opposing teams to merely respect his batting or his team’s approach, he demanded that they fear these things.
And it was not until Kohli forged a partnership with Ravi Shastri that this blueprint could be deployed with complete conviction. At home, India played on rank turners and Kohli knew this would hurt his batting numbers, and if that was the case with someone as accomplished as him, lesser batsmen, even in his own team, would find it impossible to rack up big scores.
Test after Test went by with no big hundreds, or very few, and the old method of batting once and batting big in India, was simply no longer applicable. But, in theory, India’s batsmen, in their home conditions, should be able to find a method to score runs against any opposition spinners. And, in turn, India’s experienced spinners should be able to run through the opposition.
And this proved to be true for the best part, allowing Kohli to take a team that was closer to the bottom of the Test table to the top. But winning at home alone would never achieve this end. To win overseas, India would need to assemble an attack that could take 20 wickets in all conditions. This meant taking the tough call of leaving R Ashwin, the best spinner, out of the playing 11 on numerous occasions to ensure that there was enough firepower in the fast-bowling department.
Sourav Ganguly is rightly credited with lending steel to the team and annoying opponents with calculated moves, but Kohli took this to an entirely different level. That he became India’s most successful Test captain statistically, winning 40 of the 68 Tests he led in, was testament to his commitment to the method that he believed was the only way to succeed.
Kohli’s aggression on the field inspires admiration and irritation in equal measure. There were times in his career when he seemed to want to stir the pot just because he needed that combative environment to bring out the best in himself, not because the situation warranted it. But, over the years, Kohli had learned to channel that aggression, using it to his advantage, dictating the tempo of the game—either hurrying it along with bat in hand or slowing it down when his bowlers were trying to break a partnership. Kohli imposed his will on the game through sheer self-belief and force of personality.
But, in the end, the mind alone cannot stop the passage of time. Kohli is the fittest cricketer of his generation, and possibly beyond, but there comes a time when Test cricket asks too much of slowing reflexes and tiring minds. Time away from family was increasingly difficult, and the inflexion point had been reached where it was time for Kohli to allow himself the space to enjoy the fruits of his long, hard labour.
Kohli certainly could have played longer—a series in England and then Tests at home, allowing him to breeze past the 10,000-run mark. But if he could not do things his way, Kohli would rather not do them at all. And, above everything, he loved Test cricket too much to do it the disrespect of playing on simply to give himself a farewell game or chase a milestone. This is the greatest legacy that Kohli leaves.
(Anand Vasu is a journalist who has covered more than 100 Test matches over 25 years. Views are personal.)
