The silence after the roar. It’s a silence that echoes through the hallowed grounds of cricket, a silence that settles heavy in the hearts of those who lived and breathed the red-ball game. For years, that roar was synonymous with one man: Virat Kohli.
I remember the void Sachin Tendulkar’s departure left. It felt like a part of my childhood had gone with him. Then, like a defiant sunrise, Kohli emerged. He didn’t try to fill that legendary void; he carved his own indelible space. The cover drives were breathtaking, yes, a painter’s stroke on the green canvas. But what truly ensnared a generation wasn’t just the artistry with the willow; it was the raw, unadulterated grit. The unwavering determination that burned in his eyes, the fierce belief that propelled him and his team to conquer seemingly insurmountable odds.
In a world increasingly obsessed with fleeting boundaries and sixes, Kohli stood as a steadfast beacon for the purist form. Growing up with the scent of leather and willow at Eden Gardens, Test cricket was never just a game; it was a pilgrimage. The advent of T20 felt like a departure — a hurried sonata. But then came Kohli, a white-ball maverick who held an almost sacred reverence for the whites. His passion for Test cricket became a shared language, a silent bond that deepened my admiration.
The captaincy wasn’t just a role for him; it was an extension of his very being. “60 overs they should feel hell here.” And they did. Under his fiery leadership, India played with a ferocity rarely seen. Kohli himself led from the front, battling his own demons, the relentless scrutiny over that nagging line outside off stump. Critics sharpened their knives, memes flooded the internet, but amidst the cacophony, one truth remained: his effort never wavered. He toiled, perhaps too intensely, his focus unwavering even as boos rained down — not just from hostile crowds but from a section of his own.
Sydney. The air crackled with anticipation. It was the last practice session before the Test. The first ball he faced, that familiar edge to a fourth–stump delivery, and the guttural roar of frustration that followed. The very next delivery, pitched slightly fuller, was dispatched with a glorious cover drive — a defiant statement. Batters revolved around him, but Kohli remained a constant, urging his bowlers, then Gautam Gambhir during throwdowns, to relentlessly attack that challenging line.
As the session concluded, he walked towards the team bus. Our team was there, documenting every moment. I found myself face-to-face with the man who had become an icon. A lump formed in my throat. “I’m a big fan,” I managed — the words feeling inadequate. “You’ve still got it, you are the best.” A simple “Thank you” was his reply. A photograph captured that fleeting moment — a personal treasure I didn’t know would soon become so poignant. None of us knew it was his last Test. Perhaps, not even he.
Standing there, watching him disappear into the bus, I turned to my colleague, Agni. “Moment of the tour for me,” I said, a sense of quiet satisfaction washing over me. Today, those words echo with a profound weight. It wasn’t just the moment of the tour; it was a moment of a lifetime.
Virat Kohli, the sight of you in those pristine whites, battling, roaring, celebrating, will forever be etched in the annals of Test cricket. My heart feels heavy, a void reminiscent of that day Sachin hung up his boots. But with that heaviness comes a profound gratitude. Thank you for igniting a love for the red-ball game in a generation teetering on the edge of abandoning it. Thank you for embodying grit, determination, resilience, and an unyielding fighting spirit.
Watching Test cricket will never quite feel the same without your commanding presence. The silence after your departure is deafening, but the echoes of your passion will resonate for generations to come.