The day after Sri Lanka's win in this year's World T20, a picture went big on Twitter. It was a photograph of Lasith Malinga and Australia's Meg Lanning posing in a rickshaw, carrying their respective trophies. The joke seemed to be that Malinga had scored. A day later, the picture did the rounds on Twitter again - with a subtle change. There was a rickshaw driver, straining every sinew to pedal the champions. He had a perfectly photoshopped image of Virat Kohli's head.

For every supporter who harboured an iota of resentment towards India's new darling, the amusing image became a moment for ROFL. Kohli, the king in waiting, was transformed into a pauper pedalling lesser mortals on a soirée. Sachin's heir bossed the tournament and propped India up in the final, but it wasn't enough to win the trophy. For everybody itching to mock Kohli, a beggar's garb fit him sweeter than a king's robes.

There was much to dislike early in his career. A rare talent spoilt by incidents of dissent, unsporting behaviour, and a middle finger aimed at an Australian crowd. It's easy to love a humble hero like Sachin Tendulkar. A brash star with no record to speak of quickly raises antibodies. That was Virat Kohli.

One solace was that his record against Pakistan was poor. But a match in Mirpur in the 2012 Asia Cup put such hopes to rest. Pakistan scored over 300, with Umar Gul, Saeed Ajmal and Shahid Afridi in hand to defend the total. Kohli destroyed them with a fluent, imperious 183. India won. Kohli moved a step closer to his coronation. There was nothing to laugh about anymore. He was laughing at us.

Kohli is perfect for bringing out the worst in opposition fans. He carries himself with a natural arrogance. Cheeku's cheeky smile and trimmed beard are barely enough to cover his inner self-love. When he strides out to bat, it's with the air of a man who owns an arena. It doesn't matter who is bowling; it's no secret that Kohli wants to dominate. No total is too big, no run rate too daunting when he is at the crease; he will turn disaster into triumph. On the field he is equally cocky, strutting about expecting a television camera to adore him every second. He is The Man - the supreme hero.

Cheeku's cheeky smile and trimmed beard are barely enough to cover his inner self-love. When he strides out to bat, it's with the air of a man who owns an arena

This attitude isn't confined to playing the game; he also wants to run it. At any time of crisis you can be sure Kohli, inside that cricket-wired brain of his, has thought of a better scheme than his captain. Unless Kohli is the captain, in which case any situation is in hand. With the passing of Tendulkar, Dravid and Sehwag, a time of opportunity for opponents, it seems unfair that India found Kohli. Tendulkar, Dravid and Sehwag rolled into one: that's how good Kohli can be.

But, you see, as fans we only despise those we fear and secretly admire. You couldn't get so worked up about Suresh Raina, for example. Rohit Sharma possibly, but he has turned out to be quite rubbish so far. And that's the essence of Kohli. As much as you might wish to loathe him, you can't.

It's hard to see a flaw in his game or his attitude. He has seized the spotlight in international cricket, and he is in no rush to let go. It's what he expected inside that self-loving, cricket-wired brain of his.

The mark of a world-class player is that he can dominate every format. A great batsman should be able to adapt to every situation, from the first over of a Test match to the final over of a T20. Kohli has that quality. When he bats, you expect him to succeed and your team to be defeated, but somewhere deep inside you still want him to thrill. A short Kohli innings is a disappointment. It's this innate attraction, defying your instincts, that brands him as a special talent. And it's all done with such panache, such relish and sparkle. That's Kohli, killing you stylishly.

Of course, style isn't something new to Indian batsmen. Just as Indian fans have admired Pakistan's fast bowlers, Pakistani fans have admired the skill of India's batsmen. That innate attraction again, defying your basest instincts.

For me, it began with the silky magicians of the 1970s and 1980s. Indians could keep the dogged defiance of Sunil Gavaskar to themselves. Dilip Vengsarkar, on the other hand, now he was a player, all touch and timing, a model of upright style. India's batting was sometimes brittle, especially overseas, but a middle order of Vengsarkar and Mohinder Amarnath was a joy. VVS Laxman followed soon after, an artist of such elegance and powerful wristwork that David Gower seemed workmanlike in comparison.

How could any cricket lover, even an opponent, fail to adore these glorious artists? He is one such player, that Virat Kohli. My irritation with his arrogance has long passed. My dislike of his partying, disrespectful persona has subsided. I no longer see him as a rat in blue. I see him as Virat in bloom, a master of technique and temperament. A batsman to enjoy, a showman to savour.

Kohli's nature is that he inspires loathing. Opponents celebrate his failures and dance at his dismissals. Fans abuse him and lampoon him on Twitter and Facebook. These are all accolades to his ability. Kohli can pedal as many rickshaws as he wishes, the world of cricket is spinning to his tune. The last laugh, you imagine, will be his.

So I say, despite myself, in defiance of my tribal instincts, hats off to you, Mr Kohli. In you, India have discovered a diamond as bright as the Kohinoor. Tendulkar, Dravid, and Sehwag rolled into one - that would be something special. Now show us it can be done, Mr Kohli. It's your turn to sparkle.

Kamran Abbasi is an editor, writer and broadcaster. He is the international editor of the British Medical Journal. @KamranAbbasi

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