In the stereotypes so beloved of western writers, Indian cricketers are said to play by instinct rather than with reason. The first of our greats, the Nawanagar prince K.S. Ranjisinhji is alleged never to have played a Christian stroke in his life. He batted in silk shirts with gold cuff links, innovating the leg-glance, a shot that defied tradition by pushing the ball further in its own direction. Ranji inaugurated a line of distinctively eastern batsmanship whose later exemplars included his nephew, K.S. Duleepsinhji, G.R. Viswanath, and M. Azharuddin. These little men favoured the cut, the glide and the glance, delicate strokes that contrast so sharply with those muscular Anglo-Australian favourites, the pull and the drive.

One of the first men to spin these stereotypes was George Robert Canning, the fourth Baron Harris (1851-1932). Harris had been cricket captain of England, president of the Marylebone Cricket Club and, between 1890 and 1895, governor of the Bombay Presidency. In his autobiography, published in 1921, Harris wrote that "it is in the matter of patience that the Indian cricketer will never be equal to the Englishman". This was a remark almost calculated to produce Sunil Manohar Gavaskar.

In truth, there had been Indian batsmen in the past who batted for long hours. Not by coincidence, these men all came from Maharashtra, though only fate can explain their common first name, Vijay. These were Manjrekar, Hazare and Merchant, masters of the straight bat and the dead defensive, each possessed of an armoury of strokes they were forbidden to exhibit. Theirs was the tradition that Gavaskar inherited and deepened.

Gavaskar was possessed of a classical technique. He had a mind to match, with astonishing powers of concentration. To the purist, it was equally a pleasure to see him leave six outswingers in a row as to observe his cover drive. The best place to watch him was from over the sightscreen, to marvel thus at his precise foot movements and shot selection. On a hot winter's day at Chepauk I sat illegally in the Board President's Box, while the captain of India ground down the Pakistanis for five-and-a-half hours, making 92 not out. In the morning he faced Imran Khan, hair flying as he ran in from the Walajah road end. From 80 yards away I trembled, but not Gavaskar. He played about one ball in five, angering the Pathan into bouncers still higher and more futile. After lunch, as Imran sulked at fine leg,

Gavaskar calmly took apart the other bowlers. Gavaskar was not named Vijay, but as it happened India won far more Test matches in his time than Merchant's or Hazare's. And not just sat home either. In West Indies and England in 1971, in New Zealand in 1976, in Australia in 1978, his side won handsomely with major contributions from his bat. These unprecedented successes overseas (our victories in 1971 came after 40 years of trying), coupled with the expansion of television, placed new burdens on Indian cricketers. Before one Test match, his former Somerset opening partner Peter Roebuck wished Gavaskar best of luck. He expressed the desire to see his friend score a hundred, then guiltily added that he did not intend to place extra pressure on him. Gavaskar replied that since 800 million others had the same expectations, his own hopes would not make a difference.

For the most part, Gavaskar bore these burdens stoically. There were also rewards, for the Australian magnate Kerry Packer had grossly improved the earning powers of the Indian cricketers. But Gavaskar also understood that there was money to be made outside the field. He lent his name to shirts and socks, to ghosted columns and books, to company balance sheets. He was even known to charge for attending a private dinner. In the latter half of his career, Gavaskar found himself matched as cricketer, popular icon and commercial success by Kapil Dev Nikhanj. Both were possessed of a self-belief that was communicated in their actions -- these were Indians who would not bend before anyone else.

Bank balance and records brought Kapil and Sunil together, but little else. One epitomised flair and instinct, the other thought and reason. Simplifying, slightly, I would say that Kapil was born to play cricket, while Gavaskar willed himself to the task. Their leadership styles were also quite dissimilar. In the 1983 World Cup, Kapil led by example. There were, I suspect, no extended team meetings before the match. But watching their captain walk in at 9 for 4 to score 175 against Zimbabwe, the Binnys and Madan Lals were inspired to play above their potential. A year later, under Gavaskar's captaincy, India won an equally creditable victory in the World Championship of Cricket. The skipper did not score many runs, his contribution coming rather in the tactics applied. Precise field placing for each batsman, experiments in batting order (notably, making Shastri open with Srikkanth), and the innovative use of a double spin attack mark this one as a triumph of reason.

We all know of Gavaskar's 34 Test hundreds. But he is as proud of his presence on that most select of cricket lists, of those who have taken more than a hundred Test catches. Truly is this testimony to his application. In his early years Gavaskar fielded often at mid on, which one long forgotten cricket writer described as "the last refuge of mankind". He knew that his build prohibited further advance in the outfield, and with strenuous effort he made himself into a first-class first slip. After he retired, the same effort and will have helped make him a highly readable columnist. The man who hired a ghost for this first two books now writes every word that appears under his name.

This is a man who chooses his words as carefully as he once chose his strokes. He is self-interested, as almost all of us are, but so single-minded has been his pursuit of success that he has occasionally been accused of selfishness. Cricket lovers cannot easily forget his failure to condemn the vandalism by the Shiv Sena of holy cricket pitches and cherished cricket trophies. Or perhaps one can forget him that lapse, in view of his unsurpassed contributions to Indian cricket. And perhaps these contributions haven't ended, yet. As a cricketer of prodigious achievement, high intellect, and ice-cool temper, Gavaskar would surely make an outstanding coach of the Indian team. His great rival Kapil has the job now. Gavaskar once followed Kapil, with distinction, as cricket captain of India, and he might, when the time comes, take his place here as well.

Ramachandra Guha, author of Wickets In The East, is a cricket historian.