At a Thai restaurant in Islamabad, after the first day’s play in the final Test in 2004, Rahul Dravid politely declined to stay for dessert, saying he needed to sleep because he had to bat the “whole day tomorrow”. Not early, not in the morning; the whole day.

It led to a few involuntary sniggers at the dinner table, but Dravid had chosen his words carefully. Ten not out overnight, he was unbeaten on 134 when stumps were drawn the following evening. And then, for good measure, he batted almost the whole of the next day as well, finishing on a career-best 270. It wasn’t the most attractive knock, and not nearly his most fluent — in fact, at 12 hours and 20 minutes it was the longest innings by an Indian player ever — but Dravid had ensured, almost single-handedly, that India won their first Test series in Pakistan.

Adelaide, Kolkata, Leeds, Kingston — he will be remembered when, years from now, people talk about what had happened in those cities at the turn of the century. For, scratch a famous Indian victory, and you will uncover a Dravid gem underneath.

Through his career, he has been associated with hard, unwavering grit with a bat in his hands and soft, natural refinement off the field of play. It’s been hard to pick between the great batsman and the perfect gentleman. But, as the French philosopher Voltaire said, “The best way to be boring is to leave nothing out.” So, while Dravid invoked deep admiration and steadfast affection, he did not immediately move fans as much as some of his more naturally attractive peers from this generation of astonishing batsmen.

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