The following piece appeared in the July issue of Wisden Asia Cricket. As I search over two decades for my most compelling memories of Kapil Dev, astonishingly the 175 not out against Zimbabwe in the 1983 World Cup does not take pole position. I must hastily qualify the disqualification: it was a truly outstanding knock; one which turned the 1983 World Cup on its head and charted out a new path for Indian cricket. Yet for sheer ease and expression of genius, I would travel forward seven years and settle down to watch Kapil Dev bat at Lord's in 1990.

India were struggling to save the follow-on. Nine wickets had fallen, 24 more runs were needed to make England bat again. Kapil's partner at the crease, No. 11 Narendra Hirwani, was one of those who beggared the description of "bunny". Graham Gooch, still looking chuffed after his first-innings triple-hundred, tossed the ball to Eddie Hemmings to tempt Kapil Dev with his flighted offspin and floaters. Kapil checked his guard again, looked around the well-spread field, settled into his stance and patted the first two balls down the wicket, inducing a sort of lull not only in the England team, but also in the stadium. But inattentive fielders and spectators were soon brought to attention as the next four deliveries were all hit for sixes, straight over the bowler or mid-off.

For sheer derring-do, this feat must remain unparalleled. Would any other cricketer ever have batted with such spontaneity, intrepidity and skill to save a follow-on? I can think of only two from the 20th century – Sir Garfield Sobers and Sir Vivian Richards. That should put Kapil Dev in some sort of perspective: he was a cricketer of exciting, extraordinary talent who revised many records and redefined the way cricket would be played in India.

He arrived on the international scene like a hurricane, to employ an oft-used metaphor, and rose to pre-eminence like a meteor, if I may indulge in a cliché. He was only 19 when India toured Pakistan in 1978, and his rustic, robust approach to the game won him instant fans as also critical acclaim. When he hit Sadiq Mohammed on the head and forced him to wear a helmet, it had a cathartic effect on Indian cricket, which had been weaned on spin and slow bowling for more than three decades. The four great spinners who had brought Indian cricket so much joy and glory were on the decline. Here was a prophet with a new message.

Within a couple of seasons Kapil Dev was being clubbed with Imran Khan, Ian Botham and Richard Hadlee as one of the world's leading allrounders. He swung the ball either way at fast-medium pace with excellent control and variation; he was a brilliant, destructive striker of the ball, if a trifle impetuous; fleet of foot and possessed of a pair of hands that dropped nothing, he was also among the top five outfielders of his era, later going on to specialise as a slip catcher with astonishing success. In so many ways, he was peerless.

I am inclined to divide modern Indian cricket into five clear eras, beginning with Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi through to Sachin Tendulkar. Pataudi ushered in the Reformation, so to speak. He had a fresh vision, and more important, the ability to weld together a bunch of disparate individuals many of whom did not even speak the same language. The Renaissance came through Ajit Wadekar in the summer of 1971 when the spin quartet reached full bloom with the support of a close-in field that boasted Eknath Solkar, Abid Ali, Srinivas Venkataraghavan and the captain himself. Indian cricket had by now got self-respect.

A key player in that spectacular triumph was Sunil Gavaskar who, over the next decade or so, was to provide the team with the resolve and ego it needed to meet opponents as equals, if not treat them as inferior. Given the history of Indian cricket, this was a significant achievement. Then came Kapil Dev with sinew and song to complement Gavaskar's steel and sensitivity. In tandem, the two were to provide a fascinating new dimension to Indian cricket over the next decade – with their own off-and-on interpersonal relationship as much as their individual competitive brilliance, which saw many batting and bowling records come to reside in India.

It is easy to condense Kapil Dev's career to a few paragraphs simply because he was so consistently brilliant. But to understand his real contribution to the game you need to consider the effect his presence had on Indian cricket. Between 1979 and 1994, he played a significant hand in almost every notable victory for India, either as bowler or batsman, usually both. He was Gavaskar's trump card in India's home victories against West Indies, Australia, Pakistan and England between 1978-1982. When Kapil Dev took 5 for 28, India won the Melbourne Test and drew the series against Australia in 1981. In 1986 he was captain and the leading allrounder when India beat England in England. In between, of course, there was the sensational World Cup victory, fashioned almost entirely by that one great innings against Zimbabwe and that one great catch to dismiss Viv Richards in the final. By the end of the tournament everybody agreed that Kapil was one hell of a cricketer.

But to extol only his triumphant performances is to argue his true greatness. Even when India were not winning, Kapil's presence was unmistakable and often even more remarkable. In 1982-83, Imran Khan took 42 wickets to destroy India, which completely obscured the fact that Kapil took 24 wickets though Pakistan batted only six innings in the six-Test series. Similarly, when West Indies came to India in 1983, Malcolm Marshall claimed 33 wickets, but Kapil took 29 though he got fewer opportunities to bowl. In the 1986 tied Test against Australia, he smashed 119, with 19 fours, when India were in some danger of following-on.

There are umpteen examples, but further detailing would be hagiography. He also had his shortcomings, quite apart from his occasional reckless batting. Indeed, brilliant allrounder though he was, and the man most responsible for India winning the 1983 World Cup, Kapil Dev later revealed himself to be a mediocre captain. For instance, giving rookie Chetan Sharma the last over to bowl in the 1986 Asia Cup at Sharjah not only made Javed Miandad a legend in Pakistan, it also set India back by at least a decade in one-day cricket. I also believe that he played a year longer than he should have and had to pay a heavy price for this when the match-fixing scandal broke, even though none of the charges against him stuck.

So where does that put Kapil Dev in the pantheon of Indian greats? How does he compare, for example, with CK Nayudu, Amar Singh, and Vinoo Mankad – three other formidable allrounders? It is almost impossible to compare greats of different eras, and I have often found myself at variance with romantics and old-timers when debating such issues. But in this case I find myself on firm ground simply because Kapil Dev's body of work is so enormous.

In that delectable anthology, A Fourth Innings with Cardus, cricket's most illustrious writer muses: "The secrets of cricket have so little to do with competition's values, averages and results that often I could wish for some other way than the scoreboard's of awarding the prize." Quite, Sir Neville, but what about players like Kapil Dev Nikhanj? In Tests alone, he scored over 5000 runs, claimed 434 wickets (which could have been closer to 500 with better catching support), and the only match he missed was when he was controversially dropped in 1983. In one-day matches he scored close to 4000 runs and took 253 wickets.

Need more to establish that Kapil Dev was a once-in-a-lifetime cricketer; perhaps the best India has ever produced?

Ayaz Memon is the national sports editor of The Times of India.

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