Ka is a hot lass now. You wouldn’t believe the guys chase after her, where they did what could be the opposite, not too long ago. It was the same guys who went ahead and called her Ka, when we were a little more little.

See, Ka was a dry girl. Her, her brother, they had bones of steel, without enough flesh around them to cushion collisions. You hit Ka, you hit steel.

When Ka got on the pitch, a thing other girls did not do, she broke boys’ feet and wrote them off. A boy hobbling off the pitch, wincing in pain after meeting Ka’s foot of brass, was as regular a sight as daylight. You see, getting on the pitch back then was like getting in a bone breaking journey, more than it was about the paper football. Really, it was.

You got on the pitch to miss the ball and break bones. You ‘fed’ people your ankle, to say, you set it in the way for an unsuspecting someone to kick.

The someone would be going for the ball, but you snuck your bony ankle in the way at the last minute , so that they whammed it instead.

There were hierarchies, at the top sat the sentinels whose bones were driest. Those with knuckles no one could outpunch, or ankle bones of concrete and diamond.

But Ka was in her own league - not really on the official hardbones list (everyone memorised a synonymous order of hierarchy, the ranks were unquestioned.) She was an enigma of her own, someone not even touched by the proud sentinel himself, in his cocoon of terrifying aloofness.

The boys called her Ka, for her dryness. A befitting onomatopoeia, they figured, for a dry girl. Her brother was equally dry, the boys said their entire household was dry. The boys knew things, and when they have said a thing, it must be true, because the boys found out things. But nobody named her brother, nobody gave him onomatopoeic names. It’s always the girl.

But Ka is a hot lass now. Guys are sniffing around for her number, the way guys always do. She looks wonderful, in the picture on her WhatsApp profile, with that pose she struck. She is a pioneering girl, and she did not let me write about her.

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