In 2002 Indobrit, a quarterly magazine for British Asians, was launched at the Cinnamon Club in Westminster. London’s media world turned out to celebrate with 35-year-old Farah Damji, the editor. But what should have cemented Damji’s return to London after almost a decade in New York was short-lived. Three years later, and ten pages on in her woefully titled autobiography, Try Me, Damji was in detention at Holloway Prison. She had been sentenced to three years in jail for fraud and perverting the course of justice. ”The truth is nothing more than a previously agreed upon set of lies,” she writes, quoting from the Desperate Housewives voice-over to explain her predicament.
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New York provided the perfect home for Damji’s reckless and addictive personality. She made an easy transition from going to clubs and gallery openings to working for a drug dealer, Michael Rubin, “a nice Jewish boy”. Impressed by her cut-glass vowels, he gave her a job running his escort agency. “I was given a perc …
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