Chapter Eight
First Person: Shreya
It is hard now to picture a life without the presence in it of my English chattel. As outrageous as our living situation might prove to those looking in from the outside it has come to seem normal to both myself and the man who is, to all intents and purposes, my property. Or as near to property as one older Englishman can be to a young thirty-something Pakistani woman living in an affluent suburb of London where such personal ownership of another human-being is not only frowned upon but, as it is in most civilised regions of the planet, illegal.
Of course, it is this fact that makes his slavery – what else should I call it – to me all the more precious.
That I, Shreya Leghari, a less than beauteous woman from a poverty stricken village on the borders
