An aunty famous in my community for the grip she kept on her sons love life is said to have issued a warning. We mocked it, but I admire its brutal simplicity. "Seeing leads to touching," it went. "And touching leads to love."

I was in Pakistan to see, touch and love, a logic Id used in a last ditch email to the countrys ambassador to the U.S. the night before my flight. At that late hour I still didnt have my visa, despite the efforts of connected friends. Because my parents are Indian, a Pakistani official in D.C. confided to me, I probably wouldnt get it.

Even the child of Indians might love Pakistan if she could only see it, I argued to the ambassador. To the official's surprise, I got the visa the next day.

In Islamabad, I visited the house of a painter, Sana Arjumand . It was a pleasantly moody two-story in a nice neighborhood. Water stains crept from the ceilings. A bowl of lit frankincense sent plumes between us. Around the house a handful of women performed various jobs I couldnt identify. Arjumands husband, a muscular man in his early thirties, shook my hand and left to join friends for the night.

We'd met at a gallery party for a group of journalists I was traveling with on a fellowship, assembled from around the world. I had no intentions of peeling off. In a quiet corner we conducted a standard interview, me juggling a wine glass and recorder. At some point, she asked where I was from.

In Pakistan, when questioned by those I dont know, I say Im Sri Lankan. Sometimes I refine the pretense with a shawl over my head: Muslim Sri Lankan. I am paranoid, but not by much. The cutting of India into two parts -- India and Pakistan -- left emotional fault lines. Something happened when Hindus and Muslims moved in opposite directions, in the largest mass migration in history.

The code by which the two faiths had lived in relative stability for centuries changed. Fetuses were carved from the bellies of pregnant mothers. Infants were found roasting on spits. Today, no one still knows who owns Kashmir, beyond the terrorists. Deadly riots spring from disputes so unsolvable they sound like riddles: Is it unethical to eat cows? If a temple existed before a mosque, is that reason to destroy the mosque?