The plane landed safely and it was taxied to a terminal at the Dulles airport. As we got off, we were directed to go in different directions according to the kind of visa we had. US citizens went in one direction, permanent residents in the other direction and so forth. My turn came and the officer gestured me to come up to him.

            I showed him my passport and the visa. He looked at it and keyed some numbers into his computer. He then asked me to put my finger on a machine to get my finger print.

“Are you sure you were born in India and not Pakistan?”He asked me with a stern looking face.

“Yes, I am,” I answered, looking at him, puzzled.

“What is the purpose of your visit?”

“To be with my wife…”

“Where did you meet her?”

“Lucknow, India.”

“Where did you get married?”

“India.”

“How long are you going to stay in the US?”

“A few years…”

            After flipping through my passport for the fifteenth time, “…alright, you are good to go,” he said, not being able to find a reason to interrogate me further.

             I walked away from him thinking what in my passport – issued in India – suggested that I was born in Pakistan. I was born in Lucknow which is at least five hundred miles from the Pakistani border. Wondering why he asked such a question, I looked at my watch to adjust the time and I noticed the date – 10^th September – a day before the 9/11 anniversary. Maybe that explained the police officer’s behavior towards me.

            I took a deep breath, thankful that the hell was over and that I had finally arrived in the United States of America – the land of the free, the promised land.