Touring with the Indian

Photograph: Aaron M. Cohen

His tour:
Sumantra Naik is riding the M86 bus across town, chatting about his upcoming wedding, the M.B.A. program that brought him to NYC on a weeklong exchange with Columbia University—and his love of Seinfeld. The sights he chooses are standard fare for a first-time visitor, but while they might be typical, his opinionated outlook is anything but.

We start off at The Met (1000 Fifth Ave at 82nd St, 212-535-7710). As we walk past Lorenzo Ghiberti’s bronze Gates of Paradise, Sumantra asks if I visit the museum frequently. I feel sheepish. When I was an art major in Paris I went to the Louvre nearly every day, yet in my own city I’m too indolent to take advantage. Similarly, I haven’t been to our next destination, the Statue of Liberty, since a class trip in the second grade.

On the boat ride over, Sumantra gives his take on New York: “I can get anything I want so easily, like a cola right inside the hostel or a taxi directly outside.” He continues, “And I don’t have to crib [haggle] over every exchange. In Mumbai I’m constantly negotiating, so that by the time I get to work I’m irritated.” He’s impressed that going through the proper channels may be an efficient way of getting things done. I cynically explain that that’s not always the case but am cut off. “Why are New Yorkers always arguing or debating something?” he asks. “Why can’t you ever just accept anything?”

At Liberty Island we submit to security procedures that rival most airports. Sumantra wonders aloud about our “fanatical” safety measures, and decides that America is obsessed with being in control. In response, I gesture toward the gaping hole in the Manhattan skyline. We don’t argue this time. He drops the point.

On the island, I glance up at the oxidized woman. Sumantra stares hard and says, “Imagine what it was like for your ancestors, how exhilarating it must have been to come into this harbor and know you are free. Even in India we take our freedom for granted, but we shouldn’t.” Definitely something we agree on.

TONY’s tour:
After a quick visit to Ellis Island, we return to the city, heading for venerable cigar shop Barclay Rex (75 Broad St between Beaver and South William Sts, 212-962-3355). I’m interested to see what this M.B.A. will make of fat-cat corporate types puffing enormous stogies in a luxe lounge thick with pungent smoke. Turns out Sumantra has something of a weakness for this Hollywoodesque vision of Wall Street. Huh.

We emerge from the subway one block west of Alphabet City. (Sumantra asks, “Are we in the suburbs?”) It’s time for dinner, and he’s a vegetarian, so we head to Counter (105 Fifth Ave between 6th and 7th Sts, 212-982-5870). The trendy veggie bistro specializes in organic Southern-style eats, but I’m the kind of gal who loves a porterhouse for two. Sumantra, though, is delighted to try new meat-free options and points out that in New York, food is not just nourishment, but rather a means of a communicating an identity. Later, we pass an Indian restaurant and notice that a dish is labeled as “diced chicken cooked in an exotic sauce.” I am embarrassed by my country’s often-reductionist attitudes toward other cultures, but proud when Sumantra describes New York as a microcosm of the world.

After dinner we walk a few short blocks to take in the Moth Story Slam at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe (236 E 3rd St between Aves B and C, 212-505-8183). I order us each a Red Stripe, and we settle into seats just as McSweeney’s hysterical Dan Kennedy takes the microphone. Sumantra and I are simultaneously shocked and amused by the storytellers. The energy and adrenaline in the room is contagious. Sumantra declares the story slam his favorite thing in New York, and wishes there was this type of event in Mumbai.

Being a tourist in New York is draining, and as I walk back to my apartment, trying to step gently so as not to exert more pressure on my sore feet, I pass a very seedy-looking massage parlor offering cheap foot rubs and briefly consider entering. My skin feels plastered with grime, and there is dirt under my nails, but as I fall into bed I feel lucky to live here.

—Jaime Jordan

Factoid: 125,000 Indian folks will visit NYC this year