As the Italian cab driver chatted about life in the Big Apple and how New York made all his dreams come true, I looked around and realised that New York is undoubtedly a city of immigrants. All around me were people from different countries, speaking different languages — like a Benetton ad come to life.

Being an Erasmus Mundus scholar, I have wandered all over the world, in the past one and a half year. Living six months in Denmark, then onwards for six months in Amsterdam, on to London and now finally in New York. There is no place quite like the US.

There is an energy about New York which you can feel, as you walk along the subway passages, while taking the metro to the United Nations, on 42nd Street. It pulsates as you walk through the massive Grand Central station and you move with the surge of office goers, walking purposefully out onto the street. You are surrounded by it in the vibrant Times Square, its visible on the faces of the ped cyclists racing around the streets taking tourists on joy rides; it’s even palpable in the crowd waiting for the Staten Island Ferry to dock, which just sailed past the massive Statue of Liberty.

I walk out of the conference at the UN, where officials prophesise doomsday with the change in climate, waiting round the corner, to swallow up parts of the world. I need some air, so I walk down to the Bangladeshi hot dog seller, a couple of blocks away. He does brisk business, something as he says he could never have done back in his home country. Glass and chrome edifices tower all around him, yet there is space for him and the shoe shine “boy”, to eke out a living, amidst the opulence.

Hundreds of flags in the UN building flutter in the sun, as I wend my way back for the afternoon session.

Sauntering around the shops in the mall in the UN — the building is a self contained city in itself, with cafes and gift shops, a radio and TV station and even a post office where — we scribble and post postcards back home.

Fashion is de rigueur and unlike most places in the US, people do dress for work in New York. It’s a great feeling to see a Cardin jostle with a Versace on the tube. And what’s interesting is flip-flops are replaced with the highest of heels, on the pavements outside the office. A quick smooth down of the suit, a flick of the thick mane, a glance in the mirrored front of the building  and she is ready to take on a day in the office, while the flip flops are stuffed into her computer bag.

And then, there is the Grand Central Station with its fairytale clock, which has made more film footage than one can remember. Surging crowds hurry past, with no time to be lost. Couples meet and go downstairs to the Dining Concourse to eat. Others prefer the famous Michael Jordan bar to sip a drink and catch their breath. To think the station was almost pulled down and Jacqueline Kennedy’s largesse saved it for us to savour, though she died before it was refurbished.

Swipe your metro card and go, it’s the safest and quickest way to travel within the city. Even the Wall Street bankers use it in their impeccable pin stripped suits and sleek brief cases. That’s what we need in India, a dependable public transport which will clear our clogged roads of cars.

As the Sardarji cab driver takes me back to JFK, he switches from American to Hindi with ease. New York is the city of streets filled with dreams, of unbridled ambition and bank balances worth millions and yet, it also has the salve that can help it bounce back, after a catastrophe like 9/11. That’s New York — big, bold and very very brassy.