The air is sharp, like the people who glance at our mini-man for but a second before discerning our place as outsiders looking into their world. The pale, yet colorful, cynical, yet hopeful world of New York City. It’s the center of the world, bustling with life, and energy, feeding off the short clicks of high heels counting the seconds. Among it all stand a group of four Indians, carrying back packs colorfully decorated with groovy tie dye color schemes, and pinstripes. The smallest of them is me, rocking a pair of neon shorts and a t-shirt.