Prabhupada, having obtained an extension on his Visa, stayed on.  America seemed so opulent, yet many things were difficult to tolerate.  The sirens and bells from fire engines and police seemed like they would crack his heart.  Sometimes at night he would hear a person being attacked and crying for help.  From his first days in the City, he had noted that the smell of dog stool was everywhere.  And although it was such a rich city, he could rarely find a mango to purchase, and if he did, it was very expensive and usually had no taste.  From his room he would sometimes hear the horns of  ocean liners, and he would dream that some day he would sail around the world with a sankirtana party, preaching in the major cities of the world. 

Swami Nikhilananda of the Ramakrishna Mission had advised Prabhupada that if he wanted to stay in the West, he should abandon his traditional Indian dress and strict vegetarianism.  Meat-eating and liquor, as well as pants and coat, were almost a necessity in this climate he had said.  Before Prabhupada left India, one of his godbrothers had demonstrated to him how he should eat in the West with a knife and fork.  But Prabhupada never considered taking on Western ways.  His advisors cautioned him not to remain an alien but to get into the spirit of American life, even if it meant breaking vows he had held in India; almost all Indian immigrants compromised their old ways.  But Prabhupada’s idea was different, and he could not be budged.  The others may have had to compromise, he thought, but they had come to beg technological knowledge from the West.  “I have not come to beg something,” he said, “but to give something.”