ONE SUNDAY LAST SPRING, New York's Sherpas gathered at Five-Star Banquet, in Long Island City, to celebrate the Buddha's birthday. As shiny-pated monks in saffron robes strolled around, working up the energy to start chanting, a black Mercedes SUV pulled up, hatchback raised. Gingerly, the Sherpas hoisted out a large, gold-painted Buddha shrouded in silken fabrics and a halo of bright, blinking LEDs. They carried the idol, procession style, back along a chain-link fence toward the hall.

Suddenly the monks made a glorious din with a panoply of instruments. Traditional brass bugles blurted out a rubbery basso salute: byuuur. Trumpetlike gelings buzzed a high note: eeeerepree. Then came the damaru, two-sided rattles, which went pockitypockitypockity. Above the din, crystalline dilbu, tiny brass bells, tzeeeng'd brightly. Despite the racket, at least one Sherpa found it a good time to make a cell-phone call.

But the most important thing on display wasn't the golden Buddha; it was the set of blueprints hanging by the entrance. Over the past month, the Sherpas had been raising funds to construct their own cultural center in Queens. The plans called for a large meeting hall, prayer space, cooking areas, and ample storage; the facade would be decorated in the bright primary colors of the Potala Palace, in Lhasa, Tibet. Hanging below the plans, a list of names showed which Sherpas had donated so far, with about 60 already committed. Each amount ended with a 1 (as in $101).

"We see the zero as no progression," explained Galgen.

The monks plopped onstage cross-legged and cracked Heinekens, the heavy lifting finished. As Galgen worked the microphone like a preacher, Sherpas approached with checks in hand, receiving a blessing and a kata from the monks. After two hours Galgen abruptly finished, sweating, a look of astonishment on his face. In his hands were checks for amounts up to $15,001. With only 80 Sherpas accounted for, the monthlong drive had raised more than $426,000 in pledges. The goal of $1 million suddenly seemed within reach. (Today pledges have reached $625,000, a third of that in ready cash.)

A few months earlier, as the city's temperatures rose in bizarre lockstep with the holiday shopping frenzy, I had joined Tsering, Nima, and their little boy, Norsang, along with Galgen and his girlfriend, Phinjo Tshering, for a trip into the city. On a weirdly subtropical day, we parked Tsering's cab near Union Square and took the subway up toward Rockefeller Center, where the tree-gaping crowds were beyond estimation. ("Follow the fat ladies!" Tsering cried. "It's the only way!") The soaring tree mesmerized Norsang, but when a Santa Claus character appeared, he paid him exactly zero attention. "He doesn't know him," Nima said with a shrug.

We continued over to Herald Square, where another galling mass of New Yorkers was on hand. At a Buddhist stupa, pilgrims circle three times to earn the proper blessing, and at Macy's this time of year, tourists seem to do the same. As we rounded a corner, Tsering lifted Norsang, wearing a tiny blue Yankees jacket, onto his shoulders. Norsang leaned over to whisper in his father's ear. In a window we'd just passed, there was an animatronic white lion roaring in a fake snowy field; he wanted to see it again. As they turned back, Norsang let out a squeal. Then they vanished completely, invisible in the multitudes.