Representation is always good, but the second season of Mindy Kaling’s teen dramedy “Never Have I Ever,” starring the young and eclectic Maiteryi Ramakrishnan, takes it to the next level. This time around, the show spotlights our favorite angsty brown teen, Devi Vishwakumar, not just existing in space, as most examples of “representation” in television do, but filling the frame of a holistic and flawed person at the center of her own journey.
“Never Have I Ever” creators Mindy Kaling and Louie Lang churned out an original, rich, moving second season that reckoned with, when it comes to brown women, themes so rarely addressed on public storytelling stages. Devi — 16, hormonal, horny, sensitive — is a mess. Whether it be due to grief, insecurity, love, identity, that much is clear. What the second season does, in a slow-burn, warm-glow kind-of-way, is show viewers that an Indian girl, just like any other girl, can learn to love and forgive herself and forgive others. That she can grow, make mistakes, and emerge better and stronger from the mess. That making mistakes and even becoming a bit unhinged are strengths in and of themselves.
The second season finds Devi with not one, but two romantic prospects. Contestant one: Ben — Devi’s intellectual equivalent but cringey in almost all other ways. But sweet. Contestant two: Paxton — hot. Kind of smart, but mostly hot. Devi has to choose, but she can’t, so instead she proceeds to juggle both of them.
Devi two-timing her beaus is more than just a boy-crazy phase. This is the first moment in which the second season captures so vividly the deep insecurity and desperation of brown girls to be accepted by “cool” high school boys after spending a lifetime believing their non-white appearance renders them undesirable. Similar to how she offers her virginity up on a platter to Paxton in season one, second-season Devi still harbors much impulsivity, immaturity and naivete when it comes to men. This results partially, I think, from a society that tells young South Asian women they will never really be desirable to white or traditionally attractive men unless hypersexualized. So when we finally do get attention from men, it’s overwhelming. It’s hard to learn how to navigate the boundaries of how we want to be treated and how they are treating us. It’s a space uncharted. And we don’t know how to choose.
In classic Devi fashion, the whole situation implodes and sours her relationships with both boys. Because not only did she cheat on both of them, but she ruined Paxton’s swimming career by, more or less, being the reason he broke his arm. But then, something miraculous happens. Devi and Paxton rekindle a friendship, and one dark and stormy night, he shows up at her window in traditional rom-com fashion to make out with her for “a bazillion hours.”
Watching Paxton climb into Devi’s bedroom night after night for a steamy hookup, I couldn’t help but feel bad for Devi. She knew something wasn’t right. But there was a part of her that felt she deserved Paxton’s treatment — making her do his homework, declining her invitation to the dance and, most notably, asking her to keep their relationship a secret — because of how much she screwed up earlier. She’s desperate for his validation, still, and so if their relationship has to be on his terms, maybe that’s just how it has to be, she thinks.
Devi thinks she’s crazy. And, because Devi thinks she’s crazy and makes poor decisions — and hasn’t forgiven herself for those decisions — she thinks she doesn’t deserve respect. It’s something we women do a lot: take crap from others, oftentimes men, because we don’t know how to forgive ourselves. Instead, we internalize blame for being “unhinged” when in reality we are just being human.
I believed I was crazy, too. In high school I was emotional, impulsive, high and then low, kind and then mean, steady and then brash. Like Devi, I certainly didn’t treat everyone in my life perfectly, and I knew I had to take ownership for that. But I seemed to think that was a reason for others—particularly boys, but also girls— to point out my flaws like they were something for inspection or judgement. Part of this originated in a three-fold idea: first, that, as a young woman, I had to be contained; second, that confrontation and standing up for myself heightened my vulnerability; and third, that vulnerability made me weak. A larger part of this originated in a deeper, more internal idea that as a South Asian girl, it was abnormal to be mentally unstable. And so I was ashamed, and that incongruence was hard to deal with. Like Devi, I saw my moments of craziness as moments that tarnished my character.
What Devi realizes, though—something that I wish I realized for myself earlier— is that her situation with Paxton is not how it has to be at all. Overcome by his sweating, sensational body bench-pressing in his living room, Devi rejects Paxton in the very same space she, only a few months ago, offered up her virginity without a care in the world. It’s a critical moment of tremendous growth, a moment where she realizes what she so desperately wants is not what she needs, or what’s good for her; that just because Paxton is the hottest boy in school and she is the nerdy Indian girl doesn’t mean there should be an imbalance of power between them.
“What is so great and complex about the Devi-Paxton storyline,” said Kim Nguyen, a comedy director who directed the third episode of the second season in an interview with the HPR, “is her growth and evolution into feeling comfortable enough with herself and her voice to be able to take that space, and reject it. And gain his respect within that.”
Just before ending things with Paxton and after a particularly trying moment that involves breaking into her mother’s maybe-boyfriend’s hot tub, Devi rushes to her therapist’s office in desperation—is she really crazy like everyone says? Because it sure seems like it.
“You’re not crazy,” her therapist replies. “Because you feel, your life is going to be beautiful and rich.”
Devi leaves her therapist’s office with new armor. One that isn’t designed to shield emotion but constructed from the strength of vulnerability itself. And so, shortly after, when she rejects Paxton, she does so with the knowledge that her past mistakes don’t cloud her self-worth, but enhance it. This is how Devi’s character pushes us closer to seeing Asian women as deep and flawed humans who are capable of evolution. It is a journey of self-love that is so special and new and real.
Now of course, Never Have I Ever isn’t the first show ever to have a South Asian, female protagonist. There have been not many, but a few productions that have inched us closer to where we are now: Kaling’s The Mindy Project and the web series Brown Girls being just two of them that come to mind. These projects both surely showcase the emotional depth, sexual desires, and tribulations of brown women. But what makes Never Have I Ever different is that Devi is a teenager, and so all of the themes of the show are amplified by the fact that she is young, confused, and endearingly desperate to find her footing in the world.
The media atmosphere is generally concentrated, though, with inauthentic Asian stories riddled with stereotypes and devoid of truth. When I asked Nguyen to name a few shows she believes really nail the portrayal of Asian characters, she paused. “I’m used to seeing Asian-American women being portrayed as successful,” Nguyen said. “Being able to see the real, complicated elements of a young woman finding her way and her voice in the world—there is so much more gradiance to that.”
Indeed, this idea is the foundation on which “Never Have I Ever” builds castles for its viewers, particularly it’s brown, female viewers. To recognize the emotional instability of a young brown woman, and then to portray it not as a weakness but as a way in which she can learn and grow, is groundbreaking.
“To see somebody struggling, stumbling, failing, and needing to confront her own accountability in those stumbles—this is something that is very rare to see,” said Nguyen.
“Never Have I Ever” already took strides in season one by introducing a brown female protagonist who’s messy and loud and imperfect. But the second season reaches out a hand to young girls and says: “it’s okay to be crazy. We all are.” It matters not that we’re crazy but that we try to be better — kinder, more patient with others and with ourselves — and realize the respect we deserve. We fuck up. It’s ok. Then we rebuild our own hope, brick by brick.
Browsing by Charles Deluvio is licensed under the Unsplash License.
