The importance of Aziz Ansari’s Master of None

There are several moments in the Netflix series Master of None where the protagonist, Dev Shah, is confronted with (and sometimes expected to conform to) his Indian heritage. Like the time when Dev discovers, through an idle conversation, that his father punched holes into zip-sliders for two years, so he could save enough to leave his native Tamil Nadu, to become a doctor in a racist American hospital in the 1980s. Dev is forced to acknowledge that he had it easy. He lacks his father’s drive, and complaints about his living conditions (read shaky Wifi signals), stem from an acquired sense of entitlement. Even when star and co-creator Aziz Ansari isn’t directly talking about his Indian heritage, its built into back-stories, left hanging in the air— when he and his White-American girlfriend argue over his parents, not knowing that they’ve embarked on a live-in relationship. Or, when you realize he is Tamil, making you wonder if his last name is assumed for Hollywood (like with Mindy Kaling).

Since its release late 2015, the show has been celebrated for its diverse ethnic and gender role representation. Master of None is genuinely funny without being fantastical, and deserving of the praise it has garnered so far. This year, it’s been referred to in practically every article hailing the social change reflective in diverse TV. In June, Ansari, who is also a stand-up comedian, became a part of TV history when he became the first Indian-American actor to bag an Emmy nomination for Best Actor for the 2016 Primetime Emmy Awards. Come 19 September morning, I’m hoping he wins. For audiences from a country that actively seeks ethnic bonds across the world, Ansari’s recognition on that stage could become a new cultural marker.

But there’s a lot going for Master of None beyond representation. It’s obviously got a very watchable headliner. Some of its funniest miscalculated moments are dependent for perfect execution on Ansari’s childlike charm—like when Dev insistently bites into his friend’s gourmet sandwich, as he rudely dismisses the sauce and jelly mish-mash her young children made him. The series also does a great job, in the relatively small space of 10 half-hour episodes, of dissecting the pros and cons of living and dating in a big city. Every episode is cleverly designed to examine one thematic element of adult life—safety, raising children, age, parents, finding and keeping a partner, ethnic identity and fighting stereotypes—all the while keeping things flippant, in the best sense.

Ansari and co-creator Alan Yang (Parks and Recreation, Date and Switch) build on the characters’ discernment and self-knowledge (and lack thereof), bringing about some of the funniest moments in the series. As a wannabe actor, Dev is very conscious of the fact that he is expected to fill the role of “cab driver, scientist, IT guy”. He actively resists the stereotypes— “Why”, Dev wants to know, “can’t there be a Pradeep, just like once, who’s an architect, or he designs mittens, or does one of the jobs what Bradley Cooper’s characters does in movies?” And yet, in one of several packed sequences that follow, Dev is forced to toe the industry line, as his belligerent agent Shannon (Taystee from Orange is the New Black) yells him down— “I’m trying to get this Friends money and you fuckin’ it up” …. “you better not fuck up ma Friends money”.

The message from Hollywood is clear. If Dev wants to counter the hackneyed, brown-faced stereotype and live like David Schwimmer, he must reduce to the stereotype, learn to parody his roots. In the words of Dev’s actor- friend Ravi, just do an impression of [your] uncle Madhu. Without the smallest reference, we clearly feel the irony of the minority community agent-actor duo resorting to the very tactics that alienate minorities; as well as with the atypical Ravi who has nevertheless built his life on an IMDB profile full of ‘Indian’ bit characters while believing that the Indian scientist in Short Circuit 2 was the genuine article, a “favorite”. (It’s actually Fisher Stevens in brown face makeup.) The writers remind us: (Self-)awareness comes and goes.

Tied to the subtlety are a number of loaded references to American hyper-culture, borrowing from Ansari’s own stand-up routine material on connecting, dating, and being single, awkward and lonely in the digital age. That in turn is tied to Dev’s pre-occupation with himself, and struggles with his identity—what does he want to be? Single, or not? American, or Indian-American? Actor, writer, or a pasta chef? The premise of the liminal, evergreen individual trying to find his or her way, isn’t unfamiliar to audiences raised on sitcoms such as Friends and How I Met Your Mother. What Master of None does differently is depicting the US and the Big Apple with a realistic, multi-layered approach, through its camerawork, set ups and writing, in a way that actually explores the issues young women and men can expect to experience in any big city in the world.

Not that those shows didn’t have their pluses— there’s a reason why Friends re-runs are so popular, particularly in India, 20 years after its creation. As some critics rightly point out, the six leads gave us the opportunity to pick favorites while investing in them as a group. When Friends started, the writers (Marta Kauffman and David Crane) took on some tough stuff to help test the strength of the bonds between the six friends—homosexuality, divorce, infidelity, income instability, harassment, surrogacy and single parenthood. Having multiple leads helped sustain Friends once the plot-lines grew tired, repetitive and over the top, especially around season 6. We could invest in them as a group and choose our favorites, for sure. But I’d suggest that this perhaps directly affected Kauffman’s and Crane’s abilities to create distinct, deep individuals. In the end, Friends was flippant in its style too, but with nothing to really be flippant about.

Hopefully, Master of None won’t need to go that route. By developing a detailed and idiosyncratic main character and supporting characters, the creators have given themselves multiple opportunities to test all tropes and preconceptions about modern Western and Indian culture. Not all Indian offspring grow up to become engineers and doctors; not all Indian parents are conservative, unsupportive and disconnected from their children (shout out to the fabulous Shoukat Ansari, Ansari’s real life dad, playing Dev’s fictional dad). Not all men find focus and stability as soon as they step into their twenties (hence, the title). Eat, Pray, Love wasn’t just for women—men can fly half way around the world to find their pasta-dream in Italy, too, which is exactly where we expect to find Ansari at the beginning of season 2. Even when the focus is just on his gourmand self, or else on the buddy-trippin’ vibe he shares with African-American lesbian pal Denise, Dev challenges our notions about what a good friendship might be made up of, despite life’s challenges. Even if Ansari doesn’t win an Emmy this time, here’s a wonderful new show to dig into, especially for those of us raised on the white-washed, simplistic English entertainment that still populates primetime and late night TV in India.