How Mindy Kaling's 'Never Have I Ever' Explores Grief Through Comedy

The final season of Mindy Kaling's Never Have I Ever is streaming on Netflix.

(Photo Courtesy: The Quint)

Nothing in life happens in a vacuum. Grief most certainly doesn’t. Sometimes, almost always, acute grief, can and does, render many immobile. Much like Devi Vishwakumar in the first season of Never Have I Ever, where she lost her ability to walk after she lost her father. 

The hit Netflix show arguably manages to tie together the chaos of grief – distractions come and go, guilt weighs heavy and moments of respite are more often than not weighed with the knowledge of loss. But it co-exists with the other mundane details, such as Devi’s dream of getting into her dream college, her aspiration to be invited to ‘cool’ parties and her desire to find a boyfriend. 

Devi and her father. 

(Photo Courtesy: Twitter)

And while she is in the throes of grief – her selfishness, anxieties and anger come to the fore. She is insufferable, to say the least. But her context is always underlined by loss. People do questionable things when they are grieving, and it’s precisely her outrageous behaviour that makes her relatable.

Things are quite different in the last season though. Now, Devi has her head on her shoulders. Her hot-headedness is still intact, but she is in control, it doesn’t overpower her. 

Through her journey, the lighthearted show manages to be relatable if not in kind but in degree. It isn’t outrightly hilarious – it elicits a chuckle or two. But the humour shines when Devi and her mother interact. Nalini’s witty quips to Devi’s tantrums are a highlight of the show. 

The mother-daughter relationship evolves from bitter arguments to that of understanding. Similar to that of the hit show Fleabag, the titular character in the final season comes to an understanding with her father about his decision to remarry after her mother's death. 

Phoebe Waller-Bridge breaking the fourth wall in Fleabag. 

(Photo: Twitter)

Never Have I Ever is typically fashioned as a Mindy Kaling sitcom, a self-loathing Indian protagonist who decisively likes the bookish white guy. It has its problems in that the humour leans towards relying on outdated stereotypes about Indian culture. 

And of course, there is the offhand Bollywood dance number, a Ganesh puja to throw in the mix, but it doesn’t necessarily push any boundaries, which Ramy Youssef’s show Ramy does by contextualising it's cultural backdrop without making it arguably more palatable for the white gaze.

Ramy Youssef in a still from his show, ‘Ramy’.(Photo Courtesy: Hulu)

However, the show, despite formulaic plot setups always manages to bring it back to grief. The haunting images of her father flicker almost at every juncture, in the first season and in the last, although her ability to navigate it has changed in myriad ways. 

But as grief looms through the ups and downs in her life. It's never cinched with the horrors and the absolute hilarity of being an adolescent. They are neatly kept apart, especially in the latter seasons.

In After Life, Tony Johnson's (Ricky Gervais) personality completely changes after his wife dies. The humour comes from his own variety of outlandish behaviour. However, the brand of humour is much darker, a route that many comedies on grief take. But that is precisely why it can delicately use elements if humour while talking about grief unlike in Never Have I Ever.

A still from After Life. 

(Photo Courtesy: Twitter)

Never Have I Ever is earnest in representing grief despite the show being less than original. The final season manages to take into account how grief despite being debilitating isn't the end of the world. But it's humour doesn't emerge from the crux of the storyline - the loss of her parent. It emerges from those mundane details that seemingly kept her going - her dating life, her jealousy towards her cousin Kamala and her academic drive. And perhaps that is the safer option.