Devi Vishwakumar is a disaster. Honestly, there is no other way to put it. If you’ve spent any time watching Devi Never Have I Ever on Netflix, you know exactly what I’m talking about. She’s impulsive. She’s frequently selfish. She makes choices that make you want to pause the TV and scream into a pillow. But that is precisely why we can't stop watching her.
Mindy Kaling and Lang Fisher didn't give us a "perfect" minority lead. They gave us a chaotic, grieving teenager who happens to be a high-achieving Indian-American nerd with a short fuse. It changed the game.
The Grief Nobody Wants to Talk About
Most teen shows handle death with a few somber episodes and a slow indie song. Devi Never Have I Ever does something much more uncomfortable. It links Devi’s temporary paralysis—a psychosomatic response to her father Mohan’s sudden death—to her social status. It’s dark. It’s weird. It’s also incredibly honest about how trauma doesn't just make you sad; it can make you erratic.
Devi wants to be cool. She wants a boyfriend. She wants to lose her virginity to Paxton Hall-Yoshida. These aren't just "horny teenager" goals; they are distractions. If she focuses on the shape of Paxton’s abs, she doesn't have to focus on the empty chair at the dinner table.
Psychologists often talk about "avoidance behavior." Devi is the poster child for it. By chasing a social hierarchy that she isn't even sure she likes, she builds a wall against the crushing weight of her reality. She’s not just "dramatic." She is a kid whose world ended during a harp recital, and she’s trying to rebuild it with scotch tape and bad decisions.
Why the "Unlikable" Protagonist Won
For a long time, female leads in YA media had to be "strong" or "pure." Devi is neither. She lies to her best friends, Fabiola and Eleanor. She cheats on two guys at once because she’s so insecure about her own worth that she thinks she needs "two halves of a boyfriend" to be happy.
It’s cringey.
Yet, the show’s success—ranking in Netflix’s Top 10 for weeks across multiple seasons—proves that audiences are tired of the "Mary Sue" archetype. We want the girl who screams at her mom. We want the girl who accidentally throws a book through a window. Maitreyi Ramakrishnan, who was plucked from an open casting call of over 15,000 people, brings a specific kind of kinetic energy to the role. You can see the gears turning in Devi’s head right before she does something stupid. It’s a masterclass in comedic timing.
The "unlikability" is the point.
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If Devi were perfect, the show would be a boring PSA about academic achievement. Instead, it’s a messy exploration of the "Model Minority" myth. Devi is brilliant, yes. She wants to go to Princeton. But her grades don't protect her from her temper. They don't make her more mature than her peers. In fact, her academic pressure often acts as a pressure cooker for her outbursts.
The Paxton vs. Ben Debate is a Distraction
Everyone has an opinion on the love triangle. Are you Team Paxton or Team Ben?
Paxton Hall-Yoshida represents the fantasy. He’s the popular jock who is actually a decent guy. Ben Gross represents the reality. He’s the rival who understands her intellectual drive because he shares it.
But if you look closer at Devi Never Have I Ever, the romance isn't the core. The most important relationship in the show is between Devi and her mother, Dr. Nalini Vishwakumar.
Poorna Jagannathan plays Nalini with a terrifying, beautiful stiffness. She is a woman grieving her husband while trying to raise a daughter who is basically a mirror image of her own stubbornness. Their fights are legendary. They hurt to watch because they feel real. When Nalini tells Devi that she isn't "a real daughter" in a moment of pure heat, it’s a wound that doesn't heal in one episode.
The show treats these mother-daughter dynamics with more respect than the romances. It acknowledges that for many first-generation immigrant kids, the struggle isn't just "East vs. West." It’s "How do I honor my parents without losing myself?"
The Cultural Specificity That Made It Universal
There’s a scene in the first season where Devi gets her textbooks blessed. It’s a small, specific detail of a Hindu household. The show is packed with these. From the Ganesh Puja celebrations to the nuances of "Auntie" culture, it doesn't pause to explain itself to a white audience.
And that’s why it worked.
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Universal stories are found in the specifics. You don't have to be Indian to understand the feeling of having a thousand eyes on you at a community event. You don't have to be Hindu to know what it’s like to feel like an outsider in your own skin. By leaning into Devi’s specific heritage, the creators made a show that resonated with anyone who has ever felt "too much" or "not enough."
Breaking Down the Internalized Racism
One of the bravest things the writers did was address Devi’s own internalized racism. In the beginning, she’s embarrassed by her culture. She wants to distance herself from the "uncool" Indian kids.
She calls them "the kitchen crew."
It’s an ugly side of the character. But it’s a real side. Many kids growing up in the diaspora feel a sense of shame or a need to over-assimilate. Watching Devi grow out of that—watching her realize that her cousin Kamala is actually a badass scientist and that her heritage isn't a burden—is the real "coming of age" story.
It’s not about who she chooses at the end of senior year. It’s about her choosing herself.
The Role of John McEnroe (Wait, What?)
If you haven't seen the show, the fact that tennis legend John McEnroe narrates a teenage girl’s life sounds like a fever dream. It shouldn't work.
But it’s brilliant.
McEnroe was famous for his on-court meltdowns. Devi is a girl who has internal meltdowns every ten minutes. The parallel is perfect. His gravelly, aggressive voice provides a hilarious contrast to the high school drama, but it also gives us a window into Devi’s psyche. She views her life as a high-stakes match. Every social interaction is a point to be won or lost.
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When the narration shifts—like when Andy Samberg takes over for Ben or Gigi Hadid for Paxton—it highlights the different "frequencies" these characters live on. But McEnroe is the anchor. He represents the "hot-headedness" that defines the Vishwakumar bloodline.
What Devi Taught Us About Modern Girlhood
The landscape of TV is littered with "cool" girls. Devi is a reminder that most of us were actually sweating through our shirts, saying the wrong thing, and crying in the bathroom.
She’s a nerd who isn't a trope.
She’s a "good girl" who does bad things.
She’s a daughter who is trying her best.
The show wrapped up its four-season run by letting Devi go to college. It didn't give her a "perfect" ending where all her problems vanished. It gave her growth. She learned to sit with her grief. She learned to apologize—really apologize—to the people she hurt.
Real Insights for Navigating Your Own "Devi" Moments
If you find yourself relating a bit too much to Devi’s chaotic energy, there are a few things to take away from her journey that actually apply to real life.
- Acknowledge the "Why" Behind the Rage: Devi’s anger was almost always a mask for her sadness. When you're lashing out, it's usually because something else is hurting. Identifying the root cause doesn't excuse the behavior, but it’s the only way to stop the cycle.
- The Power of a "No-BS" Therapist: Dr. Ryan (played by Niecy Nash) is the MVP of the series. She doesn't let Devi get away with her excuses. Finding someone who will call you on your nonsense while still supporting you is the fastest way to emotional maturity.
- Academic Success Isn't a Personality: Devi spent years thinking Princeton was the only thing that mattered. When she finally got there, she realized she was still the same person. Your achievements are great, but they won't fix your internal insecurities.
- Friendships Require Maintenance: You can't just expect your "Eleanors and Fabiolas" to be there if you only talk to them when you have a crisis. Friendship is a two-way street, and Devi had to learn that the hard way—multiple times.
Devi Vishwakumar showed a generation of viewers that it’s okay to be a work in progress. You can be the smart girl and the mess. You can be the grieving daughter and the boy-crazy teen. You contain multitudes, even if those multitudes occasionally cause a massive scene at a school dance.
The legacy of the show isn't just about representation. It’s about the permission to be flawed. In a world of filtered Instagram lives and curated personas, Devi’s raw, unfiltered, and often embarrassing reality is a breath of fresh air.
Next Steps for Fans:
If you've finished the series, look into the "Mindy Kaling Effect" on modern sitcoms. Notice how she uses "unlikable" traits to build empathy. Also, pay attention to the rise of South Asian leads in streaming; Never Have I Ever was a massive catalyst for shows like The Sex Lives of College Girls and Ms. Marvel. Understanding the shift in how "nerd culture" is portrayed can give you a better grasp of where TV is heading next.