It is only fair to conclude that Mr. Ansari is emotionally intelligent and politically perceptive in the show-biz terms, knowing what would resonate with or at least intrigue a burgeoning multicultural audience - the backstories of a mysterious culture with its own evolution over time and variations within. However, just when you think this is one of the typical cross-culture textbook materials, it surprises you with the mundane yet adorable domesticity of romance and the sassy New Yorker wittiness that completely shift your attention away from the sob stories of minority to what is universally relatable.

It is even funnier when I found out those were the real parents. “Hey, what’s up, man. ”

The irony is incredibly entertaining - we are products of how we were raised, harboring the same exceptions for our children to treat us with the exact reverence and obedience that we did to our parents, but only to find out that how we have been raising them, an allegedly more advanced and respectful approach, has completely transformed the way our children perceive the world, a world where they are not obligated to answer to anyone but themselves, as they are protected from the very ingredient that forges the sense of awe and respect towards their elders - fear.

Kudos on the political sensitivity, “he was in another country.” The reason why it is hard to accept the need to cater to the “mainstream” lies in the very idealism upon which this country is built. However, this is a matter of espoused theory and theory-in-use, as always.

Tell me it’s a coincidence that you decided to heavily refer to Reddington when I’ve just started binging Blacklist.

The weirdest thing is when I was listening to Granny Carol telling Dev that he would one day have stories to tell, it occurred to me how much I looked up to you when we were together for the world you dove in that seemed to me way beyond our maturity level, the way you talked, the way you remained silent. It was all looked so sophisticated and mysterious to me that I felt almost uncontrollably drawn towards like a moth to a street lamp. On the other hand, I was also frustrated by the fact that my world was so limited and monotonous that I had no clues the things you could see and understand. Until now, it is almost cliche that it turns out all I’ve ever needed is to go on a journey of discovery on my own, and most importantly the time for which I have to wait until I develop the necessary emotional reach to others and to myself. I’m pleased with how I’m now able to better understand you in some ways and have a less one-way conversation with you, if I had a chance to. On the up note, the courage is undeniable. Yet somehow there’s a vague feeling of contempt brewing, the feeling that I can’t wait to see you circle back after all endeavors to seek for happiness and that 100% certainty, empty-handed, with a twinge of despair and exhaustion on your face, telling me how you’ve walked through the arena and put up what to the audience a good fight but still feel that nothing has changed in you, and that the fire has never been kindled yet.

And that would be the saddest story of all.