All language subtitles for Never Have I Ever S01E04

It had been a week
since Devi's violent encounter

with the coyote,

but Paxton's words from the hospital
were still echoing in her mind.

That's why it's cool we're friends.

Of course he had friendzoned her.

She thought a wild animal was her dad.

As much as Devi wanted to be a chill girl
that you could have sex with,

she knew the truth:
she was a weird loser,

and a member of the UN,

and today was certainly
not gonna change that.

Are you Princess Jasmine?

No, but thank you. She is very beautiful.

Ariel's prettier.

Where's Aladdin?

I don't have an Aladdin,

because he just wants to be friends.

Okay...

Hi. Can I have two black coffees
and one large hot chocolate?

But can you write latte on the cup?

I want people to take me seriously.

Oh, can my daughter take a photo with you?
You look so amazing.

No, thanks.

She'd really love to put it
on her Instagram.

It's so cultural.

I don't really feel at home right now
in my choice of clothing.

I mean, usually I don't,
but especially today.

She's just a little girl.

Okay, sir, you don't have
to say it like that.

I just don't want to take a photo.

Also, why do we have to commemorate
everything on social media?

Hmm? Why can't we just live in the moment?

You were on Twitter
the entire time you were in line.

You tweeted a "thank you" to a Target ad
telling you to have a happy Labor Day.

- Fine. Let's just take the photo.
- Go.

Okay.

You want any doughnuts with that?

Yeah, Ira, I do, but I'm fasting today.

Oh.

Is it Ramadan?

No, it's not, Ira.

Today is Ganesh Puja.

Looks like an ad
for India, right?

Or at least the middle
of an Indiana Jones movie, but it's not.

This is Ganesh Puja, baby.

Ganesh Puja is a Hindu holiday
celebrating Lord Ganesh,

and a time to share warm moments
with family.

Speaking of warm moments with family,

let's check in with the Vishwakumars.

Mom, this sari is so uncomfortable.

Why does it itch so much?

Itchiness of saris
is a rite of passage for Indian women.

Deal with it.

Why can't I just wear kurta and jeans
like I normally do?

Then I don't have to get half naked
every time I need to go to the bathroom.

Devi, you're of age now.

Half sari is more appropriate.

Ew, Mom. Don't say "of age."

It makes me sound like a girl
in a douche commercial.

-What is douche?
-OK, everyone stop talking about douche.

Lord Ganesh doesn't need
to see my daughter

in ripped jeans
and a "Fries Before Guys" t-shirt.

Nalini was a little on edge.

This was the first puja they had gone to

since Mohan's untimely death
and Devi's paralysis.

Last week, Mrs. Iyengar asked
if we were going to show up at puja,

or whether we, quote,
"had too much going on."

I could just hear the pity in her voice.

Too much going on, for Ganesh Puja?
That bitch.

-Whoa.
-Auntie, you must calm down.

Why does the Hindu Association
have to have puja at my high school?

It's so low-rent.

Ben Gross's bar mitzvah
was at the Dolby Theatre.

They have the Oscars there.

Jewish people know how to save.

Us, Indians, we get a little bit of money,

we go straight to Home Depot
to buy a cement fountain.

We're just obsessed with fountains.

Oh, I love a fountain.

Anyway, Devi,

you know Sanchiti Bhattacharyya
will be at puja, right?

You remember
her useless white husband Ron?

Turns out,
he's not that useless after all.

He runs the most exclusive
college counseling company in LA.

Ninety percent of their kids
get into Ivy Leagues.

And they are so elite,

they don't even
count Cornell and Penn as Ivies.

He's so successful, he has his own Tesla.

I Zillow-ed his house.

Do you want to know
what the Zestimate was?

One point eight million dollars!

-Whoa. He loaded.
-Yes, he is.

Now, Ron doesn't take many kids, so...

if you want to go to Princeton,
you know what you need to do.

I'm on it, Mom.

Winning over old-ass teacher types
is my super power.

Good girl.

Oh, god. Aunties approaching.

Don't look.

Where? Where should I not look?

Damn it, Kamala.

Aunties are older Indian women
who have no blood relationship to you,

but are allowed to have opinions
about your life and all your shortcomings.

You have to be nice to them
because you're Indian.

It's so good to see you, and Devi,

what a relief to see
you're no longer a cripple.

What a miracle.

I prayed for her every day.

I said, "No matter why you have chosen
to curse them,

please cure her as a reward
for my virtue."

Thank you.
I'm sure your prayers did it.

Yes. Thank you for thinking of us.
How is Arjun?

You know Arjun.
He just installed a home theater.

Two rows of seats.
Dolby 5.1 surround sound.

Popcorn machine coming soon.

Sunu, they don't care
about your stupid home theater

with all they've been through.

I know exactly how you feel.

My husband, Pradeep,
had testicular cancer.

I'm so sorry for your loss.

Oh, no. He's fine.

It was stage one. They caught it early,

removed his testicle,
and now he's running the 10K.

You're right.
Our situations are so similar.

Uh, you know my niece, Kamala, right?

Getting her doctorate at Caltech,
soon to be engaged...

to an engineer.

The boy's parents have two Mercedes.

-Two Mercedes?
-Lucky.

As the aunties praised her,
Kamala had a sinking feeling.

She didn't want to get married,

but she put on a happy face

like I did at the trophy ceremony

when I lost the French Open
to Ivan Lendl in 1984.

I'm gonna go find Ron.

Okay. I'll just stay here
and kill myself.

Even though Devi was Indian,

she didn't think of herself
as Indian Indian like these girls,

which is a whole other thing.

So sometimes she felt
a little out of place.

They seem cool here,

but can you imagine how dorky
they would look doing this anywhere else?

That's my sister, Preethi.

Her Bollywood dance group
was in the Macy's Day Parade

on a float sponsored by Ziploc.

So who looks dorky now?

Damn, Devi. Preethi's sister
really schooled you. Read the room.

- Harish.
- Devi, hey.

I was hoping I'd see someone cool here.

Do you know if anyone like that is coming?

Ouch, burn.

So why are you at this lame-fest?

Shouldn't you be at Stanford, like,
playing frisbee with a computer?

I actually really wanted to come.

To Ganesh Puja?

At a public high school in the Valley?
Are you insane?

Tell me the truth.
Did they send you home on medical leave?

Are you suicidal from Accutane?

No.

Look, I know
I used to clown on this every year,

but the truth is, I kinda miss puja.

Are you kidding?

When I get into Princeton,
I'm never coming back.

I'm gonna be an atheist,
who eats cheeseburgers every day

with my white boyfriend.

I thought I'd be that way too,

but it was different
when I went to college.

My roommate, Nick, is Native American,

and he's so into being Native American.

At first, I was like,
"You're away from your parents.

You don't have to pretend
to care about your ancestry or whatever."

But then he took me
to their campus powwow.

No one was standing in the corner
making fun of it.

They were dancing and chanting,

and having a great time,
and it made me think,

"Why do I think it's so weird
and embarrassing to be Indian?"

Where do I start?

How about every single thing
my mom has ever said and done?

I just thought, "Am I gonna be
this insecure Indian guy,

who hates doing Indian things?"

'Cause that's its own identity.
It's just a shitty one.

Well, that's definitely not my identity.

I love being Indian.

Real convincing, Devi.

I look more comfortable being Indian.

You need to spread Mohan's ashes.

I spread my mother's in the fountain
at the Bellagio.

She was a gambling addict.

That's very touching, um...

I just haven't had the time.

You know he cannot get into heaven
until you accept his death?

Oh.

I meant to ask you. Later today,

you think you can look at a few skin tags?
They're under my left breast.

I'm really looking forward to it. Yeah.

I'll find you later.

This is Pandit Rajakrishnan,

but everyone calls him Pandit Raj.

He's the community spiritual leader
and also really knows how to work a room.

Now, everybody repeat after me.

Just kidding.
We'll do something easier.

I like Pandit Raj.
He's got a good energy.

Come forward.

Have you spoken to Ron yet?

I've spent all morning kissing up
to Sanchiti.

I even told her
I would Botox her armpits for free.

Not yet. I can't find him.

You can't find
the one middle-aged white man

in a group of 500 Indian people?

Come forward.
We are ready for the next group.

- Give it to Pandit Raj.
- Nalini.

Thank you.

Pray you get into Princeton.

Don't waste your prayers
on stupid things like world peace.

Praying had always been hard
for Devi.

It was so easy to get distracted.

First, she would start praying
for the health of her mom and cousin,

but then would veer off,
thinking about homework,

or how in this kneeling position,
she could smell her deodorant.

So she really had to focus
on what she wanted:

an acceptance letter
from the college of her dreams...

Princeton!

...a sudden maturing
in certain areas of her body...

Hey.

...unexpected overtures
from certain people at school...

I think I love you.

...and hearing her mother say
the thing she most longed for.

I'm so proud of you.

And you can get your septum pierced.

But this year was different.

She didn't want her usual things.

Don't miss.

Ah!

In your face.

She wanted something else.

Have tika.

Meanwhile, Kamala knew
what exactly she was praying for.

For her fiance, Prashant, to fall in love
with someone in his doctorate program

at the University of Chicago,

and for their engagement to be over.

You do not wish to be married?

Damn, Pandit Raj.
That's spooky as hell. You're good.

Your hair is so black.

When my sister's husband died,
she stopped coloring her hair.

Well, I didn't want
to let myself go completely.

Mohan wouldn't have wanted that.

You just don't want to give people
the wrong idea.

What idea? That I love my husband less
because my roots aren't showing?

Let's go inside.

I heard Roopa got fat.

Bingo! White guy.
College counselor Ron.

Go get him, Devi.

Hey, are you Ron Hansen-Bhattacharyya?

Yes.

It's so nice to meet you.
My name is Devi Vishwakumar.

I'm a student
at this high school, actually.

Oh, cool.

Sherman Oaks High
is a good Ivy feeder school.

Although the college counselor Susan
is a joke.

Yeah. She's also the lunch lady.

-So, she's got a lot on her plate.
-Hmm.

I just wanted to say how interested
I would be in procuring your services.

Your stats are amazing.

Well, I don't know. I mean, I...

only got 28 kids into Ivies last year,
but I wanted 30.

The other two went to MIT,

but you can't win 'em all.

Well, I guess I can't relate
because I do win 'em all.

I'm in all AP classes
and got a perfect score on my PSAT.

Great segue, Devi. Effortless.

All while volunteering
at the kidney dialysis center.

When I'm not doing that,

I read Vietnam vets
their Bill O'Reilly books.

Okay, look... I can say this
because I married an Indian woman

and am a proud member
of this vibrant community.

But schools don't want
another Indian try-hard,

who is president
of the padded resume club.

What?

Renal failure is what keeps me up
at night.

Colleges want kids with unusual stories.

I had this kid.

He got into a car crash.
He was dead a full 30 seconds.

He said god told him to go to Yale.
It worked.

Uh, I outgrew a nut allergy,
so that's something.

-I actually know who you are.
-You do?

You're the girl whose dad died
in front of her at a concert

and became paralyzed.

Devi couldn't believe
that the major trauma of her life

could be reduced to a single sentence,
but there it was.

Yeah. What about it?

That story is freaking amazing.

You have the golden ticket.
If you're willing to talk about it,

I bet I can get you
into any school you want.

But Devi didn't want to use the story
of her father's death

as a way to make herself more interesting
to a bunch of admission committees.

No, I'm not gonna do that.

Well, without it, I don't get your angle.

To be honest,
I don't see how you would be different

than any other Indian kid
applying to college.

I'm not like any other Indian kid,

and I'm not interesting
just because my dad died.

Then what makes you interesting?

Oh, I don't know, Ron.

Maybe it's my perfect grades
or my killer test scores.

Or maybe it's my bitchin' personality

or my insane PowerPoint skills.

I don't need some washed-up white dude,
who leases a Tesla

telling me what makes me special.

Leasing is still a financial commitment!

And my monthly payment is quite high!

Oh, look, an open table.

No, no. Come, come.

Hey, kids, move.

Just take your slime and go.

Come on. People are still eating.

Why could we not sit there?

That's Jaya Kuyavar.

She came from Chennai,
went to UCLA for her doctorate,

parents found her a nice boy
back home to marry.

Then she ran off with an American man.

A Muslim.

Parents never spoke to her again.

Did they come for the wedding?

Are you out of your mind?
You heard me say he was a Muslim.

I feel bad for her.

-We should sit with her.
-Mm-mm.

Can't risk it right now.

We're already borderline outcasts.

Devi, what did you do?

I heard from half a dozen aunties
that you yelled at college counselor Ron,

and made fum of his electric car!

He deserved it.

He said I'm just like any other Indian kid
applying to college.

It was so offensive!

So disappointed in you.

-I'm gonna eat somewhere else.
-Please go.

Is this yours?

-Oh, thank you so much!
-Yeah.

You left it on the table.

The table you were sitting at
after you and your aunt

made a beeline to get away from me.

No, we weren't trying to avoid you.

You seemed so popular, we didn't want
to take up seats for your friends.

Oh.

Sure.

Hey, um... I need a break
from these aunties.

You want to go check out
the vending machines? My treat?

Okay.

Yeah, so basically, I'm the Hester Prynne
of the Indian community

in the San Fernando Valley.

I wish I had
a less ninth-grade-book analogy for it,

but it's accurate.

So you're ultimately very happy
with your decision

even though you got divorced?

Of course not.

No.

I mean look at me.

My closest Indian friend
is a woman I met seven minutes ago.

No. I wish I had just listened
to my family

and married the guy that they chose.

Then maybe I wouldn't be divorced.

You know, my kids ask
about their grandparents,

and...
I don't know what to tell them.

Maybe they'll get over it.

Do you have a sibling,
who could have a drug problem

or go to community college?
That would help.

No, I got two brothers,
both neurosurgeons,

had a double-arranged wedding
with millionaire Hindu sisters.

Oh.

As my cousin would say,
"That sucks a fat one."

Yeah, I agree.

Anyway, I think I'm going
to head out.

You know, these things
aren't really that fun

when everyone is whispering about you.

But hey, good luck on your engagement...

and don't screw it up, yeah?

Devi?

Paxton! What are you doing here?

Swim practice.
What are you doing here?

Just... Ganesh Puja.

It's a weird Indian thing.

Oh.

What do you do for it?

We eat and pray to Ganesh.

He's the elephant god.

He's sort of a big deal to Indians.

I mean Hindus.

'Cause, you know, there are
Muslim Indians, Sikh Indians, Jains, and--

-Honestly--
-You don't have to give me

the Wikipedia page on India.

Sorry.

So is part of Ganesh Puja
kicking lockers in anger?

No, that was unrelated.
That didn't have...

You were joking.

No, I just got mad,
which is something I'm working on.

You do have kind of a temper, huh?

It's not my fault.

Some old loser was telling me
that I'm too Indian,

and some other people think
I'm not Indian enough.

And honestly,
all I want to do is eat a doughnut,

but I'm stuck here.

Eh. Who cares what other people think?

You do you, Vishwakumar.

Also, you look cool in that outfit.

Did he just say
she looked good?

Holy shit. Maybe she wasn't
as friendzoned as she thought.

Okay. I've had my fill of socializing.

-Are you ready to head home?
-Yeah.

-You see Devi anywhere?
-I do not.

Perhaps she's gotten her arms stuck

in the vending machine
trying to steal chips.

It's happened before.

I'll go check.

-Nalini.
-Yes?

Are you leaving?

Ah, yes. I think it's that time.

It was so great
to see you out of the house

-and Devi back on her feet.
-Thank you.

Let me know if she stops walking again,

because I have a cousin in medical sales

who can get you
a very nice wheelchair for cheap.

Hello, ladies.

-Namaste, Pandit Raj.
-Hello, Pandit-ji

Would one of you
be able to give me a ride?

The day had been a long one
for Nalini,

and she needed a win,
even if it was a small one.

I can.

Oh, wonderful. Could you take me
to The Home Depot?

It would be my pleasure.

Great. There's a beautiful fountain
I've had my eye on.

This is very kind of you.

I could've taken an Uber.

Our Pandit in an Uber?

What's next?
Prime Minister Modi on Postmates?

Over my dead body.

I really enjoyed puja today.

I like the incense you used.

It was like we were in a cannabis store.

Thank you. You can buy it on my website...

coolhindude.com

Anyhow, I hope you all found some clarity
in your prayers today.

For sure. One hundred percent.

Very much so, Pandit-ji.

Wonderful.

Thanks for the ride.

I found the car very comfortable.

Our pleasure, Pandit-ji.

Though there is pain,

the pain will subside
because you are a good family.

And god will always see that.

Where do you want to go to college?

- Princeton.
- I will bring it up to god personally.

Thanks for the ride. Go, Lakers!