We don’t start a lot of conversations these days.

We interrupt them. We comment on them. We finish them. We even compliment them with an emoji or two.

Occasionally, we say what needs to be said, but only when the first and last word can be ours.

To start something rolling, and then step aside… not the forte of America, 2017.

 

And this is what makes Master of None so special.

Many of us fell for Aziz Ansari in Season One.

Many of us noted the diversity. Some of us started to speak like Dev’s darling father. (Was that just me, man?) A few of us even tweeted Colin Salmon Cinnabon photos (he *liked* it).

But this season was different.

MoN Season Two feels like the way an artist behaves after a cancellation notice.

Something to say, and only a handful of airtime to go, every episode seems urgent.

Interspersed with a rather lovely tale of love and longing, Dev and co. look at: religion, sexuality, dating, celebrity, sexual harassment, and so much more.

Always, we see things as if the most obvious factors in the room – our lead character being a Beckham-voiced, five foot whatever South Asian guy – matters little, if at all.

 

The irony of course is that Aziz Ansari owns Netflix at the moment. He and Kevin Spacey could literally force the network into swapping their roles, and we’d have our first Muslim president. (Yeah, the other guy, he wasn’t one.)

To act with such urgency when Aziz and co-producer Alan Yang could literally launch Season Three tomorrow… Sublime.

 

Immigrants, heroes, love, and longing, Master of None’s are American stories.

And we’ve never needed such stories so badly.

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