By Ankita Rathour
Not long after my relocation from New Delhi, India to Louisiana, US for my PhD, I found myself amidst a gathering of fellow graduate students, engaged in fervent discourse concerning the (in) famous television series Friends.
“What kind of a person loves Friends,” one voiced disdainfully.
“Eww, it’s so bad. I can’t understand why it is still popular,” echoed another. Exhaling deeply, I kept my contemplations to myself. Was my affinity for the sitcom an indictment of my character? I returned to my modest, drafty garage apartment. A humble abode typical for immigrants like me, located within walking distance of school, grocery stores, and pharmacies but hardly habitable. With a thud I fell on my bed and dialed a long-time friend seeking enlightenment. I vented how such “hangouts” have no space for non-US experiences and how these gatherings leave me feeling even more isolated in a foreign country.
“White liberal feminists, especially, are worse,” the Indian voice on the other line validated my emotions.
“They establish their credibility through complete rejections,” she further said. Engaged in a conversation lasting an hour, we deliberated on the challenges of assimilating in the US as an immigrant.
“Right or left, one must adopt the American way. One must choose a side. Even with a TV show,” I retorted.
“White feminists think they have nothing to learn from women of color and they love having the last word on everything. A colonial mentality of limiting knowledge and learning.”
“White liberal feminists still want Brown women to be on the fringes. Black and Brown women should quietly listen and not interfere especially if they disagree.”
We went on.
I trusted her for her ten-year long residence in the US as a Muslim woman. Our struggles and desires have mostly aligned. Even the most friendly, liberal white women have “politely” reminded her that her hijab is oppressive while not knowing the difference between Palestine and Pakistan. Back in India, forging friendships proved arduous for me as a vociferous feminist and anti-Hindutva Indian woman. Here, I felt like an outcast despite being on the “right” side. Thus, I resolved to keep my admiration for this notorious show concealed as I did not want to lose possible friendships.
Don’t get me wrong. Friends IS largely problematic. But it also shaped me in different ways.
So, please indulge me.
***
For a girl raised in the Indian countryside, in the remote town of Begusarai, Bihar, Friends was nothing short of revolutionary. It motivated me to question gender norms and embrace my sexuality without shame. I desired an alternative space where men and women could forge friendships not tainted by sexual tensions all the time. Men around me were excessively coddled, rude, and could turn physically violent at a drop of a hat. So, this foreign show with clear orientalist and skewed visions of the East was still an escape I sought.
My initiation into the world of Friends transpired in the late ’90s via a pirated CD loaned to me by a close friend, gifted to her by her boyfriend. Thus began clandestine viewings amongst our inner circle. I recall one particular afternoon at her residence, devoid of parental supervision, where laughter ensued as Ross and Rachel engaged in passionate kissing at his workplace. This juxtaposed starkly with the stigma surrounding sex in our community. Our group of six high schoolers wondered why sex was a shameful subject in our community.
We did not openly talk about Friends at school and of course, not at home as well. Like all radicalizations, ours stayed limited to our trusted group. Loving Friends was controversial, not for its problems that I came to understand later in life, but for other reasons. Women on the screen lived with men before marriage, engaged in sex without feeling guilty, chose to be a mother in different ways, and went for a life of their choice, all without any violent consequences. My immediate reality was utterly different.
Suddenly, we no longer needed to watch clandestinely with small groups of friends on pirated DVDs. Instead, Friends began to appear in Indian households in the early 2000s via Comedy Central. India’s economic liberalization ushered in an era of global entertainment and relaxed regulations. It was a luxury to have cable, even more so to watch foreign films and shows. American pop-culture was to change the Indian ways of entertainment consumption and a new western hegemony was in the making. However, this western media also left an indelible imprint on my feminism and sexual identity, challenging the entrenched patriarchal norms pervasive in my part of Indian society. Women around me were supposed to be married and have children by the time they were twenty-five. Hindi films of that time followed strict censor codes, which were drafted during the colonial times. I had never seen a kiss on screen, or men and women hugging as friends. Forget sex. It was simply non-existent. The only kiss allowed in Hindi films was on cheeks, with some leeway for necking. Flowers symbolized sexual union and lightening stood for coitus. For a long time, I believed that one could get pregnant just by kissing. (Thank you for nothing, Biology teachers!)
Friends offered a glimpse into a world where women’s choices were validated, where premarital relationships and alternative paths to motherhood were not met with punitive consequences. For me, the show stood for friendship that I craved—easygoing, without shackles of strict gender codes, co-existing without the Madonna-Whore complex. I wished I could get out of a failing relationship easily without fearing about male vindictive rage. Many Indian women to this day are assaulted and killed by jilted lovers. Friends showed me that there is a better place we can fight for.
The three men in the sitcom emasculate American hyper machoism. Chandler is often mocked but through him, the show tried to critique heteronormative masculinity. That has been my takeaway. I wanted to be with a man who was goofy, sincere, and honest like him. Joey was highly problematic, and he taught me that I should avoid men like him. That sleeping around, and ghosting women is not okay. Joey’s life choices are often criticized by other friends. But does he still have likeable qualities? Yes, he does. He is a great friend. He gives up eating meat when Phoebe is pregnant. He is honest about his feelings towards Rachel to Ross. When both of them sat together and navigated the awkwardness, my heart was full of tenderness. That entire scenario in the early 2000s would have ended with the woman getting slut shamed. But here, Ross lets go of Rachel as he prioritizes his friends’ happiness above his.
However, amidst the euphoria of newfound liberation, the show’s transgressions were not lost on me. Its portrayal of LGBTQ+ individuals and communities fell short of inclusivity, perpetuating harmful stereotypes and tropes. The jokes on Native Americans, Hawaiian culture, China, and India to name a few were a cringe fest. But I cannot reject Friends completely. This ambivalence is the crux.
As I navigate the labyrinthine landscape of American society, I find solace in the familiarity of Friends. The show remains a steadfast companion, a source of comfort amidst uncertainty.
My dingy garage apartment would often remind me of those old days of comfort with my girl friends. In the post-Trump hostile foreign land, repeating Friends every night became a sort of time travel for me. I could reach the deepest corners of my memory. This very American show alleviated my otherness in America!
Today too, I watch random episodes on repeat because it seems familiar to me in a foreign land. Pandemic, police brutality, environmental disaster, international student bans, the horrifying uptick in racisr violence, and the US led cruelty against Palestinian people. There are so many ways to feel agitated and helpless. I am an alien here, but the show has continued to bring me some joy in these excruciatingly difficult times. It has travelled with me in my journey to find stability and myself. I am with David Beckham on the fandom. I too stream it in the background and find myself smiling. I hate it too. I am bored of it at times. I love it some days. I cringe at its subtle xenophobia and brazen homophobia. I roll my eyes the way it emerges as just another white American imperialist propaganda. But it stays.