The F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Conundrum

I love Friends. And no, I don’t mean the generic noun for a group of close people, but the show, F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Anyone who knows me, knows that. I commonly refer to scenes from the show to explain or understand something. I love those six characters - often more than people in my real life. One of my favourite possessions for several years was a poster from the show. And I’ve watched and re-watched all the episodes about a dozen times (and also made my mom watch them alongside me).

But in the last few years, I’ve found other emotions cropping up when I talk about the show: emotions that are not just enjoyment or love. There are scenes - many of them - at which I earlier used to laugh unabashedly, but now find myself cringing uncomfortably. And now, when I explain my love for the show to someone who has never seen it, it’s with an apologetic rider: look, some aspects of the show aren’t very....well, nice.

After all, there’s a definite current of homophobia that is often used as the primary source of entertainment, which we can see in the interactions between the guys. And also a decent amount of fat-shaming, through Monica’s character and her earlier overweight self. As someone who considers herself to be a strong ally of people with any sexual orientation, and someone who crusades against societal standards of beauty being used to stump people's confidence, these aren’t easy things to overlook.

And so, I find myself facing two very different kinds of emotions emanating from the same source. A part of me really still loves the show (as I was telling a friend recently, two decades worth of love isn’t going to suddenly disappear). But on the other hand, the current me finds myself disapproving of many of the scenes and ideas shown in the episodes.

And my conundrum is that I don’t quite know how to reconcile this. Can you really claim to love something if part of it makes you cringe deeply and feel apologetic?

In a world where everything is so polarized, it seems like the answer should be no. I have to choose: I have to either be on the side of the show, or against it. There isn’t a middle ground, because a middle ground would mean compromising on my values. If I love the show, then I should love it wholeheartedly, accepting every single bit of it. If I consider myself someone who believes in equality and dignity of all people, then I should shun any show that tries to ridicule this belief, including this one.

A part of me gets it. Given how chaotic our world seems to be, it seems almost easier to clutch at something and stick with it. To have at least one thing in our life that is clear and dependable. Maybe that’s why we’re getting split into more and more camps each day: to find some kind of certainty and not give in to opposing ideas.

But the remaining part of me just can’t reconcile. Because choosing any one side means denying the other, which means denying a part of myself. If I say I love this show no matter what, then I’m denying my own growth over the years as I’ve become a person who is a lot more open and understanding of differences in this world. If I say I hate this show because it goes against some of my beliefs, I’m denying the fact that the show was (and to an extent, still is) a huge part of my life and is intertwined with so many of my best memories. Both of these aspects are part of me, so it doesn’t feel right to deny either one.

So where does that leave me? In the murky, gray area in between. It’s the one without clean boundaries, right in the centre of chaos. It’s where I reject the notion that we have all been raised with, that 'there is only good or bad, right or wrong, and we have to choose between them'. Reality does not exist in binaries; rather, it exists in the hazy complexities in between these binaries. And that’s exactly where I am.

I’ve spent far too long feeling stuck in the middle, struggling to choose between the two extremes. So now, I’m giving a shot to a different approach: one where I don’t choose. Of course I loved this show. It has given me countless moments of laughter and joy, and it is still something I occasionally turn to when looking for a light moment. And of course there are parts of it that are problematic, parts where I won’t laugh, parts that I’ll call out as discriminatory.

The two contradictions exist, and maybe the point is, to let them, and accept them both.

Choosing a Life: Mine or Yours?

India is currently facing the worst possible brunt of covid. Cases are rising everywhere. So is the death count. 

However, unlike the last wave, this time around, people are not just dying from covid. They’re dying from a lack of treatment, due to a lack of resources.

There aren’t enough beds.

There isn’t enough oxygen.

There isn’t enough medicine.

There isn’t enough plasma.

There isn’t even enough space to bury or cremate the dead.

So what do you do when you’re in a situation where demand is high and supply is limited? How do you decide who gets access to the resources? 

Maybe we opt for ‘first come first serve’, though that would never happen in this country. When have we ever waited in a line?

Maybe doctors take a call on who absolutely needs what, but most people aren’t even able to reach the doctors. 

No, more often than not, it’s the old Indian solution: jugaad, vaasta, connections, network. If you know the right people, you can get access to what you need. (As much as I want to judge this system, I can’t. If it’s your loved one who is in critical condition and in need of a bed or oxygen, you’re going to do everything you can to get that resource for him or her. And if you have better connections, then the better for you. This country was built on vaasta, and it’s not going to shed away its core identity now, not in the middle of a crisis. Though, even this system is failing these days).

But regardless of the way people are getting access to the resources, the grim truth that remains is this: there aren’t enough resources for everyone.

This means that for every person who gets a resource, another person does not. 

How do you come to terms with that?

I read a news report recently that an old man, in his 70s or 80s, gave up his bed and oxygen in a hospital for a younger patient, and chose to go home. And there, he passed away. 

Something about that story really hit me. Of course, there was a sense of admiration for the man who took such a daring and selfless step. But more than that, there was a sinking feeling in my stomach: a reminder, that in the current situation, for every bed a patient gets, somebody else loses out. 

Which means that for every life that is prioritized for saving, another life is lost.

And I don’t know how to come to terms with that.

Of course, you can say that ultimately, this is life. Everywhere we look, even in a non-covid world, resources are limited. Only some get access to them. More often than not, it’s the ones with some kind of economic or social or political privilege. Others lose out. That’s life. That’s survival. 

But I guess that there’s something about the current covid crisis that has brought us face to face with this reality in a jarring way. Multiple lives are on the line. And unfortunately, only some can be saved. How do you decide which life is more valuable? 

At a personal level, I know I’ll probably opt for saving my family over an unknown one, because that’s the most natural instinct, and I can’t fault that. We all want to save our loved ones. But there’s something really unnerving about the realization that saving my loved ones means, in many cases, damning your loved ones. Saving my family means not saving yours. 

How do I choose a life to save, when the choice is between me and you? 

When Statistics Meet Reality

Since we seem to have divided up our world into binaries and labels, let me start by identifying myself with one: I’m pro-vaccines. 

I’m a child of two doctors, who grew up with medical conversations being a regular feature of the dinner table. I’ve gone through my complete share of vaccines as a child (and bawled my way through each of them, because, you know, injections). I’ve grown up hearing my parents and other elders talk about the advancement of medical science, and the kinds of diseases they grew up around which have almost been eradicated now, thanks to vaccinations. My parents would often look at the news in recent times and shake their heads and wonder: how can you possibly be ‘anti’ vaccines, given how many lives they have saved?

So when vaccines came out for covid, to me it was a no-brainer that people should get vaccinated. I know in India there was some concern about a particular vaccine given the speed with which it was pushed out, but a conversation with my dad assuaged that concern. He admitted that the effectiveness of these vaccines was hard to be completely sure of at this stage; but at the same time, there was no major health risk from getting one.

As a result, I became a fairly vocal advocate of the vaccine (vocal when asked for my opinion, that is). A friend once messaged me, asking me to check with my parents if they felt it was safe to get the vaccines. I relayed their response (which was a resounding ‘yes’). Before signing off, my friend jokingly messaged saying, “In case I die because of this vaccine, I’m going to come back and haunt you and your entire family!”

I laughed it off. 

But somewhere, deep down, a tiny part of me squirmed. It was safe, right?

Well, every vaccine carried a risk, but the point was, that risk was very, very low.

And for the most part, the data confirmed it. The world over, vaccination drives had begun with enthusiasm. Most people seemed to develop mild to no symptoms. I could see the same at home. Dad developed no symptoms; mom got some fever and body ache for a few days after her first shot. All the senior citizens in my extended family had a similar experience.

But occasionally, in the news, a report would pop up: about people (in other countries) developing adverse or critical effects post vaccination. A few people were developing blood clots, which were becoming fatal. Research was undertaken; some restrictions even placed on the vaccines in western countries. But again and again, the data said the same thing: the chances of developing serious adverse health effects were very, very low. I remember reading somewhere that 5 in a million people were getting blood clots. That’s a very small amount.

Even in India, a few news reports began showing up about people suddenly becoming critically ill or passing away after getting the vaccine. But the default response was that that was a coincidence, and not a reaction caused by the vaccine. I don’t think India still has a comprehensive analysis of the health effects of the vaccines. Still, the statistics that do exist remain comforting: the risk was very, very low.

And so there I was, living in this statistically comforting zone, rolling my eyes at the anti-vaxxers, nodding along with news articles telling people to step forward and take vaccines and stop listening to people saying negative things about them, when one day, I got a message.

The father of someone I knew had passed away. Suddenly. One day after receiving the vaccine. And before you ask, yes, he had comorbidities. But no, he wasn’t sick. He was fine. But a day after receiving the vaccine, he fell seriously ill, was rushed to the hospital, and died within a few hours.

When I heard this, something within me shook very deeply. I didn’t know the father, but I knew his son, and so, suddenly, this felt very real. He might still have been one of the 5 in a million that this happened to, but suddenly, that didn’t matter. The statistics and data all lost their meaning. I didn’t care if the risk was 0.1% or 0.001% or 0.00001%. It wouldn’t have mattered if he were the only person from the entire global population whom this happened to. 

Because this person was real. He was not a distant news report. He was not a number. He was someone’s entire world. And he deserved better than me scoffing at anyone questioning the adverse effect of vaccines, and he deserved better than a government that even refuses to consider any adverse deaths as having some connection with the vaccine. 

In that moment, I realized that all the data and statistics of the world become meaningless when it's you or your loved one who is facing the brunt of those tiny figures. Even last year, when India witnessed its first wave of covid, a lot of people would comfort themselves in the knowledge that the death rate was low. But tell that to the person who lost their family to covid. What do they care if the death rate was low or high? That data point isn’t going to bring back their loved ones.

The purpose of writing this isn’t to advocate for anti-vaxxers. No, I’m still very much in favour of people (including myself and my family) getting the vaccine. Because at the end of the day, they have saved millions in the past, and might just do the same going forward.

The difference though, is that now I try to advocate for vaccines with a little bit more humility. The arrogance has faded. I’m more conscious of the risks, and I think the government should work harder at identifying those risks and educating people about the same, instead of trying to brush them under the carpet. And I hope that despite the risks, people will be willing to take that leap and go and get vaccinated, because that might be the only solution we have to fight this disease in the long run. 

But I think the one thing I won’t be able to do going forward is to see a statistic as just a statistic. Maths is clean. Life is not. A number is not just a number. It’s a life. And it might do us some good to remember that.