Season two of ‘Deli Boys’ belongs to Deli Auntie

The first season of the show, which was created by Abdullah Saeed, follows two Pakistani American brothers who inherit their late father’s convenience store empire, aka a front for a cocaine enterprise called Dark DarCo. Lucky, begrudgingly and out of obligation to the men’s father and her late mentor, takes them under her wing and vows to protect them. While season one was about the Dars figuring out how to work together, season two focuses more on Lucky and her potential future. Does she want to forsake Mir and Raj to live her own life? Or is her family a part of her life that she cannot part with? Centering Lucky finally allows the Dars to feel like a real family. The inappropriate comments and sassy remarks they throw at one another are charged with the kind of energy unique to a family who knows each other too well. More importantly, it deepens Saeed’s goal of writing Lucky as “bad*ss” by allowing her desires and ambitions to be considered outside of protecting the Dars, evolving her beyond the familiar trope of the self-sacrificing South Asian matriarch.

Perhaps as a pleasant byproduct, Urdu is also spoken a lot more this season—the times when the trio slips into the language to converse amongst themselves when surrounded by non-South Asians feel relatable and allow South Asian viewers like myself to feel part of the clandestine moment. Cultural specificity also works in the show’s favor. For example, there is a moment when Mir declines Ali’s (Shahjehan Khan) offer for tea only for Ali, the former head of distribution for the drug empire, to accept it without protest. The act immediately concerns Mir, who dramatically claims, “he accepted my no to chai! Everyone knows there is a back and forth about chai!” 

Tan France in "Deli Boys."

Courtesy of Disney/Sandy Morris

Series often return with big names in new seasons, as if to provide more credence to a show’s success, and this new season of Deli Boys is packed with well-known guest stars including Kumail Nanjiani, Lilly Singh, and even the beloved Tan France, along with a very small glimpse of Jimmy Kimmel. Raj’s wife Nandika, played by Amita Rao, is also pulled into a key storyline involving her husband being framed for murder and subsequently, and naturally, bequeathed the moniker “F*ck Me Felon”—a timely nod to the public’s fascination with hot men behind bars. It is fun to see the guest starring actors pop up onscreen and be given a chance to play with absurdity. But a consequence is that Mir, the third of the trio, is more or less relegated to a subplot about securing the Dars membership at a golf club to further legitimize their business. But a common pitfall of new seasons is that expanding the world often means sidelining the characters who grounded it in the first place.

From left, Kumail Nanjiani and Saagar Shaikh in "Deli Boys."

Courtesy of Disney/Sandy Morris

To round out the cast, Armisen, Andrew Rannels—a funny enough mayor wannabe who is the more blatant obstacle against the Dars this season—and Jake Prizant never distract from the South Asian cast members, but rather offer more comedic relief, sometimes at the expense of their apparent whiteness. They seem to be extensions of the FBI characters in season one who were similarly cartoonish. Interestingly, the show still positions Armisen alongside its white institutional foils, despite his own mixed-race background. His eventual storyline is admittedly a bit predictable but it may be more of a function of bringing in a highly recognizable and acclaimed actor to have a meatier role to justify his presence. The jokes this season are just as sharp, but still function as an accumulation of punch lines that result in a plot twist at the end of every episode. But hey, the slapstick tone worked for season one and it works for season two.

The Dars’ cocaine empire continues to expand, and this new season wrestles with the idea that maybe the American dream does not need to belong to just one person, but to an entire family. It is an unexpectedly tender proposition for a show so committed to absurdity. Yet the finale undercuts that sentiment in its closing moments when a new obstacle—one much closer to home—emerges in the form of a pie. The cliché “a piece of the pie” is uttered, hinting that the next season is likely less about ambition and more about division. The greatest threat to the Dars may no longer come from rival gangs or federal agents, but from within the family itself. In true South Asian fashion, the family drama may end up being the most dangerous conflict of all—raising the stakes for season three already.