Two finales, one week, and enough betrayal to trigger your fight-or-flight response. Whether it’s fiction or “reality”, the message is the same: trust no one. It’s the season of shocking twists, savage exits, and friendships turned fatal. One show rewards deceit, the other punishes hope.
The line between reality TV and dystopian fiction has never been blurrier. Or more binge-worthy.
Truth is stranger
“I don’t have the brains to be a traitor,” a contestant laughs. Everyone laughs because they agree. “She’s so dumb,” the punchlines fly, like it’s open-mic night. We laugh too, because we know she’s exactly that — a traitor.
Welcome to The Traitors India, where fake deaths make real enemies, and betrayal is the only way to survive.
Karan Johar, dressed like Malegaon ka Mogambo, sets the tone with his signature catty charm. It’s a game of lies and manipulation, where being trusted is a liability, and trust itself? A trap.
The cast, led by meme queen and couture-chaos-engine Uorfi Javed, is a fever dream. Apoorva, the rebel kid, dishes zingers like she’s paid per punchline. Purab Jha plays the boy-next-door with the dead-eyed chill of a serial killer on a lunch break. And foul-mouthed sass queen Sufi Motiwala, the 21-year-old, sobs after taking out the fan-favourite rapper — then invents words like “allegate” when he runs out of real ones.
At the heart of it all is the Uorfi-Apoorva influencer friendship. They start with a sworn ‘behan’ code and end in full-blown betrayal. The episode-9 cliffhanger closes their arc like a chick-flick bromance: two creators, influenced against each other by — well — influence put their differences aside. The game-changing dynamic we were waiting for.
Elnaaz Norouzi deserves her own genre: the dumb-blonde assassin who weaponises tears, decoys, and ditz like she’s submitting a masterclass in deception. I tuned in for the cringe art section. By the end? It made the cut for hype check. Not TV Gold. Let’s not lose our minds. But trust me — this one’s worth the chaos.
Season finale aired on Thursday evening. Let’s just say there was so much poetic justice, it felt scripted, rehearsed and performed.
Do I actually love this show? Or are you being played? Fool around and find out.
Morality versus mortality
Replace influencers with desperate adults, the host with a faceless system, and the villa with an island — and you’ve got Squid Game Season 3.
A still from Squid Game Season 3
| Photo Credit:
Special arrangement
But don’t get too comfortable. This one hurts. Not in the “oh no! my fav died” way. In the “wait… are we the problem?” way. The show’s central idea mutates. It’s no longer about survival. It’s about complicity. Every game is more violent, absurd and emotionally loaded. Not just a death match. A morality test dressed up as a cash prize. This close to being a baby-killing show. Not literally. But spiritually? Existentially? Emotionally? Yeah.
The players aren’t pawns anymore. They’re products. Performing pain for a hungry audience. And we eat it up, guilty about the popcorn we are munching watching a show known for its high body count. If you have seen the first two seasons, know the zone. Empathy is a liability. Hope is dangerous. And the moment you try to do the right thing — you die.
The real twist? They’re no longer trying to win. They’re trying not to lose themselves. And most of them fail.
It’s stylish. Brutal. Philosophical.
And disturbingly fun to watch — which is the point.
It dares you to keep going. Then punishes you for enjoying it.
Because the most violent thing about Squid Game? Is how close it hits to home.
Two shows. Same moral.
Trust no one. Including yourself.
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Published – July 04, 2025 05:06 pm IST
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