Ritwik Pareek’s Dug Dug is quite the tease. In a gloriously meditative opening sequence, a visibly inebriated man steps out of a liquor shop with a ‘quarter’ in one hand, and a beedi in another. He rides into a dark highway on a luna (a two-wheeler), zigzagging with abandon. SUVs, trucks and buses whiz past him from either side of the road. A car advises the man to stick to one corner of the highway, which he promptly rebuffs with profanities.The foreboding begins as the drunk man struggles to stay awake on his two-wheeler, risking his own life and others. He seems to know where he’s headed, suggesting he’s done this many times before. Watching this opening stretch, felt like seeing a nation coasting through a lonely, dark road.Having premiered as an official selection at the 2021 Toronto International film festival, Pareek’s film too has been a lonely dark road, before being excavated by executive producers: Anurag Kashyap, Vikramaditya Motwane, Vasan Bala and Nikkhil Advani. Having seen it now, I’m not surprised there isn’t much appetite for Pareek’s film in the market.After all, it’s an indictment of superstition, monetisation of faith and the cynical powers behind it. If the film might have felt like a sardonic portrait of a future we’re headed for in 2021; in 2026, it feels like a cruel documentary of a polity inches from the precipice. Dug Dug comes out on a weekend when a minister of state is proposing banning nursery rhymes – because they betray “Indian culture values”.Coming back to that opening stretch, the drunk man eventually tumbles from his two-wheeler, after being distracted by a mystical poster of a magician visiting town. He’s hurt, but not enough to jolt him out of his intoxication. As he lays on the road, moments later, a truck runs him over. What we feared from the moment he hit the road, happened. Just not how we imagined.Pareek’s film is assured in its storytelling; trusting its audience, leaning into the atmospherics of the setting. The apathy, the farcical potential of the law enforcement (three constables in this case), the wry visual humour – Pareek sets up his pieces carefully, without the anxiety of losing viewers. The man who died is Thakur Lal (Altaf Khan). The three constables – Manfool (Durga Lal Saini), who is nearing retirement; and two younger colleagues, Badri (Yogendra Singh) and Pyare Lal (Gaurav Soni) – are celebrating over drinks after impounding the dead man’s two-wheeler.Something weird happens the next morning, when the constables find that the vehicle is missing. The chains and the locks are wholly untouched – and yet the luna is nowhere to be found. As they go around to look for it, they find it at the scene of Thakur’s accident. When they try to shackle it inside a prison cell the next evening, the incident repeats itself. As you might have already guessed – the whispers of the luna’s magical powers spread far and wide.As the local politician and priest deliberate over whether to leave the luna at the accident site – things escalate. What starts off as a stray incident of a few people’s belief, quickly becomes widespread superstition. A pedestal is built for the scooter, the offerings include bottles of alcohol (because Thakur liked to drink), a charitable institution is built in its name, then a hospital, a school and a cult. With faith as the opium for the masses, the sky is the limit.What works in favour of Pareek’s film, is that such satires can often feel smug. But it’s probably a good thing for the film to come out only five years later, where things have regressed more, and the absurdity looks more plausible. In 2026, a man’s accidental death, a two-wheeler’s mysterious displacement, and a few strategic rumours can concoct the perfect myth for a cult.A lesser film would mine humour out of desperate devotee, which Pareek’s film is mindful about. The downtrodden are not the butt of jokes here, as much as the system that enables one to profit off superstition. The surroundings at the accident site become more sophisticated, starting with a ceiling, eventually morphing into much larger premises, rivalling ISKCON temples. The cult gets its own instantly recognisable colour-scheme (blue & pink), its own chant (Thakur Sa ki Jai!), and a disconcertingly steady supply of devotees.I was forced to grapple with the notion of sections of the populace, who are rendered powerless by the very systems supposed to protect them. So bereft are they of hope, they find it easier to project divine power in inanimate objects. The window of opportunity is skewed against them in such a manner, it’s easier to spot and hold on to miracles. A miracle is the only way they will be able to escape the clutches of their fate.Dug Dug remains entertaining and hilarious through its 104-minute runtime, but the laughter seems more out of resignation. It doesn’t wish to assign blame, show a mirror to perpetrators, wake people up from their stupor. As the cruel punchline in the last scene suggests, Pareek might have given up on a nation on the verge of a mental-breakdown. Some satires exaggerate reality; Dug Dug barely keeps up with it.*Ritwik Pareek’s Dug Dug is playing in select theatres.