[Post credit : TheFrustratedIndian.Com]
“So what next folks?” Whispered the fledgling leftist rebel. He wore a Che Guevara T-shirt and a cheerful face. He didn’t possess the solemn visage of a sophisticated left-liberal. His hair wasn’t long, he didn’t wear spectacles. He didn’t smell like a rodent and had no fancies for sling bags. “What do we do now folks?” Aftab the young lefty spoke again.
“First things first boy, stop FOLKING us. We are not folks. We are Indian Leftists, we are called comrades and that’s what you call us. COMRADES. Com because we are communists and red because red is the colour of revolution. COMRADE. Is that clear?” Sayantan the senior lefty blasted. He looked every inch of an Indian leftist. Messy hair, unkempt beard that had more salt than pepper, big horn-rimmed spectacles that to a certain extent accentuated his small lifeless eyes. He wore a khaddar kurta and smelt like a Billy Goat.