Comrade, you're stepping on my foot

If you are a fucking Indian -- and you are not a politician or a son of one -- but you're just pushing your stupid self out of college or are in your prime youth days, smoking harsh cigarettes outside your post-graduation college, and can't help but thinking that you're going to bring about a change to this country someday. Which you just as may well -- but say you are a bloody communist, chances are that I will want to rip your beliefs and stuff it in the big hole in the sky of pretentious-intellectualism. Naa, I'll just do what I will tell you in the end.
I am sorry, if I appear a bit too impolite for your kind and well-nourished sensibilities, but please don't get my goat. You know it is quite, actually very, peaceful grazing under the azure skies. So what is it with my, er, fellow comrades? Have the potty-headed, stupidly stupid, old-drain-brains, college professors gone so nutty that they're drilling this stupid idealism to these already-feel-so-bloody-smart kids and this, with such rubbish.
What's more irritating with them is that not they are studying the course quite seriously, but have done no further reading on the subject before developing this political philosophy and unleashing it in the polite-tight-lipped-society. 'Oh ya! George Orwell, he wrote that book on Animals, right? No damnit, he wasn't fucking a vet, whaddya think!')
They have these few lines that they've mugged up, and if they say them aloud in their social outings, and I think they draw some: 'Ooh-aaah, ho/hum...s/he has to be blood bright. Ya know, here we were talking about smoking dope right now and man this one's so hardcore, almost trippy. Now I get it! It was Marx and I thought my report card!'
The strange bit are these social outings of there, where they'd like to profess how deeply intellectually-politically rooted they are. Look at the irony: they are obviously invited by some capitalist's son to a capitalist's private property to drink and smoke a capitalists wine and cigarettes -- where a down-trodden lower class man is serving you, who doesn't even cross your mind while he does that, as you eye for him to bring you that plate of chicken tikka's, that which has been pre-cooked in a capitalist's kitchen. And there, there, you actually expect me to believe that we should join you?
Don't think Naxalism and don't think CPI (M). Don't think Lenin and don't think Stalin. Think about how good it sounds: everyone's the same bloody class; happy; united; only peace and love; hand-in-hand; no democracy! Just like John Lennon's Imagine (I really like that song by the way!) Wait a minute, which Lenin/Lennon was it? Aaah, before you go again, time I get another drink.