@ asyncmind
2025-01-28 23:04:01
Our story begins in a quaint little village in Kerala, where a starry-eyed, red-blooded communist named Suneesh, raised on a steady diet of Marxist literature and chai, decided to embark on the ultimate proletarian pilgrimage: a move to Australia. Why Australia, you ask? Well, Suneesh had grown up believing the Land Down Under was a socialist paradise, where kangaroos shared the outback with equal enthusiasm, and mateship was just code for "state-controlled camaraderie."
Back in Kerala, Suneesh was a hero. He marched in protests against capitalism (or as he called it, "the Western disease") and distributed leaflets glorifying the workers’ utopia that he was convinced existed somewhere in the southern hemisphere. “Australia!” he proclaimed one day to his comrades at the tea shop. “That’s where the real communists are. Gough Whitlam? Bob Hawke? True revolutionaries!” The old men nodded in agreement, even though most of them thought Gough Whitlam was some kind of imported whiskey.
Arrival in the Land of Barbecues and Bulldust
When Suneesh landed in Sydney, he was ready to be embraced by a horde of flannel-clad, beer-drinking socialists. But the reality hit him faster than a didgeridoo solo. His Uber driver—a cheerful bloke named Darren—lectured him about tax rates while proudly displaying his Tesla. "Mate, capitalism's bloody brilliant!" Darren declared. Suneesh, clutching a copy of The Communist Manifesto, silently wondered if he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere over the Indian Ocean.
Things only got worse. He attended a union meeting, expecting to hear fiery speeches about overthrowing the bourgeoisie, but found himself in a heated debate about long weekend rosters and whether Vegemite should qualify as a tax deduction. "Where’s the revolution?" he whispered to a burly union member in high-vis gear, who responded with, “Revolution? Mate, I just want a pay rise to buy a better barbie.”
The Bunnings Betrayal
Desperate to find his tribe, Suneesh wandered into a Bunnings Warehouse, convinced that the workers' collective spirit would be alive and well in the sacred aisles of tools and mulch. Instead, he was greeted by hyper-efficient employees selling discount leaf blowers with the zeal of Wall Street traders. “Capitalism is strong here,” Suneesh muttered in horror as he watched an old couple haggle over a Weber grill.
His breaking point came when he discovered the true Aussie religion: barbecues. Every gathering he attended was an orgy of meat consumption, beer, and casual jokes about politics. "What do you call a Marxist at a barbie?" someone quipped. "Unemployed!" The crowd roared with laughter, while Suneesh quietly nibbled on a lone celery stick.
A Revelation at Centrelink
Disillusioned, Suneesh visited Centrelink, expecting it to be the bureaucratic heart of socialist Australia. Surely, this was where the workers of the world united! Instead, he encountered long queues, complicated forms, and employees who looked like they'd rather be anywhere else. “This isn’t communism,” he muttered. “This is dystopia.”
While waiting, he overheard someone complain about how the government didn’t do enough to "support the battlers." Suneesh, ever the idealist, tried to chime in with his revolutionary zeal. “The workers must seize the means of production!” he declared. The room went silent for a moment before someone muttered, “This bloke’s had too much goon.”
The Rise of the BBQ Bolshevik
Suneesh could have packed his bags and returned to Kerala, but no. This was not a man to give up easily. If Australia didn’t have the communists he imagined, then he’d create them. Inspired by the Aussie spirit of improvisation, he founded a group called the BBQ Bolsheviks. Their motto: "Equality, mateship, and medium-rare steaks for all!"
The group gained traction among disillusioned hipsters, left-leaning retirees, and a surprising number of kangaroo conservationists. Meetings were held in the backyards of suburban homes, where they debated the finer points of Marxism while flipping snags on the barbie. Suneesh even introduced the concept of communal esky ownership, which was wildly popular until someone absconded with all the beers.
Conclusion
Though Suneesh never found the socialist utopia he dreamed of, he did discover something far more Australian: the ability to adapt, laugh at himself, and make a mean sausage sizzle. He may have left Kerala as a red-blooded communist, but he stayed in Australia as a fair-dinkum comrade, proudly wearing a T-shirt that read, “Workers of the world, unite (after the footy)!”
And so, the Kerala Commie lived happily ever after, fighting for equality one barbecue at a time.