Haroon Yousofi



I sometimes think about my death, and I fancy that amongst the mourners who will want to honour my memory at in funeral service line will be my television set. The speech, as I imagine it, goes something like this:

   “I knew the dear departed for many years. We were very close. He was a good friend, and had the patience of a monk. When he came home from the office he would sit in front of me in the chair and from then on he would never leave my side. He watched all my programs – no matter what – in an open-hearted spirit of tolerance, fidelity and with never a murmur of dissent. I must admit, that sometimes I went on a bit. I would talk for hours on end. But he would just wait until late in the evening for the next program. And if (to test his loyalty) the next program I showed him was another repeat of the darts contest, do you know what he would do? He would smile and still not waver. I never had a cross word from him in all the years. 
   To the very end of his life the dear departed was loyal to me and trusted me. He was a man of simple faith, because he always believed my weather forecasts and trusted my council about the goings on in the world.
  His courage and stamina were beyond question. This was a man who had no interest whatsoever in science or technology but he would sit with his eyes glued to my screen through an hour’s Open University lecture on laser beam frequencies, not understanding a word of it. Even though he was not a religious man I would show him ‘Songs of Praise’ and he would watch with devotion.  And if it all became too much for him, as sometimes after a long and grueling weekend, he would just quietly slip asleep in front of me. 

   As it was once said in the shopping channel 991, “Where there is no vision, there is no reward.” I can only hope that the rest of the world can preserve with the same steady faith as our dear departed.”


By: Haroon Yousofi