The Best Thing That Ever Happened To Me

THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME

I've had my share of life's ups and downs
But fate's been kind, the downs have been few
I guess you could say that I've been lucky
Well, I guess you could say that it's all because of you

If anyone should ever write my life story
For whatever reason there might be
Ooo, you'll be there between each line of pain and glory
'Cause you're the best thing that ever happened to me
Ah, you're the best thing that ever happened to me

Oh, there have been times when times were hard
But always somehow I made it, I made it through
'Cause for every moment that I've spent hurting
There was a moment that I spent, ah, just loving you

If anyone should ever write my life story
For whatever reason there might be
Oh, you'll be there between each line of pain and glory
'Cause you're the best thing that ever happened to me
Oh, you're the best thing that ever happened to me
I know, you're the best thing, oh, that ever happened to me

This post is purely personal and probably self-indulgent. Possibly I shouldn't talk about it in a public forum. I have noticed a change in myself. For the past almost 25 years, I have sung the above song, always to my beloved martyred husband. I think I was reminding myself of all the happiness, the good times we had had with our little nuclear family consisting of Mani, my husband, Sandeep, our child and myself. (Not forgetting also my huge joint family, of course, but for this purpose, I was thinking just about the three of us.)

When I would feel a bit down, lonely, perhaps verging on - horrors! - self-pity, I would remind myself that, while there had been a lot of problems and some tragedy in my life, overall it has been a pleasant life, full of all sorts of wonderful things. I had had a love from my husband that most people only dream about. I was the adored, pampered, spoiled wife of a very good and loving man and the mother of an equally sweet, loving saintly Sikhling. Since I seem to be writing a bit of a tribute to the great males in my life, let me mention in passing that my Dad was also a great man who took great pains with my education, gently - usually - moulding me into the woman I am now. I have had to remind myself of these blessings from time to time.

So I have often found myself singing this song to my dear Mani.

Last week, while on my daily walk, I found myself singing it again. But, astonished, I realised, with a difference. No longer was I singing to Mani. Walking and seeing Vaheguru, Akaal Purakh, whatever term you might wish to use, I was singing not to a beloved man, but to my Guru.

I suddenly realised what really was "the best thing that ever happened to me." However great this man Mani was/is, however great our love, these things are effects. Now I see and realise the Cause. I know this is all very obvious and something I have always been taught, but this was an 'aha!' moment, an epiphany for me. Now it is a part of my personal reality. (I told you this was personal and self-indulgent.)

Life is hard, yes, otherwise what would be the point? Life is also good. Akaal Purakh is good. Our dhan dhan ten Nanaks are good. Our eternal Guru is good. So much goodness around us. So much greatness.

"Who in such a world as this cannot heal his sorrows? Welcome this sweet sunset bliss. Sunrise comes tomorrow."

Anonymous poet

Sing A Song of Khalistan Just A Little Wry*

I was not going to write this post, but I am surrounded by a small army of Kaurs, the same ones who saved my life back in April 2006, and they are demanding that it be posted. It is hard to resist a group of people to whom I owe my life, so if this all seems a bit self-indulgent....you know.






As I often do, I was singing this song, which you may know. But as I was singing, the words began to change. Read these through, about Joe Hill, a hero and martyr of the International Workers of the World (IWW - the Wobblies) in the American Labour movement of the early twentieth century.

THE BALLAD OF JOE HILL

by Alfred Hayes

I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night,
Alive as you and me
Says I "But Joe, you're ten years dead"
"I never died" says he,
"I never died" says he.

"In Salt Lake, Joe, by God" says I,
Him standing by my bed
"They framed you on a murder charge"
Says Joe "But I ain't dead,"
Says Joe "But I ain't dead."

"The copper bosses killed you Joe,
They shot you Joe" says I
"Takes more than guns to kill a man"
Says Joe "I didn't die,"
Says Joe "I didn't die."

And standing there as big as life,
And smiling with his eyes
Joe says "What they forgot to kill
Went on to organize,
Went on to organize."

"Joe Hill ain't dead" he says to me,
"Joe Hill ain't never died
Where workingmen are out on strike
Joe Hill is at their side,
Joe Hill is at their side."

From San Diego up to Maine,
In every mine and mill,
Where workers strike and organize,
Says he "You'll find Joe Hill,"
Says he "You'll find Joe Hill."

I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night,
Alive as you and me
Says I "But Joe, you're ten years dead"
"I never died" says he,
"I never died" says he.

And as I sang on, the words changed, as often happens when I 'sing.' Eventually they became the words my Kaurs insist I share with you. I share with some apology.

But maybe some of you know the melody and can sing them. If you would like to hear the melody, it can be found at: The Ballad of Joe Hill sung by in the lovely soprano of Joan Baez, as she sang it at the Woodstock Festival, 1969. Please don't be put off by the French site. The antiSikh French will not profit from your going here. I promise.

Now my poor attempt at being a lyricist:

I dreamed I saw Sant Ji last night
Alive as you or me.
Says I, "Sant Ji, you're decades dead."
"I never died," says he.
"I never died," says he.

"In Amritsar in June," says I
Him standing by my bed.
"They killed you as a terrorist."
Says he, "But I ain't dead,"
Says he, "But I ain't dead."

Indira's** army, killed you , Ji,
They shot you, Ji," says I.
"Takes more than guns to kill a man,"
Says he, "I didn't die,"
Says he, "I didn't die."

And standing there as big as life
And smiling with his eyes,
"From that which they can never kill,
Our Khalistan shall rise,
Our Khalistan shall rise."

"Bhindranwale lives," says he,
"Because he never died.
Wherever Guru's Khalsa live,
There I am at their side,
There I am at your side."

"From Amritsar to Surrey town,
In gurdwaras great and small
Where Khalistan is dreamed of still,
I am with them all.
I am with them all."

I dreamed I saw Sant Ji last night
Alive as you and me.
"Sant Ji, says I, you're decades dead!"
"I never died," says he,
"I never died," says he.

**There are other possibilities here 'that bitch's army' being one of the more polite.

*The title is a take-off on an English nursery rhyme: Sing A Song Of Six Pence, A Pocket Full Of Rye.