THE TREE OF WISDOM

Everyone knows that ghosts, djins, and the feral ancestors live in the banyan trees. Which is why you see sticks of incense burning below, stuck in hollows in the roots. And why some birds avoid roosting there. Cats and goats remarkably appreciate the shelter during the rains. And old codgers with their cheroots or bamboo pipes gather underneath, discussing the affairs of the community and which young man's testicular fevers make him socially unbearable he really should find a wife.

If you can find Yorkshire men anywhere in South East Asia, it is there, going 'ooh aargh' and sounding otherwise unintelligible, muttering darkly about kids these days. Their odd utterances and pungent smells do not disturb the owls that sleep in crevices.

In the modern Cantonese villages of the western American urban areas, the role of banyan tree is occupied by the bakery-coffee shop, where at back tables the old fossils and retired country folk make unique statements and discuss matters of the world.


"Ooh aargh!"


Sometimes I do not settle anywhere for a cup of milk tea in the afternoon and a pastry in Chinatown. I do not feel old enough, and listening to Yorkshirese might not particularly appeal to me that day.

It rained last night. Imagine sitting under a banyan, in a spot where the water does not penetrate, near the trunk, below thick branches and dense leaves.

You just muttered "ooh aargh". I heard it!

Ooh aargh to you good sir.

Wisdom.



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