She wanted to hear the cry of the Vedas. To sound the Upanishadic roar.
What was the Grundstimmung of ancient Indian thought? she wondered.
There was a European philosophy department – that was bad enough. But the next dimension was to open an Indian department within the European department. An Indian crypt! An Indian cult. Why not? Discernible only to those in the know.
Indian philosophy funnelled through European philosophy. Squeezed through it. Like a tamarind pulp through a sieve. That was Livia’s plan.
Dreaming of the Sanskrit leap. The Sanskrit pirouette.
Having learnt nothing of modern French or modern German – or, for that matter, modern Italian – I had gone back to learn nothing of Biblical Greek and koine Greek. And Latin! Don’t forget Latin!
Having travelled a certain path with Indo-European languages, I would now go back still farther. All the way to the cradle of so many of the European philosophical languages: Sanskrit.
Not learning Sanskrit would be an even greater triumph than not learning all my other languages.
Some great work of Indian-European synthesis. Of almost absolute spuriousness. Of brazen incompetence.
Like one of those crazy books people send to philosophy departments out of the blue (The Bottomless Depths of the Irreal, The Colour of Uncreated Light.)
The Indian abyss. The Indian crack.
We have the Indian gear in our gearbox. We can stick-shift to Indian, when we really need it. We can inject an Indian turbo boost into our European engine.
Livia, never happier than the idea that I was reading Ramanuja. And Sankara. Are you reading Ramanuja? She’d ask me. And Sankara?
Livia, introducing me as her Indian philosopher in residence. As the department Indian philosopher. As the resident Ramanuja and Sankara specialist. She didn’t quite introduce me as a scholar of Sanskrit – that was a step too far.
The tension created by the UK Indian philosopher was greater than UK European philosopher. It’s the same as if the rest of us weren’t would-be UK Indian philosophers, too.
But there are too few UK Indian philosophers. No departments of Indian philosophy – where you can even study it, Indian philosophy. No one seeking careers in UK Indian philosophy. No posts ever advertised in UK Indian philosophy. You can’t publish Indian philosophy in analytic philosophy journals. In the European philosophy journals too, for that matter. Comparative religious journals, maybe, but what philosopher ever reads those?
Of course, no one would even notice if I failed at my UK version of Indian philosophy. Like a tree dropping in a faraway forest. If I fucked up, Indian style. Just as barely anyone noticed if I failed UK European philosophy style.
I would only ever be a secret failure. A failure in the darkness. But all the more impressive a failure for that.
Couldn’t you use your amazing Indian philosophy powers to save us? In our last hour, our most desperate moment, you could whip out your Indian philosophy to save us. The flaming mace of Indra, or whatever.
You were the Indian, and I was … the girlfriend.
The actually intelligent. The philosophically able. The one with the looks. And the mystique.
Work in Progress 