Paradise is elusive in this world. Sometimes, even lost. But Lakshadweep is a paradise that not only exists but also retains its idyllic innocence. CHANDAN MITRA spent five heavenly days on the archipelago to discover its rare coral treasures. Photographs by SHOBORI GANGULI
Tilla couple of years ago when asked where I planned to spend the New Year, I would promptly reply “Somewhere the mobile doesn’t work”. It has become increasingly difficult to locate such a place, although I did manage to herald 2006 at a resort near Ranaqpur in Rajasthan where the mobile, somewhat unexpectedly, did not catch the signal.
I thought it would be the same when I planned a trip to Lakshadweep this year. As it transpired, connectivity is no longer an issue even in these far-flung islands that lie between 300 and 500 kms west of the Kerala coast. I had been told that BSNL provides a cellular service to Agatti, the island that has the archipelago’s only airfield.
What is instantly striking about Lakshadweep is its pristine serenity, untouched by civilisation. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, globally celebrated for creating the world’s most famous fictional detective, Sherlock Holmes, also wrote a gripping novel, The Lost World — an imagined account of a plateau in the wilds that survived the ravages of man and time to remain home to prehistoric species that were lost to the rest of the world. Purely fictional, it chronicles Sir Doyles’s vivid imagination that can be traced to modern-day science fiction films like Steven Spielberg’s Jurassic Park.
A snorkeling or scuba diving expedition in the marine wilds of Lakshadweep would have definitely spurred the author’s powers of imagination. If the phrase “out of this world” could truly be applied to a place very much a part of our Earth, it must be the bountiful marine life throbbing with vitality and variety all along the coral reefs of Lakshadweep’s myriad islands. The sheer remoteness of this group of 62 islands, only 10 of which are inhabited, has allowed pristine marine life to prosper in splendid isolation. The sheer tranquility of the tiny islands encircled by emerald blue lagoons and peopled more by swaying coconut palms than humans, makes for a therapeutic holiday for metro rat-racers.
A place of exquisite natural beauty, spellbinding tranquility, rich in an astonishing array of marine life, Lakshadweep is now face-to-face with a crucial decision about its future. Which way should it go? Should it emulate the example of its southern cousin, Maldives, which has become one of the world’s most sought after destinations with tourism emerging as the backbone of its economy? Or, should Lakshadweep resist the temptation of mindless prosperity, choosing instead to retain its millennial lifestyle quaint but comfortable? It’s a tough call.
Lakshadweep is not too easily reached. There is only a 15-seater Dornier turbo-prop aircraft of Indian Airlines that aerially connects the island to Kochi on the Kerala coast. The plane commutes between Kochi and Agatti six days a week and is the lifeline of the Union Territory Administration and its officials. There is also the option of taking the ferry, a daily service that connects different islands to the mainland, covering the 404-km distance between the UT’s headquarters at Kavaratti and Kochi.
Adventurous travellers sometimes hire private boats for inter-island travel: We were told on Kadmat island that some people left for Bangaram at 2 am, intending to make it to the tourist resort by 7 in the morning. Journeys by such motorised boats are exciting; we were ferried to Bangaram from Agatti this way, but it could prove a trifle dangerous if the seas are choppy. One should not forget that Lakshadweep lies directly on the route of the monsoon as it advances towards the Indian Peninsula from the centre of the Indian Ocean.
Having spent four magnificent days in these quaint islands, my understanding of marine life and empathy for ecology has multiplied manifold. I cannot ever forget that momentary glimpse of a turtle, which I suddenly found staring at me questioningly as it bobbed up from below while I was swimming in the lagoon at Bangaram. It seemed to ask what right I had to invade its privacy without so much as by your leave!
It was the same feeling I got diving deep in the lagoon off Kavaratti as thousands of enchantingly multi-hued fish swarmed around me. I put out my palm at some of them; innocently, they came towards me assuming I was offering food and darted away furiously upon realising there was no meal on offer. Being first-timers, we did not risk diving or snorkelling in the deep seas beyond the coral reef, although diving instructors everywhere assured us that even those (like my wife Shobori) who could not swim had nothing to worry once a life jacket was worn. Apparently, the walls of coral that constitute the reef offer fantastic glimpses of marine life. After a couple of days familiarising with the idiom of deep-sea diving, it’s worth stepping into the open sea beyond the reef.
At Bangaram, we snorkelled close to the reef on which a ship had run aground 70 years ago. The sights we saw were reminiscent of underwater documentaries you watch on Discovery or National Geographic. Apart from thousands of small, colourful fish, many giant-sized fish have also made the wrecked hull of the ship their home, elegantly sashaying in and out of the protection it offers. A visit to the shipwreck at Bangaram is highly recommended as the water is shallow and one can always stand up in case of any difficulty.
It is indeed a lost world waiting to be discovered in the warm, tropical waters of Lakshadweep. Living corals are rarely seen anywhere in the world today, but the waters off these islands are brimming with them. Islanders, however, mournfully point out that the El Nino of 1997 that brought swirling currents of warm water caused widespread death and destruction of corals. “It’s only now that the corals are regenerating once again. But it will take decades, provided there is no other ecological disaster, for corals here to regain their earlier vitality,” a diving instructor said at Kadmat.
Interestingly, it could be dangerous at times to provoke live coral. Clamp-corals, for instance, close their apparently inert mouths tight if you happen to put your finger into them. Unless uprooted (which means killed), it isn’t possible to make them let go. Moral of the story: Let sleeping corals lie. Similarly, the multifinned Lionfish can release sufficient poison if touched, to disable a human arm for around three hours.
A good diving instructor is one who points to all these facts of underwater life even as he expertly guides you through the depths. We had to learn sign language to communicate underwater even for snorkelling. Making an ‘O’ by joining your thumb and forefinger is an exclamation of joy, putting your palm out and shaking it as if indicating ‘so-so’ actually conveys you are not okay, while the thumbs up sign means you aren’t comfortable and wish to go up to the surface.
Although scuba diving requires some detailed instructions to be carefully followed and carrying a lot of equipment like air cylinders on your back, it is actually quite simple once you get the hang of it. Personally, I found it easier than snorkelling, which entails pulling air from the surface through a nozzle into your lungs while floating close to the surface. While diving, on the other hand, once you are in water, buoyancy ensures you don’t feel the weight of the air cylinders; in fact, a belt studded with metal weights has to be worn so that you can reach the sea floor to get the best view of fish, corals, turtles and even octopuses. The Government-run Dolphin Dive Centre at Kavaratti boasts some of the best trainers, with Sikandar, Taha and Shaukat making us feel comfortable in no time. For the less adventurous, there is the option of travelling into the sea in glass-bottomed boats. I had done that in Maldives and Mauritius, but having experienced the real thing now, that seems rather amateurish.
Our first halt in Lakshadweep was at Bangaram, reached by a 90 minute flight to Agatti from Kochi and thereafter another 90 minutes by boat. The day we arrived, the Pawan Hans chopper, the lifeline between the islands, got grounded due to a technical snag. Hence the boat-ride, which in fact, we quite enjoyed. Bangaram is Lakshadweep’s most frequented destination, mainly because of a much publicised resort comprising 29 thatched cottages. Running for 17 years it now provides a model for similar development of other uninhabited islands. The Government facility, the Dak Bungalow with four independent cottages, shares the beach with this resort.
While there is no doubt that Bangaram is spectacularly beautiful, I found Kadmat to be probably much better. In terms of water sport facilities, Kadmat is best equipped. Ad-man Prahlad Kakkar owns a chain of dive-training centres located in Bangaram and Kadmat, imaginatively named Laca Dives. Apparently, he got the idea when he visited Mauritius some years ago and returned determined to give Indians a peek into their own underwater wealth. We spent a long while talking to his instructor at Kadmat, Seemant Saxena, a navy officer’s son who gave up a cushy hotel manager’s job to take to the seas, rather delve into it. You really have to love the sea and the ecology to be as dedicated as Seemant who lives alone in a solitary cottage on the western beach of the island. The centre conducts week- long training courses for domestic and foreign groups. “Once you get a certificate from us you are entitled to dive anywhere in the world,” Seemant proudly declared.
But he seemed concerned over the weekly disgorging of some 1000 raucous day-tripping holiday-makers on the beach at Kadmat by an exclusive cruise liner that sets off from Mumbai and docks near Kadmat before returning via Goa. Even local officials are disturbed by the invasion of the Chunnu-Munnu crowd of litterbugs who throw empty tetra packs and non-biodegradable food wrappers or plastic bottles all over the beach despite stern instructions both by the cruise operators and local officials. The damage is considerable even if this is confined to just the daytime once a week. Officials are also disapproving of what they call “Blue Lagoon scenes” being enacted by young adults in full view of conservative Muslim inhabitants of the island.
The cruise liner visits Kadmat every Tuesday and its arrival has indeed heralded prosperity for islanders who ferry passengers in motorboats from the high seas where the 1500 capacity liner anchors. While the extra income is obviously welcome, the environmental damage caused by insensitive, affluent Indians requires pondering. Bangaram also has a large European clientele. Seemant’s counterpart there, Subin, is really excited about teaching water-wary Europeans the joys of diving. We met him sitting at the resort’s Beach Bar, handing over proficiency certificates to Caroline and Russell Johnson who were ecstatic over their diving experience. The tourism industry’s potential here can be gleaned from the number of repeat visitors to Lakshadweep. While this is the third visit in as many years for the Johnson couple, Bangaram bartender Naseer talked of an Italian mother-daughter duo that religiously spent three months (November through January) each year at the resort. The record for the longest stay is held by an American woman who once spent five-and-a-half-months at Bangaram, and has returned many times since.
In terms of natural beauty Kadmat outshines Bangaram, but it could do with better promotion. The tourist complex here, right next to the helipad, is superbly located. One can lie on a hammock just outside the neatly furnished air-conditioned cottage, look left and watch the eastern lagoon, turn right and gaze at the western seafront. I cannot recall any resort in the world that offers the sea on both sides. The staff at Kadmat, too, is courteous to a fault — actually so are they everywhere we visited in Lakshadweep. Devout Muslims, the local people adhere to a culture that is refreshingly syncretic. Their social practices comprise an interesting mix of Hindu eclecticism, Buddhist equanimity and Islamic Puritanism.
That’s understandable, for Lakshadweep was discovered in the cusp of religious transformation in Kerala. Legend has it that King Cheraman Perumal of Kerala converted to Islam, and in a fit of zeal disappeared one night from his palace with the apparent intent of rowing his way to Mecca for Haj. Alarmed officials decided to pursue their King, although nobody was quite sure if he had indeed departed for Haj. Perhaps the panic caused his followers’ ship to wreck on the coral reefs near Bangaram and thereby they came to discover the group of islands, although they never found their King.
However, long before this supposed 15th Century incident, ancient mariners from the Indian mainland appeared to have discovered this bunch of coral islands, which they named Lakshadweep (One Lakh Islands) while the chain further south was christened Malaydweep (now Maldives). Hindu and Buddhist relics are still found in both.
Although modernity has been knocking at Lakshadweep’s doors for some decades now, the islands remain a magnificent example of serenity despite the presence of satellite TV and the ubiquitous cellphone. In Kadmat mobile connectivity happened on April 1, only months before we reached. “People here had bought handsets nearly two years ago, anxiously waiting for them to spring to life,” Seemant disclosed. In recent years many schools and hospitals have sprouted. SBI runs a swank, computerised branch at Kavaratti, complete with an ATM, but the islanders prefer to live their unhurried, pacific lives fishing only as much as they need and collecting coconuts mainly for weaving coir.
The natives have unhindered access to both of nature’s bounties, as the Deputy Chief Conservator of Forests, Rishi Raj, told us. His writ runs only under the sea since by law all trees on the islands are owned by the local communities. At Bangaram we saw fishing vessels drift ashore from other islands at dusk. Fishermen, including several pre-teen apprentices, spend the night with locals, gather coconuts at dawn and sail away later in the day in routine pursuit of fish. Primitive and unchanging this lifestyle might be, but there’s an enviable simplicity in its rhythm.
Despite their proximity, each island has a distinctive and definitive culture reflected even in its cuisine. At Kadmat, for instance, we were served a breakfast comprising a delicious fish curry with what locals called rice paturi. When I commented that the steamed pancakes resembled the Neer Dosa served in Konkani restaurants of Mumbai, the indignant chef retorted it was a speciality of Kadmat, not available even at Amini, just a few kilometers across in the sea!
At Bangaram, various species of the snapper constitute the local delicacy, but at Kadmat and Kavaratti tuna dominates. Nowhere during our stay were we served mutton or chicken. Despite the paucity of homegrown vegetables, the islanders have not turned to meat. Fish and rice remain their staple.
Lakshadweep is an experience of a lifetime; it’s one of the few unexplored reaches of India, comparable to parts of the Andamans and Ladakh. Its spellbinding natural beauty seems more attractive because of its simplicity. It’s like the naturally beautiful woman who needs no make-up to make heads turn. However, Lakshadweep is on its way to becoming a consumer society. And that has implications.
I recall the time then Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi went to Lakshadweep on a year-end holiday with his family. There was trenchant criticism of the visit, first because the hypocritical Indian middle class doesn’t like politicians taking vacations and, second, because a visit to such a far-flung place was considered expensive indulgence. The PMO worsened matters by giving out that Rajiv Gandhi had even managed to save an injured dolphin trapped amid the corals, catching it with his bare hands. This was a subject of much ridicule in the media of the time; even RK Laxman ran a pocket cartoon on the late Prime Minister’s “feat”. His visit is still recalled by old-timers in Lakshadweep who say that’s what brought the archipelago into India’s consciousness.
A five-day trip to the archipelago has left
me somewhat confused. Should the island authorities promote tourism? When we soaked in the sun and sand at Bangaram, we wondered why the Government hadn’t opened up other uninhabited islands for tourism. But when we heard the lament of Kadmat islanders against noisy, cruise-borne litterbugs, we had second thoughts about unchecked liberalisation of the islands’ tourism policy.
But that’s another matter and lies in the realm of policy makers, not holidaymakers. What I can recommend is a vacation in Lakshadweep, regardless of whether you go there for adventure and excitement or tranquility and recharging. We didn’t get a chance to visit Minicoy due to paucity of time, but people told us that the chain’s southernmost island encapsulates its own beauty as well as distinctive culture. Unlike the rest of Lakshadweep where Malayalee is spoken, residents of Minicoy speak Mahi — a language they share with the Maldives. But each of Lakshadweep’s islands, surrounded by coral reefs, relaxes the mind and energises the soul even if you do nothing but lounge around on the beach, maybe occasionally tilting your cap at a passing turtle!
Many would be surprised to learn that prohibition is in force throughout Lakshadweep except at Bangaram. There are plenty of reasons for that and this is not the place to examine the merits of the prohibition policy. But for devotees of Bachchus, Bangaram is an oasis. Centuries ago, itinerant Arab traders spread the message of Islam to Lakshadweep and Malaydweep, which British colonialists later renamed Laccadives and Maldives. Today, Lakshadweep faces the same kind of issues Maldives confronted some decades ago. India being a functioning democracy where the equality of citizens’ rights gets empowered almost daily, it will not be possible to enforce a differential tourism policy — one for Indians and another for foreigners. So, if prohibition-free resorts are permitted in large numbers or casinos allowed to operate, it will be unacceptable to deny entry to Indians, including locals.
In the next few years Lakshadweep will have to decide which way it wants to go. So far, the islands have survived on Central munificence. Apart from tuna fishing and some coir weaving, there is nothing there that can be described as gainful economic activity. Tourism will undoubtedly mean ‘Open Sesame’. But what about the cost? Will the marine wilds survive? At Kadmat we heard horror stories of people breaking off coral and clandestinely selling them as souvenirs to tourists. This may be wishful thinking, but Lakshadweep can perhaps be opened up to everybody only when Indians become a disciplined people.
Lakshadweep is already on its way to becoming a consumer society. The more I explore India, its incredible diversity grows on you. When I visited the Andamans in 2004, I really thought it was India’s most magnificent marine outpost. Now Lakshadweep has led me to conclude that we even have a Maldives in our midst; just that most of us haven’t discovered it yet. Arguably, the creature comforts are not exactly the same. Bangaram isn’t quite Taj Exotica in Maldives or Mauritius. But the best part of Lakshadweep is that it is nature in the raw — pure, pristine, primeval. As our plane shuddered into take-off mode at Agatti, on the way to Kochi in Kerala, I thought to myself: God’s own country would have been incomplete without its Garden of Eden. God evidently took a lot of time and gentle care to create that Garden. Let’s pray we can keep it that way.
