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Blue-green, pearl-white and golden red

I am a planner!

I like planning things in my life and spend numerous hours researching, analyzing, and comparing different options in front of me to choose the right one.

Of late, I’ve realized that even if you choose an option that feels like the best, life’s infinite twists and turns often end up presenting you with something completely different.

Nithya and I, like many other like-minded and equally privileged people, make it a point to explore a new corner of the world at least once a year—a piece of earth far from home, where the language, ethnicity, beliefs, culture, or food differ from what we know.

This year, when we (and by we, I mean me) started planning, our top destinations were Japan, Georgia, and Vietnam. I put in the hours and created itineraries for each of these places.

Drafting itineraries is the fun, exciting part of travel planning. The boring, exhausting part is the visa process and document collection. Both Japan and Georgia required numerous documents, some of which were impractical for us this year due to personal reasons. With a bit of a heavy heart, we decided to save Japan and Georgia for later and focus on Vietnam.

Detailed, day-by-day plans were made. Hotel bookings were done, and we were on the verge of applying for the e-visa when we realized that weather conditions in Vietnam vary drastically from region to region (similar to India).

We planned to travel in late October, which is considered a good time to visit Hanoi. However, our second planned destination, Hoi An and Da Nang, often faces flooding during this season. So, the weather put a dampener on our plans.

Alongside travel plans, we were also researching a car to purchase. What started with a plan to buy a modest, automatic hatchback ended with booking a sub-4-meter SUV that overshot our budget by about 40 percent.

To compensate for the car’s budget increase, we tightened our travel budget and began looking at more affordable options. Vietnam could wait for a more favorable season.

Our search for affordable destinations led us to the laid-back, pristine sands of Lakshadweep.

Despite a recent surge in interest due to geopolitical tensions, Lakshadweep hasn’t yet become an over-commercialized tourist trap. Changes are definitely underway, though, so we thought it was ideal to visit Lakshadweep before it goes mainstream.

I started afresh, excited to explore a new destination, only to find that visiting these islands—barely a hundred-minute flight from Kochi and where the locals speak the same language as us—requires navigating multiple legal hoops.

First, we needed a clearance certificate from our nearest police station. Next came a permit from the Lakshadweep authorities, which required an island native to host us. Long story short, it’s almost impossible to set foot on the islands without knowing someone there. Thankfully, travel agents help connect you with willing hosts.

While watching Lakshadweep travel videos on YouTube, I came across the channel Pikolin’s Vibe, where the host shared his experience visiting Agatti with the travel agency Tripuntold. His glowing review convinced us to try our luck with them, and we booked the same 3-night, 4-day package he took. A bit short for our annual trip—usually, we aim for at least a week—but the pricing felt reasonable, so we went ahead. This time, we weren’t traveling alone: Vimal, a friend from work, his wife Vani, and their young child, Richu, who had unknowingly played a role in my own wedding, joined us.

Once bookings were done, our host initiated the permit process. We received calls from our local police stations, who granted clearance without any hassle, and the island authorities were equally smooth in issuing permits.

Countdown to departure.

Day 1: October 30, 2024 (Wednesday)

We booked Alliance Air, a subsidiary of Air India, which offered better rates than IndiGo. The flight was at nine in the morning, so we reached the airport an hour and a half early, parked our car, and took off on time.

Despite the name Lakshadweep (meaning "one lakh islands"), there are only 36 islands in the archipelago. Agatti, the only island with an airport, has a small airstrip, which means only small flights can land there.




We arrived in Agatti at ten-thirty and immediately fell in love with the charming little airport. A cab sent by our host whisked us away, and in five minutes, we were at our beach-facing cottage.




Emerald-green, crystal-clear water and soft white sand greeted us. We quickly stashed our luggage and stepped out to enjoy this slice of paradise. With the sun scorching above, we found respite in the cool, shallow waters, letting the gentle waves lull us into bliss.

Our host had planned a relaxing first day, so we spent the morning in the water until hunger drove us to lunch—a buffet of steamed rice, dal, vegetable thoran, and chicken curry. Our chef mentioned that fish would normally be served, but Vimal’s aversion to seafood had led them to switch it up. Silently cursing Vimal for depriving us of fresh fish, we enjoyed the simple, delicious meal.

The only planned activity for the day was a sightseeing tour of Agatti Island. At four, a cab arrived to take us to the Agatti Golden Jubilee Museum, a small space showcasing historical relics and artifacts from the island’s past. The biggest surprise was seeing a Buddhist stupa, reminding us that Buddhism once thrived here, likely until Arabic traders arrived.

It’s tragic that the lives of Lakshadweep’s people have been so drastically shaped by those early traders. Today, women wear headscarves, and the island is a dry state - all because faith was imposed. In an ideal world, people would live freely, unbound by outdated beliefs, as long as they cause no harm to others. This unfortunate reality isn’t limited to these islands, but these were the thoughts in my mind as I wandered through the museum, whose ancient relics seemed to silently cry for much-needed upkeep.

After the museum, we visited the main jetty and sampled dweep halva—a sweet blend of coconut, rice flour, and local jaggery made from coconut sap.

Our last stop was Lagoon Beach, a west-facing stretch perfect for watching the sunset against crabs burrowing in the sand and children showing off their swimming skills without a care in the world.

Day 2: October 31, 2024 (Thursday)

An excited Nithya and the rest of us, secretly anxious, set out for the trip’s highlight: scuba diving. After signing self-declaration forms and receiving underwater communication guidelines from the dive master, we boarded a boat to take us beyond the shallow waters, where we’d glimpse hidden treasures below. On the boat, we were grouped with a large family from Karnataka, and we all took turns plunging into the depths.

The descent was gradual. First, you wear an inflated suit that keeps you afloat, allowing you to adjust to the water. Then, you put on the mask, and the instructor monitors your breathing. Once comfortable, they deflate the suit, and you slowly submerge. Although panic lingers in those first moments, the vibrant underwater world soon casts its spell. Coral reefs—some sharp, some soft—house countless fish and marine creatures, offering a visual spectacle like no other.

After everyone on the boat had taken their dive, we returned to shore well past two in the afternoon, ravenous. We raced back to the resort, only to find the same lunch menu: rice, dal, stir-fried vegetables, and chicken curry. For Nithya and me, travel is mostly about experiencing the local flavors, yet here we were eating generic, touristy fare that didn’t reflect the region’s cuisine.

Determined to try the island’s authentic dishes, we requested a taste of Dweep biriyani and kilanji, a flatbread served with a coconut milk, jaggery, and banana mix called phaalu. Ali, our friendly host, promised to prepare them for us the next day.

Our original plan included trips to the neighboring islands of Bangaram and Thinnakkara and a visit to an ancient shipwreck site. Unfortunately, new government restrictions had closed off Bangaram for reasons unknown. Disheartened, we accepted the host’s alternative suggestion of a glass boat ride and a visit to Kalpitti, an uninhabited nearby island.

Unlike our morning outing, this time we had the glass boat to ourselves. The crew was eager to make the experience memorable, cleaning the glass for better visibility, pointing out sea cucumbers and eels, and providing drinking water as we reached Kalpitti.

The landscape of Kalpitti was surreal. Coral rock formations, barren white sand patches, and mangroves guarding the shores painted a striking picture. We arrived near sunset, and the sky began to glow with shades of golden red, the clouds contrasting beautifully against the turquoise sea. Any direction we pointed our camera offered a stunning frame. After witnessing one of the most beautiful sunsets of our lives, we returned to the resort, where a bottle of meera—a naturally sweet and fizzy non-alcoholic coconut sap - helped refresh our spirits.




Our mealtimes were always lively, thanks to young Richu’s tantrums when denied his animated digital entertainment and his mother Vani’s captivating tales and analogies.

Day 3: November 1, 2024 (Friday)

Our itinerary for the day included deep-sea fishing and snorkeling in the morning, followed by Lakshadweep Day celebrations in the evening. However, as it was Friday, the island’s Muslim community observed prayers, so we postponed our fishing to the afternoon.

Like the glass boat team, our fishing crew was keen to enhance our experience. They described the types of fish in each area, let us participate, and even brought up exotic finds like starfish from the depths.




Much like scuba diving, Nithya was the most enthusiastic about snorkeling. We’d brought our own gear and a rented GoPro to capture the underwater world. After fishing, we took a dip with our life jackets and snorkels, then returned to the shore to relax, sip tea, and share stories.

Power on the islands relies on diesel generators, with fuel shipped from the mainland. Supply is limited, so nightly power cuts last an hour or two. Though our rooms would grow hot and humid, the beach’s cool breeze offered relief. With almost no light pollution, we were treated to stunning, star-filled skies.

As we prepared for the Lakshadweep Day festivities, Ali served us the much-anticipated kilanji and phaalu. The thin, rice-flour flatbread, reminiscent of pathiri, paired beautifully with the sweet coconut milk, which we eagerly devoured before heading to the celebration grounds.

Local schoolchildren performed on stage, showcasing cultural activities, but we were more drawn to the food stalls serving hot local snacks. Fish samosas, fish cutlets, and fish ada offered a wealth of choices, though Vimal had to settle for pineapple slices dusted with salt and chili powder.

With our hearts full but heavy at the thought of our departure the next day, we returned to the resort. The sky was brimming with stars, and Vimal was busy identifying the Milky Way and Jupiter.

As we sat on the shore, counting stars and waves and trying not to think about leaving, Vani asked if we’d visit Lakshadweep again.

In an ideal world with endless resources, certainly. But in reality, time and funds are limited, and there are countless other destinations we dream of exploring. A return trip to these pristine islands may be far off. Perhaps, many years from now, we might come back—maybe not to Agatti, but to Kavaratti or Minicoy. And maybe next time, we’d travel not by a short flight but on a ship, like the locals suggest, for a true taste of adventure.






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