Monday 31 May 2021

In the Land of the Blue-Green Sea

 The east coast was three shades of never-seen-before blue; the west coast a deep green that kept changing with the sun. And I was there, somewhere in the middle, lost in nature’s grandness.

The island of Agatti, like most islands of Lakshadweep, is small and can be covered end-to-end within half an hour, if you are on a motorbike. Which means the sea is always with you wherever you go. The sea’s constant presence, however, did not prevent me from being shocked to momentary stillness every time I caught a glimpse of her colours in the month that I was there. During one thunderstorm that I witnessed, the colours shifted with the mood of the weather – light green, dark green, grey, light blue and dark blue – as if the sea was playing her own grand symphony.            

Placed within a unique geography, Lakshadweep is as beautiful as the tourist brochures want you to believe. Perhaps even more if you get to know the sea. But as life in the island started to reveal itself, it became clear as the water that there is no other place in the country like these islands.    

Agatti: Photo - Bipasha M


Almost the entire population follows Islam as its religion with a floating population of ‘outsiders’ largely in Kavaratti, its capital. Though some anthropologists have mentioned Wahabi and Sunni as the main sects here, one can find many traces of Sufism in their rituals and ancient healing traditions. Socio-culturally, they carry the lineage of their Kerala ancestry. They are a matrilineal society, the only other being Meghalaya, where the property passes from mothers to daughters. Unlike Meghalaya, here the husbands do not stay with the wives but visit them from time to time and have to pay money (similar to dowry) to the wives’ family during marriage negotiations. Apart from the island of Minicoy where social mobility of women is known to be higher, the rest of the islands have patriarchal value system where the men take most of the family and financial decisions. As such, participation of women in community level decision making seemed less, with them functioning mostly in the background. Gender segregation at the society level is high, with free interaction between girls and boys being almost non-existent. All across the island I saw young boys and fishermen largely occupying public spaces including tea-stalls, beaches, markets, and jetties, while groups of women and young girls would mostly chill out at the beach during sunset. This segregation also finds its manifestation in one of the simplest yet most obvious aspect of island life, where girls and women don’t know how to swim and are prone to major sea-sickness while travelling on sea.   

These aspects might make the place seem similar to that of north India’s many highly patriarchal and aggressively ‘male’ cities and villages. But this is where things get fascinating. These islanders are one of the warmest, friendliest, and most hospitable communities I have ever come across in the country. People are ready for some conversation and chai at any point in time. Despite gender segregation, there is high level of dignity and respect for each other, something which I find sorely missing in the plains. After I dropped my ‘mainland’ guard, I walked, sat, cycled freely without any fear or looks over the shoulder, even during times when electricity went off pitching the whole island in absolute darkness. The community operates under an invisible cloak of cooperation and collaboration even when ideologies and ideas did not match, for they know that all are dependent on each other in the small space that is their home. One can easily understand why crime rate is almost nil and incidences of domestic violence limited; I did not hear any raised voice or arguments in the month that I was there. With education a priority for all, marriage and child bearing are much delayed with women getting married after the age of 22 or 23 years and men after 25 years, trends that are in stark contrast to those in the mainland.             

It was sublime, the first day of Ramzan as the island slowed down and time reversed and people hurried to the call to prayers. In the days that followed, I would wake up early every day while the island slept and spend a couple of hours walking from the blue sea to the green one, observing life in the tidal pools, lying down on coconut fronds and watching clouds glide across the blue sky, or sitting quietly listening to the sea and the wind.   

Agatti: Photo - Bipasha M


I had to make a hurried exit from the island due to the covid resurgence across the country and the tightening rules there. As the flight made a turn towards the mainland, the island came into full view from above. A tranquil piece of white and green against a vast backdrop of blue appearing as if in a dream, for I couldn’t make out where the ocean ended and the sky began.

Indigenous earth-based traditions regard water as transformative. Living with a beautiful community in the midst of a world of water, I came back a changed person.