A distant view of Bitra, Lakshadweep’s smallest inhabited island, appearing as a slender strip on the horizon. This striking contrast between tiny land mass and the vast sea is typical of Lakshadweep’s coral atolls.
Looking at Lakshadweep on a map, you might think all the islands are the same. Just tiny dots of land scattered across the Arabian Sea. But spend time hopping between all ten of the inhabited ones, and you will quickly discover each has its own personality, quirks, and stories to tell.
Start with Andrott. It’s the biggest and most crowded island, sitting closest to Kerala’s coast. Unlike all other Lakshadweep islands that run north to south, Andrott stretches east to west. It’s also the only one without a lagoon, just open sea all around. The island’s Juma Masjid was the first mosque built in Lakshadweep, back when Arab traders brought Islam to these shores. Today, Andrott’s narrow streets bustle with more people and energy than any other island in the chain.
The historic Pambupalli mosque in Amini island, where the mosque’s name (‘Pambu’ meaning snake) comes from the legendary feast where snake venom was used to poison and eliminate the colonizing Portuguese garrison in 1549.
Amini tells a different story. Once the power centre for the northern islands, it handled all the money and legal matters. Today it’s known for its incredible musical tradition – the folk songs sung here capture centuries of island history, from battles with Portuguese ships to everyday life on the coral shores. Walk around Amini and you will find fascinating pieces of history, like the plaque at Pambu Palli mosque that honours local heroes like Kazi Aboobaker who fought the Portuguese in 1549, or the school named after Muthukoya, the first soldier from Lakshadweep to die fighting for India.
Then there’s Kadmat, stretching long and thin across the sea with one of the archipelago’s most beautiful lagoons. The island holds ancient secrets. In 1948, workers digging foundations found Roman coins from nearly 2,000 years ago, proof that these remote islands were part of ancient trade routes. While other islands hauled in fish, Kadmat was famous for providing building materials – limestone blocks cut from its shores helped build homes across Lakshadweep. Now it’s better known for its tourist resort, where visitors come to snorkel in its crystal-clear lagoon.
Island jetties extend like lifelines into the Arabian Sea. These concrete bridges to the mainland are crucial infrastructure in every inhabited island, facilitating everything from passenger movement to goods transport, especially during the rough monsoon months when ships must anchor further out.
Bitra might be tiny, but it guards the biggest lagoon in Lakshadweep. Its story only really began in 1945, when a brave woman from Chetlat moved there with her child, becoming the island’s first permanent residents. Now it’s a vital fishing hub, though the population remains small. Fishermen from across Lakshadweep make seasonal camps here, drawn by the rich waters. The island’s shrine to Malik Mulla, an Arab saint, draws pilgrims from other islands, making this smallest of communities an important spiritual centre.
A resort at Bangaram, with its traditional thatched huts and floating jetty, represents Lakshadweep’s controlled tourism model. As one of the few islands open to international tourists, Bangaram showcases how the archipelago balances tourism development with environmental preservation.
Up north, Chetlat has always stood apart. Back in 1924, British official RH Ellis was amazed by how the islanders used every resource available. From fallen coconuts to dried leaves, nothing went to waste. That resourceful spirit lives on. The island even has an unusual landmark: the tomb of a British carpenter named Primrose from 1863, though nobody quite remembers how he ended up being buried so far from home.
Kiltan might be the most culturally vibrant of all the islands. Its lighthouse, built in 1937, was the second in Lakshadweep and still guides ships along the busy route to the Gulf. But what really makes Kiltan special is its people – the island has produced some of Lakshadweep’s finest writers and its best football players. Visit during festival season and you might catch performances of traditional games like uppu kali or watch the hypnotic movements of kolkali and paricha kali dancers.
Kalpeni’s unique geography includes several satellite islets – Cheriyam, Tilakkam, and Pitti – visible across its expansive lagoon. The 1847 storm that created these dramatic coral debris formations also split off Cheriyam from the main island, giving Kalpeni its distinctive multi-islet character that sets it apart from other Lakshadweep islands.
Kalpeni is probably Lakshadweep’s most photogenic island, surrounded by smaller islets like satellites. Its eastern shore is dramatic, huge banks of coral debris thrown up by a massive storm in 1847 that was so powerful it split one islet in two. Nowadays, Kalpeni is known as the brain hub of Lakshadweep: its young people are more likely to be found in universities or government offices than on fishing boats.
The Agatti airport, established in 1988, transformed access to Lakshadweep. As the archipelago’s only airstrip, this gateway handles daily flights from Cochin, making the once-remote islands accessible year-round.
Agatti has transformed itself since getting an airport in 1988. Once known just for its skilled fishermen, it’s now Lakshadweep’s second capital and the gateway for most visitors. Hidden at its southern tip is a fascinating piece of history, a cave called ‘Kunhi Bi Para’ where, centuries ago, a woman from the noble Valiya Illam family hid from assassins sent by the powerful Arakkal rulers of the Malabar Coast, although there is also an alternate version which says it was to escape the British colonizers. Agatti serves as the gateway to Bangaram, Lakshadweep’s sole tourism-devoted island known for its modern resorts in a distant, peaceful setting.
The Sree Mahadeva temple in Kavaratti, one of the only two Hindu temples in Lakshadweep.
Kavaratti wears its role as capital comfortably. It’s the most modern island, pushing to become a “smart city,” but hasn’t lost its soul in the process. You can still find beautiful old mosques like the Ujra, famous for its wooden carvings, right next to modern government buildings. It’s also the only island apart from Minicoy with a Hindu temple to cater to government staff from the mainland, marking it as Lakshadweep’s most diverse community.
Built in 1885 during British colonial rule, the 46-meter Minicoy Lighthouse stands as Lakshadweep’s oldest lighthouse and continues to be an iconic historical monument. (Source: Mannadiar Gazetteer 1977)
Finally, there’s Minicoy, sitting all alone in the south, closer to Maldives than to its sister islands. Everything here is different: the language (Mahl, and even Hindi, not Malayalam), the way villages are organized (into ten distinct units, each with its own headwoman), even the style of fishing boats. Its lighthouse, built in 1885, is more than just a navigation aid. It’s a symbol of how Minicoy has always looked outward, connecting Lakshadweep to the wider world.
A mosaic image of all ten inhabited islands of Lakshadweep along with Bangaram, showing their distinctive shapes, sizes and key attractions for tourists.
Yet for all their differences, these islands share an invisible bond. The people, whether in tiny Bitra or bustling Kavaratti, welcome visitors with the same warmth. The rhythms of life – shaped by monsoons, fishing seasons, and religious festivals – beat in sync across the archipelago. Traditional foods, especially the many ways of cooking tuna, create a shared taste of home. Most importantly, all islands face the same challenges as they try to preserve their unique way of life while adapting to a rapidly changing world.
This mix of unique identity and shared destiny makes Lakshadweep special. Each island adds its own flavour to the mix while remaining part of something bigger. As these islands face new challenges from rising seas and changing times, their differences might actually help them survive. Each island’s unique ways of adapting could help their neighbours cope, creating a network of island communities helping each other navigate an uncertain future.