Sri Vijaya Puram, 20 May: When an average resident of the Andaman and Nicobar Islands attempts to book a flight to the Indian mainland, the prices they encounter can seem like a cruel joke. On 17 May, round-trip airfares between Sri Vijaya Puram and metro cities like Chennai, Kolkata, Delhi, or Bangalore ranged from ₹12,000 to ₹20,000. The shortest route, Kolkata, offered the lowest fares, but even these rarely dipped below ₹10,000. Delhi flights regularly breached the ₹20,000 mark. For a population that depends on air travel not for leisure, but for education, healthcare, and livelihood, these fares are punitive.
For most islanders, the sky is the only viable way out. The alternative, a government-run passenger ship, is infrequent, often booked out, and takes over three days. A ship’s bunk may cost a modest ₹1,300, but securing a ticket when needed is next to impossible. In emergencies or even for regular access to higher education or employment, there is simply no practical option other than flying.
The aviation industry and government routinely point to route feasibility, high aviation turbine fuel (ATF) costs, and operational overheads to explain these high prices. Airlines also point to sustained demand as a factor. “The airfares are dependent on dynamic pricing and as long as demand sustains, the price will remain at similar points,” said an IndiGo spokesperson, responding to queries about high fares on the island routes to the The Wave Andaman.
But such justifications do little for those with no choice but to pay. In effect, remoteness has become not a justification for support, but an excuse for abandonment. The central question remains unanswered: why is geographical isolation being monetised at the cost of the people it affects most?
Booking platforms on 17 May showed a return ticket from Chennai to Sri Vijaya Puram ranged from ₹12,000 to ₹16,000. Delhi’s fares soared past ₹20,000. Even with advance booking, rates rarely fell below ₹10,000, defying the common belief that planning ahead ensures cheaper fares. With most island families earning modest incomes and few enjoying the benefits of government employment, such prices are financially ruinous.
This runs counter to the stated goals of the government’s flagship UDAN (Ude Desh ka Aam Naagrik) Regional Connectivity Scheme, which was launched to improve air access to underserved areas. While the scheme does earmark fare caps for sectors such as the Andaman Islands, actual implementation is patchy. Caps often apply to only a limited number of subsidised seats, which are booked almost immediately. The rest of the tickets are left to the vagaries of dynamic pricing.
The broader implications are stark. Island students routinely forgo admission to mainland universities due to unaffordable travel costs. Medical patients delay or cancel treatments. Government employees must spend substantial portions of their salaries to travel to attend to official matters. Families are kept apart by airfare, not distance. The economic divide becomes a physical one, rendering mobility a privilege, not a right.
Ironically, the silence from policymakers has been the loudest response. Officials and elected representatives often travel on Leave Travel Concession (LTC) or reimbursable tickets. But for ordinary citizens, particularly those not in government service, there are no such cushions. Even those officials who are today insulated by perks will find their own children priced out of travel as public-sector hiring shrinks.
Some observers believe that the reluctance to enforce stricter fare controls or increase subsidised seats is rooted in the absence of political pressure. “There’s no electoral cost to ignoring the islands,” said a former civil servant familiar with the region’s administrative priorities. “They don’t protest, and they don’t influence national headlines.”
But the cost of this misgovernance is paid in delayed medical care, deferred education, lost family moments, and shattered dreams. This is not just about airfares, it is about inclusion, dignity, and the role of the state in ensuring mobility for all citizens, not just the well-connected.
As the monsoon nears and sea routes become even more treacherous, the sky remains the only gateway to the mainland. Unless there is a concerted push by the aviation ministry and civil aviation regulators to treat air access to the Andaman and Nicobar Islands as a public good, and not a profit centre, residents will continue to suffer the twin injustice of distance and indifference.
Geography should not be a penalty. But in the absence of reforms, it remains exactly that: a burden shouldered quietly, painfully, and alone.
