BANGARAM ISLAND, India—Many of the world's upscale resorts try to create the sensation of being in the middle of nowhere. The one on Bangaram Island, off southern India, really is. It is the only spot in the Lakshadweep Islands - a group of 27 off the southwest coast of the Indian state of Kerala - where tourists can stay overnight. That's because the Bangaram Island Resort, which holds just 60 guests at a time, is the only hotel there.

Bangaram is totally private and pristine. One reason is its location. Because it's 185 miles out in the Arabian Sea and almost completely surrounded by coral reefs, getting there takes some effort: a 1½-hour flight on an 18-seat prop plane operated by Indian Airlines from the port city of Cochin to the island of Agatti, followed by another 1½-hour ride by motor launch. Another is that the Indian government restricts access in an effort to protect underwater life from the intrusions of modern civilization. Visitors must get a permit and must guarantee their reservation at the resort before they leave the mainland.

I spent four blissful days at the Bangaram resort shortly before Christmas with my husband, Ken, and our 3-year-old son, Jack. As first-time visitors to India, we also found it a marvelous retreat from the dust and crowds we encountered touring elsewhere in the country. We included Bangaram Island in our vacation to southern India because we were looking for a place where Ken could dive and Jack and I could enjoy the beach.

From our approach across the clear turquoise water, Bangaram, only 128 acres and 4½ miles in circumference, appeared in the distance as a mass of coconut palms. The tide was high when we arrived, and the floating gangplank couldn't bridge the gap between boat and beach. We removed our shoes and socks to wade ashore and didn't put them on again for four days.

Cherry Cherrian, the resort's general manager, was waiting for us on the beach along with members of the hotel's staff, who offered each of us a young coconut with a straw. The coconut water, well known in these parts as a remedy for stomach ailments, quenched our thirst after the journey. Guests who had preceded us were sitting at the bar in bathing suits or heading to the open-air dining hut for lunch as Cherry gave us a five-minute orientation.

Accommodations were "basic," Cherry reminded us. There were no newspapers, telephones or televisions at the resort. And although it offered a variety of water sports - scuba diving, snorkeling and kayaking - the most popular activity was lounging, he said.

After our long trip, that was fine with me. I spent two hours the first afternoon sleeping in a hammock strung between two trees outside our one-room hut. I awoke at one point to a sound that I thought was rain. But it turned out to be the wind rustling the fronds of the coconut palms above my head.

The resort is operated by the Casino Group of Hotels, an upscale Indian chain, which has taken great pains to preserve the character of the island. There are no manicured paths - all the vegetation, from mangrove trees to wild orchids, is native.

Our hut, under a shady coconut tree and 99 steps from the beach, was minimalist but ample. It was built of concrete with a thatched roof and had windows covered with screens and curtains. A front porch with rattan chairs faced the sea. The room, which measured about 25 by 15 feet, had tile floors and was sparely furnished with rattan night tables, armchairs and a platform bed with a comfortable foam mattress. There was no closet, just hooks to hang our clothes, and that was all we needed. The hut had a refrigerator and a private Western-style bathroom with shower, but there was no hot water.

Wall fixtures gave us enough light for reading, and an electric ceiling fan kept us cool at night, when the temperature outside hovered at 75 degrees. Although gentle breezes throughout the day and cross ventilation in the hut kept insects at bay, the hotel supplied an electric mosquito coil that we used at night to deter no-see-ums. (The electricity came from the hotel's generator.)

Unless we were napping, we spent our days outdoors. Jack and I played in the fine coral sand and splashed in the calm, clear water of the secluded lagoon for much of the time, while Ken, an expert diver, went out each morning on the hotel's dive boat with about 10 other guests.

With 75-degree water and no thermoclines (colder layers of water beneath the surface), Ken didn't have to wear a wetsuit, making him feel like an underwater creature himself, he said. He saw lumbering sea turtles swim by, apparently oblivious to the divers. Solitary white-tipped reef sharks and schools of barracuda cruised for their next meal. And in shallower parts of the reef, delicate but highly poisonous lionfish folded their black-and-white-striped mane-like fins into the coral crevices, while clown fish hid in the anemones.

Since there has been little traffic here from divers or fishermen, the reef fish tend to grow relatively large. But some experienced divers I talked to were disappointed that much of the hard coral was dead because of the effects of El Niño, which several years ago reportedly raised the water temperature by 8 to 10 degrees. Fortunately, the soft coral was thriving, in shades of lavender, peach and mustard, and with the abundant fish life, the underwater world offered enough attractions. Depending on the tides, underwater visibility ranged from 40 to 60 feet outside the lagoon.

Bangaram is a comfortable place for beginning divers to learn the sport. Anees Adenwala, the dive master, diplomatically balanced the needs of experts and neophytes on open-water dives, Ken reported. Experienced divers could pair off with buddies and a guide while Anees accompanied those newer to the sport. High-quality equipment rentals for both divers and snorkelers made it unnecessary to bring our own. Although snorkelers could accompany the dive boat, I preferred the freedom of being able to put on a mask and fins and snorkel around an underwater ledge that dropped suddenly into a coral reef a few yards from the shore. Tropical fish fluttered around me: orange squirrel fish, iridescent green and blue parrotfish, black-and-yellow triggerfish, angel fish, Moorish idol and black-and-white snapper.

Except during mealtime and on the dive boat, we saw very little of the other guests, who during our stay hailed mostly from India, Finland and England. Although staff and guests were mindful of our privacy, the resort had an informal, intimate feeling. Most people went barefoot, no one wore designer outfits and everyone addressed one another by first name. Most of the visitors were couples. And although the staff was very attentive to the needs of our preschooler, particularly at meals, someone thoughtfully had assigned us a room at the outer edge of the property, where we would not disturb others.

Jack, accustomed to all the constraints that come with life in New York City, where we live, found his own kind of heaven on Bangaram Island. For the first time he could run as he pleased, as long as he was within earshot or in our line of sight. He found endless amusement in the coconut trees, picking up the tiny nuts, roughly the size of acorns, that dropped prematurely. And after seeing a much larger coconut fall just yards from him, he took great pride in repeating my explanation about why it had happened: "Gravity pulls everything down."

A large dried-out coconut frond that he found on the beach inspired hours of creative play. Jack used it to drill holes in the sand, took it into the water and pretended it was a fish, and dragged it the quarter-mile distance from the dining hut to our room, creating "train tracks" in the sand.

To islanders these fronds are an important source of fuel. All the cooking at Bangaram is done on wood fires, which made the sumptuous lunch and dinner buffets there all the more impressive. As Indian-food enthusiasts, we found the meals bore little resemblance to the mostly northern-style Indian cuisine we had eaten in the United States. Many of the offerings at Bangaram were vegetarian, including one lentil-based, one tomato-based and one mixed vegetable curry at nearly every meal. The chef was especially inventive with fish, preparing spicy fish fingers and sautéed squid with tamarind and dried coconut flakes. The house specialty was Kerala fish curry, smoky with a dried apple-like fruit called kokum, spicy with chili, turmeric and coriander powders, and creamy with fresh coconut milk made from the surrounding trees.

Except for fish and the coconuts, which are local - the resort buys the nuts from the handful of island inhabitants who technically own the trees - all the food must travel from mainland India to the resort's table. A ship that services all the Lakshadweep Islands brings fresh produce four times a month. In between, the resort relies on whatever can be stored in its deep freezer.

For people who don't like spicy food, there was always something else to eat - plain poached fish, sautéed potatoes, white rice and cucumber. For those with a more adventurous palate, Bangaram was a gourmet's holiday.

The day we left, the chef packed us a box lunch of grilled chicken, biscuits and fruit to eat on the boat that would take us back to Agatti. Just as we exited the coral lagoon, we passed the dive boat full of guests, including some now familiar faces, returning to Bangaram for lunch. As we exchanged friendly waves, I felt a twinge of envy for everything that awaited them.

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