Boulders and blooms
- chet kamat
- Feb 25
- 3 min read
Updated: Apr 15
Last week, a neighbour from our community asked me for garden/landscape recommendations - this query and my subsequent response after some reflection is what this post is about.
Of course, I had a great canvas to start from - The site itself, with its rugged boulders, uneven terrain, and a regal laurel fig tree growing atop a rock, felt like an open invitation to create a landscape that worked with nature, not against it.
A garden is personal, and its essence comes through only when shaped by the one who will live with it. While horticultural specialists helped with execution, every detail—from plant placement to seating spots—was curated to create a space that feels natural, yet deliberate.
Being a photographer, I also saw the garden through a different lens. Every turn, every corner, every deck had to frame a moment. The idea was to create a space that was not just beautiful to experience but visually compelling from multiple angles.
The site itself dictated the design. Boulders, slopes, and natural contours shaped the way pathways meander, where trees were planted, and where quiet nooks emerged. Rather than forcing a structured layout,we let the land guide us, ensuring the garden feels like an organic extension of the terrain.
We chose 175 species of trees, shrubs, and vines, selecting them for their flowers, foliage, and textures to ensure year-round visual appeal.
The planting was carefully planned so that no tree or shrub blocked the shade of another or created visual clutter. The result? A space that feels natural, but never overgrown—where highlights emerge effortlessly rather than compete for attention.
Sukoon is designed so that the garden isn’t separate from the home—it flows into it. Courtyards blend into living spaces, terraces bring greenery up to the first floor, and large windows turn the landscape into framed art. The house isn’t just surrounded by nature—it’s a part of it.
With its rocky terrain and seasonal climate, water management was essential. A large underground tank beneath the lawns collects and stores rainwater, providing irrigation during the driest months. This system is particularly crucial in summer, when the boulders absorb and radiate heat, increasing evaporation and plant stress.
I wanted the garden to be a place where birds, butterflies, and bees thrive. But I also had to be mindful of the wild macaques that visit the area. That meant carefully choosing trees that provide shade and shelter without attracting the wrong kind of attention. The balance had to be right—full of life, but not overrun.
To keep the garden in harmony with its surroundings, we used locally sourced stone, reclaimed wood, leftover rebar, and teak-root furniture. The mix of rough rock, smooth leaves, and soft foliage creates a space that’s as much about texture as it is about colour.
One of the more personal touches is something you won’t notice immediately—Hampi-style bas-relief carvings tucked into the boulders. The first one is already in place, and more will follow over time. These aren’t meant to stand out but to be discovered, slowly, as one moves through the space. Finding the right sculptors has been a challenge, but I see this as an evolving part of the garden—one that adds layers of history and meaning.
Flowing water brings movement and sound into the landscape—something I’ve always appreciated in gardens I’ve visited. The gentle trickle of a water body adds another sensory layer, making the space feel even more alive.
As the day fades, lighting transforms the experience. I’ve used path lighters, wall lights, and carefully placed garden lights to ensure the space is inviting but never overlit. The goal was to create a setting where the garden glows softly, highlighting key elements without overpowering the natural beauty of the night.
With the summer sun and warmth radiating from the boulders, shade becomes essential. Seating areas are tucked under trees, nestled against rocks, and built into the terrain. The garden is also designed to be wheelchair-friendly, despite the undulating land—a detail I paid close attention to during execution.
More than just a collection of plants and stones, this garden is a space to pause, to listen, to notice. It is designed to grow, shift, and evolve—never finished, always becoming.
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