Traversing the narrow roads of Kunnukara in North Paravoor, one arrives at Prakrithikshethra, tucked away in a quiet cul-de-sac. Here, Sunil Kumar and his wife Sajna Kaimal have created a haven for art nestled within nature’s vastness. As I stepped into the shaded courtyard, flanked by trees, the couple were tending to a newly planted sapling.
Basking under the warm glow of the sun was a paraphernalia of visuals — earthy garden chairs framed by hanging mudpots, vines winding through sculpted figures, adorning them, and much more than the mind could absorb in a glance.
Inside, I was greeted by a riot of colour that filled every nook of the house. Sunil gave me a brisk tour of the home, which was more of an art gallery, before settling into an armchair, ready to talk. With his sage-like appearance and artistic temperament, one might not expect his easy humour.
The turning point, he says, came during a trip to the Himalayas. “It wasn’t spirituality that drew me there. I was a rebellious young man, rejecting religious dogma.”
But the encounter with raw, untouched nature was both jarring and revelatory. “We explored nature’s abundance, not esoteric mysteries.” That, he says, was his epiphany: the realisation that divinity resides in nature, inviting us to partake in it.
Contrary to popular expectations, he didn’t return to renounce the world. He took up a job at a bank and soon married Sajna.
A former student of Shantiniketan, Sajna believed deeply in coexisting with nature. Together, they laid the foundation for what would become Prakrithikshethra.
Every nook of the house exudes artistic elegance, and even the ceilings, too, have been etched with paintings. Amid a wide array of works, what stands as the only constant is the overwhelming presence of nature. In seemingly banal mythological sketches, too, there is a whiff of nature.
Beyond conventional painting and sculpture, Sunil creates theyyam and kathakali installations from plastic bottles, twigs, and other discarded materials. “Upcycling is the best form of waste management,” he says. Community involvement, especially that of children, has been key to many of these works, Sunil adds.
He regularly hosts workshops for the local community. He doesn’t preach sustainability with speeches. “Art is my way of communicating with people.” He recalls painting a Warli mural on the compound wall.
“As I worked, kids asked to join in. That painting reflects the 2018 Kerala floods — its grief, resilience, and humanity.” He recounts educating the kids about the ramifications of exploiting nature as they filled colours into his sketches.
Though aware of commercial possibilities, Sunil avoids the art market. “It’s not that money isn’t important, I sell to those genuinely interested in art,” he clarifies. But he’s firm about not selling to those with mercenary motives.
Prakrithikshethra isn’t open to the public, but curious passersby are welcome for a brief visit. His workshops are mostly for children. “Their innocence is what the world needs. They understand nature’s nuances better than most adults.”
The three-acre property is also home to bulbuls, parakeets, crow pheasants, and countless other birds that Sunil can’t always name. “They come because of the trees,” he smiles. And those trees — Rudraksha (Elaeocarpus ganitrus), pig vines, and a host of medicinal herbs — form a lush, living garland around the house.
Despite all he has created, Sunil says he’s only realised 20 per cent of his vision. Quoting Robert Frost, he smiles: “I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.”