The Hollow That Comes Suddenly Sometimes

An essay on the strange inner emptiness that visits us uninvited

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There’s a strange moment that arrives without introduction.

It does not wear black, it does not cry, it does not even breathe heavy.

It just is — this sudden hollow, this mysterious pause, this blankness that drops into the middle of life.

It can come to a man bathing at a village well.

To a woman sitting with her sleeping baby in her lap.

To a student just after finishing an exam.

To a retiree watching a sunset.

To a monk meditating.

To a drunk after his third peg.

To a CEO after a standing ovation.

To a mother after her child finally says, “I love you.”

It comes when you least expect it — and maybe that’s the point.

This is not depression.

This is not sorrow.

This is not even confusion.

This is just… a hollow.

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I. Where It Arrives

1. After victories

A cricket player hits the winning six. Roars. Raises bat. Crowd erupts. And 3 minutes later, while walking back to the dressing room — hollow.

An IAS aspirant cracks the UPSC on 4th attempt. Calls family. Tears. Hugs. Photos. And the next morning — hollow.

2. During silence

A villager walking home after selling vegetables. He has no radio, no phone, no noise. Just sky, earth, trees, and breath. And somewhere near the temple bend — hollow.

A writer after finishing a powerful essay, feeling spent. He drinks water, looks out of the window — hollow.

3. After climax moments

A young woman finally tells her boyfriend: “I love you.” He says it back. Hugs. Plans. Future. And when she’s on the bus alone — hollow.

A man climbs a mountain after months of preparation. He reaches the top. Wind. Silence. Vastness. And instead of joy — hollow.

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II. The Hollow in Daily Life

It’s also hidden in tiny folds of the everyday:

You just finished mopping the floor. The room is clean. You sit down. Nothing to do. Hollow.

You are in the middle of cooking dinner. Suddenly you forget what you were doing. Not confusion. Just stillness. Hollow.

You open the fridge, stare inside, close it. Not hunger. Just... a strange space. Hollow.

You hear a koel call. You stop. Just for a moment, everything is soundless — hollow.

It may last three seconds.

Or three hours.

Sometimes it lingers behind the scenes for three months — never loud, but never fully gone.

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III. What It Is Not

It’s not loneliness — sometimes it arrives when you're surrounded by people.

It’s not boredom — because it’s often accompanied by awareness, not restlessness.

It’s not trauma — no pain, no sharp memory.

It’s not enlightenment either — you don’t feel wise, just quiet and unsure.

So what is it?

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IV. What Ancient Cultures Say

1. Buddhism:

Shunyata — the void nature of reality. The hollow is the taste of life without your labels.

2. Upanishads:

Neti Neti — not this, not that. The hollow shows you what you are not.

3. Zen:

Kū — emptiness as fullness. The hollow is not absence, but space for new insight.

4. Sufism:

The moment when the lover realises even the beloved cannot complete them.

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V. Real-Life Examples (Indian Context)

1. Ravi, the software engineer

Earns 32L per year. Just bought a flat in Bangalore. Late night on the balcony, looking at the lights. Thought he’d feel proud. Instead — hollow.

2. Sharada, the widow

Lost her husband 6 months ago. People praised her strength. She made chai, she attended weddings, she smiled. One evening while folding clothes — hollow.

3. Manoj, the farmer

After a good monsoon, his crops yielded well. He fed his bullocks, counted the sacks. All good. He sat under a neem tree. Stared at the sky. Hollow.

4. Adhya, 14-year-old homeschooler

Painted a beautiful rangoli. Her sister clapped. Parents cheered. She smiled. Then sat alone by the window — hollow.

5. Renuka, the retired teacher

60 years of teaching. Last day, farewell, shawl, flowers. Two weeks later, watering her tulsi plant — hollow.

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HERE ARE SOME MORE EXAMPLES

🛏️ Domestic & Everyday Moments

1. While folding warm clothes from the laundry

You touch the fabric, feel its warmth — and suddenly, something in you feels cold and lost.

2. After a long bath

Your body feels clean but your mind is murky. You look in the mirror and wonder who’s behind the face.

3. While looking at old photos

Everyone’s smiling in the pictures, but your stomach sinks. You miss someone. Or yourself.

4. At 3:00 AM while scrolling your phone

You’ve seen everything. No new notifications. Still scrolling. Then the emptiness creeps in like water under a locked door.

5. When your kid hugs you suddenly

A moment of love — then a wave of panic. “Am I doing enough? Will they even remember me kindly?”

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💼 Work & Career

6. After getting promoted

You walk out of HR with a smile. But the next morning, you feel hollow. “Now what?”

7. After quitting a job you hated

Relief first. But then: “Who am I without this fight?”

8. When you sit at your desk on a Monday morning

Coffee in hand. Spreadsheet open. You pause and ask, “Is this what I was born to do?”

9. In between meetings, alone in the lift

The moment nobody is watching. You sigh, and something inside you sags a little more.

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🧘‍♂️ Spiritual & Ritualistic

10. Right after finishing a full fast or ritual

Your body is light, your mind is empty. But there’s no thunder, no enlightenment. Just … vacuum.

11. While lighting a diya and chanting, like every other day

The chant is perfect. But your heart doesn’t feel anything. A spiritual auto-pilot.

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🥳 Celebratory & Milestone Moments

12. After your wedding reception ends

Guests leave. Lights off. Makeup removed. Suddenly, you're two strangers again — and the silence is loud.

13. When your child gets an award

You clap. You feel proud. But there's a moment after when you realise — you're still incomplete inside.

14. On your birthday, after the calls end

Cake half-eaten. Phone silent. Everyone loves you — and yet, a tightness in your chest.

15. After building your dream house

The walls are painted, the lights perfect. And still, you sit in one room wondering, “Wasn’t this supposed to fix something?”

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👵 Ageing & Relationships

16. After your last child leaves home

You wave goodbye, make tea, and sit alone. The house feels too big. Your life, too small.

17. Watching your aging parent sleep

They’re still breathing. But you suddenly sense their fading — and it hollows your gut.

18. After a breakup you initiated

You know it was right. But your hands feel empty. No one to text goodnight.

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🚶 Moments of Sudden Realisation

19. In the middle of a successful event you organised

Everyone claps. You smile. But you’re already somewhere else — inside a strange fog of “What does any of this mean?”

20. While eating alone at a restaurant

You look around. Everyone’s talking, scrolling, eating. You feel like a ghost watching a world that doesn’t see you.

21. When your long-term goal is suddenly achieved

You passed the exam, lost the weight, paid off the loan. And yet, the feeling of “arrival” never arrives.

22. While feeding your dog or pet

They look up with trust. And you wonder — who do you look up to with that innocence?

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VI. Why It Comes

No one knows fully. But some guesses:

To break identity

You are not your roles. Not your job. Not your pain. Not even your dreams.

To reveal impermanence

Every feeling fades. Every moment passes. Every name becomes history.

To invite reflection

Maybe you need silence. Maybe you're not living fully. Maybe you're too full, and this is your soul clearing space.

To test your addiction to motion

Can you sit still and be nobody?

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VII. How People React

1. The Escapers

Switch on phone. TV. Music. Food. Work. Chores. Conversation. Activity. Anything to avoid the silence.

2. The Interpreters

Try to find reason: “Am I sick? Am I unloved? Do I need therapy? Am I broken?”

3. The Listeners

Just sit. Let it come. Let it go. Like a breeze.

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VIII. What Happens If You Sit With It?

Something beautiful. Over time.

You feel lighter.

You realise you don't need much.

You see how much noise you carry inside.

You begin to let go — opinions, expectations, wounds.

You develop gentle power.

Some say the hollow is the gateway to truth.

It comes to clean. Not to destroy.

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IX. Famous Figures Who Spoke of the Hollow

Ramana Maharshi: Sat in a temple, silent for years. He didn’t run from the hollow. He made it his home.

Vinoba Bhave: Walked village to village in silence. Saw the void not as a threat, but a source of love.

Jiddu Krishnamurti: Spoke of the “vast emptiness of the mind” as the beginning of freedom.

Kannada writer Poornachandra Tejaswi: Through quiet forests and inner forests, his characters often touch this void.

Rainer Maria Rilke: “Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.”

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X. What You Can Do

When the hollow visits:

Do not fear it. It is not the enemy.

Welcome it like a tired friend.

Don’t speak. Don’t analyse.

Just breathe.

Drink water.

Look at a tree.

Light a lamp.

Sweep a floor slowly.

Write without audience.

Cry, if you must.

Walk barefoot.

Listen to silence.

Watch birds.

Cook with full attention.

Let it pass. Or let it stay.

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XI. Epilogue: The Hollow Is Holy

We’re taught to chase — love, status, noise, belonging, praise.

But the hollow?

It arrives with nothing — and shows us everything.

In that pause,

in that gap,

in that nameless space —

maybe, just maybe —

you meet who you were before the world taught you to become someone.

And maybe that’s the beginning of peace.

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The Hollow That Comes Without Warning

A morning dialogue under the neem tree in front of Madhukar's home

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Ravi (softly):

Madhukar…

do you ever feel empty for no reason?

Madhukar (pauses):

Like a hollow space opening up in the middle of a normal moment?

Ravi:

Exactly.

No sadness. No tragedy.

Just a sudden… nothing. Like the world turns transparent for a few minutes.

Madhukar (nodding slowly):

Yes.

It comes without warning.

While sipping tea. After a phone call.

Even after something good happens.

Ravi:

I thought it was a defect in me.

Like I’m broken somehow.

Madhukar:

That hollow is not brokenness, Ravi.

It’s the truth visiting you — when the noise is low enough for it to enter.

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☀️ Scene shifts to early sunlight on the mud courtyard

Ravi:

I feel it most often when I'm alone, just sitting.

Sometimes after I’ve done everything right — paid bills, eaten well, even helped someone.

Madhukar:

Yes. It comes to remind you that you’re not here just to complete tasks.

You’re here to wake up.

Ravi (sighing):

But what is it trying to say?

Madhukar:

Sometimes nothing.

Sometimes:

"Your life is too tight."

"Your identity is choking you."

Or

"Come home to yourself."

Other times — it's just silence, the clean kind.

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🌾 Madhukar walks to the tulsi plant, waters it

Ravi:

Yesterday I was watching my daughter sleep…

and suddenly this wave hit me.

She looked so peaceful.

But inside me, a hollow opened.

Not fear. Not pride. Just a vacuum.

Madhukar:

That’s when it loves to visit —

when you glimpse something pure.

Because the soul wants to live there,

but the ego can’t stay there long.

Ravi:

I tried to distract myself.

Switched on the phone. Read something.

But the hollow stayed like a fog.

Madhukar:

It will follow you if you avoid it.

But it will bless you if you sit with it.

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🍂 They sit quietly. A leaf falls between them.

Ravi:

What do you do when it comes?

Madhukar:

I close my eyes.

Let it expand.

I don’t fight it.

I let it show me what I’m holding onto too tightly.

Sometimes it shows me how fake I’ve become.

Ravi (quietly):

Sometimes I feel it when everything is going well.

After festivals. After achievements.

When the world is clapping, but I am somewhere else.

Madhukar:

Yes.

It often comes when you meet your own success

and feel how hollow it is without soul.

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🔥 The tea boils. Madhukar pours two cups.

Ravi:

Do you think this hollow is a wound?

Madhukar:

No, Ravi.

It is a door.

But most run away from it.

Because to walk through it, you have to leave behind your name, role, noise, even hope.

That’s why most scroll phones, gossip, or get busy again.

The hollow is unbearable to the false self.

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🪨 A goat walks by with a bell. They sip tea.

Ravi:

Have others spoken about it?

Madhukar:

Yes.

In different ways:

Lao Tzu said: "Muddy water becomes clear only if left undisturbed."

Ramana Maharshi sat with it till it dissolved everything.

Jiddu Krishnamurti said it’s the moment when the mind stops measuring.

Even in Kannada, Tejaswi wrote about a strange stillness that takes over in forests.

And in normal people’s lives —

a housewife looking at the clothesline,

a farmer staring at the sunset,

a child waking up from a dream —

it comes.

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🛏️ Flashback moment

Ravi:

Once, after my mother passed,

I felt deep pain…

but three months later,

I was making tea,

and suddenly —

a hollow opened again.

This time not painful. Just… too silent.

It stayed for hours.

I couldn’t speak.

Madhukar (gently):

Maybe it was her silence.

Maybe it was your soul realizing something beyond death.

Maybe it was just life, unmasked.

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🌕 Dusk is near. The neem tree’s shadow shifts.

Ravi:

So what now?

Next time it comes,

should I welcome it?

Madhukar:

No expectations.

Just presence.

Sit. Feel.

Let it cleanse you.

And maybe —

you’ll start living differently afterwards.

Ravi:

More slowly?

Madhukar:

More truly.

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🔚 Epilogue

That night, Ravi sat outside his house under the stars.

No phone.

No thoughts.

Just the hollow.

And for the first time,

it didn’t scare him.

It felt like home.

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THE HOLLOW THAT COMES SUDDENLY SOMETIMES

A long slow-burn poem with soul, silence, and soaked socks

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the hollow comes,

not like a storm,

not like a lover,

not like your boss yelling at 9:16 AM.

it comes

like a blank room after a party

like a child’s drawing on a wall you forgot to paint

like the silence after the last line of a movie that knew you

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it came to me once

at the chai stall.

good tea.

sun on my face.

nothing wrong with the world.

and still—something sank inside.

the kind of sinking

that has no splash,

no sound.

only air becoming heavier

than your breath.

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I’ve seen it

come to mothers after weddings

to men who win medals

to priests after sermons

to drunkards in the middle of a laugh.

and to me—

while peeling boiled potatoes.

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nobody warns you

about the hollow.

not your school,

not your books,

not your therapist

who keeps saying "let’s go deeper"—

but this is the bottom, sweetheart.

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I’ve seen it swallow the ambitious.

big city men with busy thumbs,

who schedule everything,

except this sudden stillness

that swells like wet cotton in the chest.

they call it burn-out.

they call it existential.

I call it the morning truth

that most folks broom under

the first notification of the day.

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I’ve seen women pause mid prayer.

lip moving, but heart—gone.

face glowing with ghee lamp light,

but eyes not knowing where God went.

this is it.

this is the hollow

sitting on their tongue

like ash after camphor.

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kids feel it too,

especially the weird ones

who stare at ceilings

or talk to plants

or ask, “Why do people wear shoes even inside homes?”

you hush them.

call it “overthinking.”

no.

they felt the hollow early.

and you didn’t know what to say.

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I met a man

who builds temples from scrap.

he told me,

> “sometimes when I place the last stone,

something inside me just leaves the room.

like the joy was in building, not having.”

yes, brother.

you were close to the real thing.

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the hollow is not sadness.

not boredom.

not depression.

those are branded pain.

this is raw.

this is the hole in the label itself.

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it happens when

you finish your book

win your case

cut your birthday cake

take your medicines

or turn off the fan.

—

I knew a lady in Mysore

who spent 11 years

caring for her bedridden husband.

he died at 76.

she wept three days, then stopped.

then one Tuesday morning,

at 6:04 AM

while folding his last lungi,

she sat down and whispered:

> “Now what?”

That’s the hollow.

It comes after purpose ends.

Or after you discover you never had one.

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poets bathe in it.

monks marry it.

addicts flee it.

kids drown in it.

lovers pass it between kisses.

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I used to hate it.

now I serve it tea.

I let it sit with me

in silence,

as we both watch

a lizard blink

or dust float

in a single beam of 4 PM sunlight.

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one day

it came while I was walking.

no phone.

no plan.

just trees.

it didn’t hurt this time.

it didn’t hollow me.

it held me.

and I felt something

I never knew I missed.

myself,

without a name,

without a need,

just air inside bones

and sky behind my thoughts.

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the hollow is not enemy.

it’s the real you

taking off your borrowed clothes.

if you sit long enough,

you’ll hear it whisper:

> “Shhh. Don’t fill me.

Let me echo.

I’m your room of becoming.”

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and some day,

in the middle of traffic,

or while brushing your child’s hair,

or standing alone at the market —

you’ll suddenly feel it again.

that aching pause

that honest space

that strange taste

of your soul when it is naked.

you’ll look around—

everyone pretending

nothing just happened.

but you know.

you know.

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THE HOLLOW CAME.

and you didn’t run.

you lived.

just for a minute.

you really, truly

lived.

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