Welcome to TeaTimeTreats: Rhymes, Verses, Stories, and Quips

 HE IS

by Shaheen P. Parshad

 

I was born in a vapor high above the city, a single droplet forming in a restless cloud. I rode the wind over rooftops, riverbanks, and neon signs until a sudden gust nudged me loose. I fell, spiralling past a billboard that flickered “Live. Laugh. Love.” While my siblings weren’t as lucky, I somehow slipped through an open window and clung to the glass of a commuter bus pulling away from the curb.

 

Inside, I watch a young woman clutch a coffee mug, her eyes scanning the news feed. She’s rehearsing a job interview that could change her family’s future, but a knot of anxiety tightens her throat. Her mother lies in a hospital bed, tubes and monitors beeping, needing an expensive surgery that the family can’t afford. She whispers a quick prayer, then sighs, “If God exists, why does this feel so impossible?” I feel the tremor of her doubt and wonder if my tiny existence can offer any answer.

 

A few seats away, an elderly man chuckles as his tiny terrier presses its nose to the pane, tail thumping the seat. He’s retired, his days once filled with the rhythm of a factory floor that’s now silent. He misses the camaraderie, the purpose that gave his mornings meaning. He mutters, “I once heard God in the clatter of machines; now it’s only the traffic that’s my lot.” His loneliness ripples through the glass, and I question whether a divine presence can fill the empty spaces left by years of work.

 

The bus rolls past a street vendor arranging bright oranges on a cart. He’s shouting, “Fresh fruit! Sweet as sunrise!” but his smile is strained. He’s been denied a loan to expand his stall, and the rain threatens to spoil his produce. He sighs, “Why does God allow a little water to ruin everything?” The scent of citrus mixes with exhaust, and I feel the weight of his desperation, making me doubt the fairness of a world where a simple drop can be both blessing and curse.

 

A pigeon perched on a lamppost coos in reply, oblivious to human worries. Yet even the bird has its own struggle—its feathers ruffled by the wind, its search for crumbs a daily battle. I watch it flutter away, wondering if any creature, no matter how small, escapes the silent questions that haunt us.

 

At a red light, I catch a glimpse of a mother on the sidewalk, kneeling to help her toddler chase a wayward soccer ball. The child’s laughter rings clear, but the mother’s eyes are clouded with fatigue. She’s juggling two jobs, fearing she’ll never spend enough time with her son. She whispers, “Thank you, God, for this moment,” yet a flicker of doubt crosses her face—how long can gratitude survive when exhaustion is constant? I feel her conflict, and my own purpose wiggles in the rain‑slick glass.

 

A jolt sends me sliding onto the side window, where a teenager with a skateboard hums a quiet hymn. Having been bullied at school, his confidence has cracked like the pavement outside. He looks up, eyes meeting my tiny bead, and smiles, as if sharing a secret. “Maybe something is watching,” he says, half‑joking, half‑hopeful. His uncertainty mirrors my own—am I just a drop, or part of something larger?

 

The bus stops beneath a towering church; the bell tolls, vibrating through the metal frame. Passengers file out, some bowing their heads, others hurrying to their cars. A stray cat slips between the wheels, pausing to stare at me before vanishing into a rain‑slick alley. The cat’s amber eyes hold a quiet resilience, yet it too is a creature of survival, navigating a world that offers no guarantees.

 

Since it has been raining incessantly since morning, I managed to stay on the window of the bus. In the evening, the bus slowed at a stop, and there she was again—the woman with the coffee mug. Her eyes were brimming with tears, this time of joy, as, despite all odds, she had cracked the difficult interview and secured a job. It felt like a revelation, a sudden answer to the prayer that had trembled on her lips just hours before.

 

Seeing her triumph, I realized that while the troubles of the other commuters and the animals I had observed were real, they were not as crushing as hers. I hoped they, too, would find God by their side, even in the smallest moments.

 

I began with a simple fall from a cloud, but I rise higher as I carry the truth that God exists—not in thunderous miracles, but in the quiet moments that stitch humanity, animal, and nature into one living story.

 

HE exists! HE is everywhere!

 

 

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