Category: human interest

  • Hiroshima After Atom Bomb Rare Photo.Eye Witness Account.

    Rare Photo of Hiroshima after the Dropping of Atom Bomb by the US.
    Hiroshima after The US dropped the Atom Bomb. 70% Building Destroyed.

    One of the greatest tragedies of Humanity is the dropping of the Atom bombLittle Boy‘ on Hiroshima by The US.

    The above is a rare photograph taken immediately after the incident.

    Click the image for a larger one.

    70% of the Buildings were destroyed and the Human loss of Life is incalculable.

    Read an eye witness account.

    ‘August 6, 1945 – the sun rose into a clear blue sky over the city of Hiroshima, Japan promising a warm and pleasant day. Nothing in the day’s dawning indicated that this day would be any different from its predecessors. But this day would be different, very different. This day would change the

    The bomb’s mushroom cloud
    rises 20,000 feet above the
    city soon after the blast.

    world. On this day a single bomb dropped by a single airplane destroyed the city, leading to the end of World War II and introducing mankind to the Atomic Age.

    Dr. Michihiko Hachiya lived through that day and kept a diary of his experience. He served as Director of the Hiroshima Communications Hospital and lived near the hospital approximately a mile from the explosion’s epicenter. His diary was published in English in 1955

    Suddenly, a strong flash of light…

    “The hour was early; the morning still, warm, and beautiful. Shimmering leaves, reflecting sunlight from a cloudless sky, made a pleasant contrast with shadows in my garden as I gazed absently through wide-flung doors opening to the south.

    Clad in drawers and undershirt, I was sprawled on the living room floor exhausted because I had just spent a sleepless night on duty as an air warden in my hospital.

    Suddenly, a strong flash of light startled me – and then another. So well does one recall little things that I remember vividly how a stone lantern in the garden became brilliantly lit and I debated whether this light was caused by a magnesium flare or sparks from a passing trolley.

    Garden shadows disappeared. The view where a moment before had been so bright and sunny was now dark and hazy. Through swirling dust I could barely discern a wooden column that had supported one comer of my house. It was leaning crazily and the roof sagged dangerously.

    What had happened?

    All over the right side of my body I was cut and bleeding. A large splinter was protruding from a mangled wound in my thigh, and something warm trickled into my mouth. My check was torn, I discovered as I felt it gingerly, with the lower lip laid wide open. Embedded in my neck was a sizable fragment of glass which I matter-of-factly dislodged, and with the detachment of one stunned and shocked I studied it and my blood-stained hand.

    Where was my wife?

    Suddenly thoroughly alarmed, I began to yell for her: ‘Yaeko-san! Yaeko-san! Where are you?’ Blood began to spurt. Had my carotid artery been cut? Would I bleed to death? Frightened and irrational, I called out again ‘It’s a five-hundred-ton bomb! Yaeko-san, where are you? A five- hundred-ton bomb has fallen!’

    Yaeko-san, pale and frightened, her clothes torn and blood stained, emerged from the ruins of our house holding her elbow. Seeing her, I was reassured. My own panic assuaged, I tried to reassure her.

    ‘We’ll be all right,’ I exclaimed. ‘Only let’s get out of here as fast as we can.’

    She nodded, and I motioned for her to follow me.”

    It was all a nightmare…

    Dr. Hachiya and his wife make there way to the street. As the homes around them collapse, they realize they must move on, and begin their journey to the hospital a few hundred yards away.’

    http://www.eyewitnesstohistory.com/hiroshima.htm

     

     

    Enhanced by Zemanta
  • A Mother’s Agony’ Over Her Son.You Are Not Alone.

    I read a moving article on blogher,by a Mother on her son..

    It was agonizing to go through the article.

    Why is it the children behave the way they do?

    Is it because they take the Parents granted?

    Or is it because they are the people who would not hit back because of Love and Affection?

    Yes Children raised themselves on their own.

    Parents did nothing.

    Parents are some thing to be ridiculed  and insulted.

    A seed also becomes a tree begetting seeds.

    The last line of the Mother was poignant.

    ‘I don’t know. But please tell me I’m not alone. And that it will be okay.’

    Rest Assured, You are not Alone.

    Read the Related Story.

    I can only quote Shakespeare.

    ‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is
    To have a thankless child.
    King Lear (1.4.280)

    Story:

    A Mother's Agony Over Her Son_/4092/5003530689_0a986019c6.jpg
    A Mother’s Agony Over Her Son.

    I’m going to be honest with you guys. I’m really tired of my son.

    The level of disrespect and general level of unhappiness is becoming so distressing that I’m barely functioning as his mother. I don’t want to be around him. I don’t want to do anything for him.

    I’ve given this so much thought — maybe too much. What am I doing wrong? Why is he so unhappy? Is he depressed? Do we have a real issue here?

    I don’t have the answer. He is generally a normal, happy boy. Until it comes to me or his father. The way he treats us is just…horrifying. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING is ever right. Ever enough.

    Why? How did we create this person who disrespects, demands, and blames us for everything? How did he become so… spoiled?

    What do you do when all you want to do is scream, and cry, and hit, and run away?

    What do you do when it’s always just boiling. Festering.

    When the last thing you want to hear is anyone’s voice. Whether disrespecting, whining, asking, needing.

    When you can’t for the LIFE of you imagine what else they could possibly need. What you AREN’T doing?

    When the more you give them, the more they want. The more they complain. The more they tell you they hate you. What a terrible mother you are.

    Who am I raising? And what am I doing wrong. Isn’t the way he treats me a reflection on my motherhood?

    I love him so much. This is not the mother I wanted to be. I wanted to be the mother who has long talks, and listens, and encourages moving away from the norm. Using imagination, experimentation. Trial and error.

    But I’m not.

    I’m the mother who needs strict adherence to the rules. The routine. Do it now the way I want it done before my head blows off.

    I don’t know why. Because I work from here, and I need some level of understanding and order? Because I just need people to not be contradictory even for just a little while?

    http://www.blogher.com/one-where-i-spill-my-guts-about-my-sons-behavior

    Related:

    Sons Leave Dad to rot and Die.

    Two West Seattle brothers accused of literally leaving their father to rot to death now face felony elderly-abuse charges.

    King County prosecutors contend Kenneth and Keith Shaw lived rent-free in their parents’ Alki neighborhood home while their 86-year-old father wasted away, neglected. Police contend the pair of 50-somethings refused to move their parents into a nursing home because they wanted to inherit their parents’ ample savings.

    Conditions were so bad when paramedics arrived in November 2010 that a trail of blood followed Kyle Shaw Jr. as the first responders carried him from the home, Seattle Police Det. Suzanne Moore told the court.

     http://www.seattlepi.com/local/article/Sons-accused-after-elderly-West-Seattle-man-rots-4042130.php#ixzz2CNEWvPKQ

    Enhanced by Zemanta
  • Meet The Poorest President in The World

    In these days Politicians making money out of every nook and corner, it is unbelievable to find the President of a Country living in a ramshackle of a Farm,laundry strung outside this ‘House and who donates 90 % of his salary-about $12,000 (£7,500), to charity!

    Meet  Mr.President Mujica,Uruguay, who  has shunned the luxurious house that the Uruguayan state provides for its leaders and opted to stay at his wife’s farmhouse, off a dirt road outside the capital, Montevideo.

    What a refreshing change!

    Story:

    President Mujica _64149000/jpg/_64149485_de27.jpg
    President Mujica

    Laundry is strung outside the house. The water comes from a well in a yard, overgrown with weeds. Only two police officers and Manuela, a three-legged dog, keep watch outside.

    This is the residence of the president of Uruguay, Jose Mujica, whose lifestyle clearly differs sharply from that of most other world leaders.

    President Mujica has shunned the luxurious house that the Uruguayan state provides for its leaders and opted to stay at his wife’s farmhouse, off a dirt road outside the capital, Montevideo.

    The president and his wife work the land themselves, growing flowers….

    “I’ve lived like this most of my life,” he says, sitting on an old chair in his garden, using a cushion favoured by Manuela the dog.

    “I can live well with what I have.”

    His charitable donations – which benefit poor people and small entrepreneurs – mean his salary is roughly in line with the average Uruguayan income of $775 (£485) a month.

    In 2010, his annual personal wealth declaration – mandatory for officials in Uruguay – was $1,800 (£1,100), the value of his 1987 Volkswagen Beetle.

    This year, he added half of his wife’s assets – land, tractors and a house – reaching $215,000 (£135,000).

    That’s still only about two-thirds of Vice-President Danilo Astori‘s declared wealth, and a third of the figure declared by Mujica’s predecessor as president, Tabare Vasquez.

    Elected in 2009, Mujica spent the 1960s and 1970s as part of the Uruguayan guerrilla Tupamaros, a leftist armed group inspired by the Cuban revolution.

    http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-20243493

     

    Enhanced by Zemanta
  • The Tumult Of Prostitutes, “Whores’ Glory”

    Drinking,Gambling and Prostitution  have been in existence since time immemorial.

    Prostitution is a trade which while being vehemently criticized in Public , is secretly adored.

    Barring a few cases , women enter in to this harrowing world because of poverty,ill-treatment ,neglect and exploitation by men and women for money.

    More serious is the crime of sexual misconduct.perversions,adultery, living in relationships.

    These vile acts are not seriously looked as one would at Prostitution.

    “Michael Glawogger does for documentary film what Ryszard Kapuściński did for journalism: He reinvents it as something immersive, meditative, and poetic. His films condense themes of staggering complexity—economics, labor, sex—into meticulous vignettes of everyday life. Although he has occasionally been derided for aestheticizing poverty, there’s little doubt that his audacious style is compelling. Nobody who has seen Megacities, his 1998 film about globalization, can forget those feverish New York City scenes of a hustler shooting dope and robbing his john at knifepoint, just as nobody who has watched Workingman’s Death (2005), his portrait of contemporary physical labor, can shake its images of a Nigerian slaughterhouse awash in blood.”

    A prostitute in Reynosa, Mexico_gallery-display/photoessays/mexico_01.jpg
    A prostitute in Reynosa, Mexico, waits for customers to drive by. A tattoo of Santa Muerte—Saint Death—is visible near her left shoulder and offers protection from violence. (Photo by Maya Goded)

     

    The women of La Zona _.gallery-display/photoessays/mexico_02.jpg
    The women of La Zona pose for men circling the lot. Once they’ve lured a customer, women negotiate a price and retreat into the motel-like rooms. (Photo by Maya Goded)

     

    Prostitute Soliciting_jpg.
    Like many industries in Mexico, prostitution is often controlled by cartels or the mafia. Pimps in La Zona typically live outside of the brothe

    Look at the Pathetic look in eyes tinged with desperation, pain, self revulsion and disgust!

    “I recently spoke with Michael Glawogger about the challenges of capturing such a clandestine subculture. The accompanying photographs are from the companion book to Whores’ Glory,published by Orange Press 
    Mother Jones: The locations you filmed pose intense logistical challenges for a documentarian, let alone one who is also taking photographs. How did you balance the two?

    Michael Glawogger: Mostly I take photographs in times of research. Whores’ Glory was shot in 30 days, 10 days for each segment, but the research for each part lasted a couple of months.

    MJ: Did the women respond differently to being photographed than to being filmed?

    MG: Sometimes the presence of a camera is like opening a door, because many people want what Andy Warhol called “15 minutes of fame.” But prostitutes don’t want that. They know about the internet, they know their boyfriend can see them, or their parents, so overcoming those boundaries is very tough. I’ve made many documentaries, but prostitution was the hardest in terms of gaining the trust of the people being filmed.

    MJ: How did you do that?

    MG: I had to first convince them that I wasn’t a journalist who would yet again put out a notion about them they wouldn’t necessarily care for or who would victimize them. You know, journalists come and go. If they come twice, it’s a lot. But I come 10 times and hang out with them and share stuff. If you connect with someone just once, that’s something. But if you can connect twice, that’s something else.

    MJ: The film is so lush and cinematic. Is it your ambition as a documentarian to restore beauty to lives that many outsiders might see as ugly?

    MG: As a filmmaker I cannot make anything beautiful. I’m Platonic in that sense. I think beauty is the splendor of truth, so if the people I portray think they’re beautiful, they’re beautiful. I don’t make them that way. I don’t aestheticize anything. I don’t even use lights. The working girls do one thing all day: They make themselves pretty. That’s their job and their money. In a way, I had the best makeup artists, hairdressers, and art designers in the world.

    MJ: How does being a man change the way these women respond to you?

    MG: Whenever a man enters the realm of prostitutes he’s always regarded as a possible customer. If you enter as a woman, you’re regarded as somebody who could be in the same place. Being a man brings the perspective of flirtation.

    http://www.motherjones.com/photoessays/2012/07/ghettos-desire/waiting-brothel

     

    Enhanced by Zemanta
  • Lymph Nodes Shrunk, Cancer breakthrough and a Tragedy

    Cancer is such that any attempt to glean an insight into its treatment is often visited by tragedy.

    However a step ahead.

    English: Gross appearance of the cut surface o...
    English: Gross appearance of the cut surface of a pneumonectomy specimen containing a lung cancer, here a Squamous cell carcinoma (the whitish tumor near the bronchi). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

    But isn’t the price great?

    Yet these tragedies can not be avoided.

    Let’s Pray that the price paid is compensated by the Greatest Good.

    Story:

    In 2005, after she had spent more than a year going from specialist to specialist, a dermatologist figured it out. Mrs. McDaniel, then 62, had Sezary syndrome, a rare T cell lymphoma, in which white blood cells become cancerous and migrate to the skin. All her doctors could tell her was that the disease was incurable, that there was no standard treatment, and that on average patients at her stage die within a few years.

    “Of course I was shocked,” Mrs. McDaniel said in an interview last September.

    She wept that day as her husband drove her home. And she asked God to help her cope.

    Before cancer, she had had a vibrant life, hiking in the mountains, traveling the world, entertaining her wide network of friends. Her disease destroyed all of that. She could not even enjoy her luxuriant garden because sun on her inflamed skin was agony.

    Although there is no standard treatment, for five years chemotherapy held her disease at bay. But in the summer of 2010, she got worse, much worse, with hundreds of tumorspopping up under her skin. Some grew as large as kiwi fruits and split open.

    Her son, Dr. McDaniel, decided he would orchestrate the use of the most advanced techniques of gene sequencing and analysis to take on her cancer. Because of his job — he works for Illumina, a company that does DNA sequencing — Dr. McDaniel had read scientific reports and gone to medical conferences where he heard talks on whole genome sequencing. He noticed that the patients all seemed to have rare cancers.

    “Every time I heard one of those stories, I thought, ‘That’s my mom,’ ” he said.

    For now, there are not many drugs that can target specific gene mutations in cancer cells.

    But the hope is that when more is known and more drugs are developed, doctors will treat cancer by blocking several major genes at once. With several escape routes barred, the cancer will not be able to break free of the drugs stopping its growth.

    ……..

    He worked all night, found a paper by scientists who had deliberately fused those very genes and discovered that, yes, the genetically altered T cells had their growth signals reversed.

    At 5:45 a.m. Dr. McDaniel sent an e-mail to his collaborators.

    “I was so tired at that point that, believe it or not, I had forgotten about the drug,” he said.

    He fell asleep and woke at 11 a.m., rushing back to his computer. The melanoma drug he had forgotten in his exhaustion should hit that target. And that could stop his mother’s cancer from growing. “My jaw was just hanging open,” Dr. McDaniel said. “The implications were so tantalizing that I didn’t dare believe them.”

    A Remarkable Turnaround

    Mrs. McDaniel had her first infusion on July 28, and the result seemed remarkable. Her oncologist, Dr. Gohmann, was overwhelmed. Her son, who had been terrified that he and the doctors might have made a terrible mistake, was overjoyed.

    Mrs. McDaniel, who had not left her house for several months except to see her doctors, began going to movies and restaurants every day.

    On Sept. 2, she and her husband went to the Heirloom Restaurant, in the middle of horse country, to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary.

    She had given away so many of her clothes when she thought she was dying that she puzzled over what to wear. She had a favorite blouse that was loosefitting and comfortable, but Mr. McDaniel recalled, “It was long gone.” She could not drink wine with the medicines she was taking, so she and her husband sipped iced tea in the quiet dining room.

    “We reminisced, but also talked about the future as we hoped it would be,” Mr. McDaniel said.

    But the reprieve lasted only weeks. By the end of September, the cancer was back.

    Dr. McDaniel did not want to give up. Mrs. McDaniel’s tumor was sequenced again, looking for a new mutation, but there was nothing striking. As Dr. McDaniel sifted through the data, he called his parents every day. They began calling him the governor, hoping he would bring his mother another stay of execution.

    The doctors considered a less appealing target, a mutated gene that T cells use to stop growing. Unpublished studies in mice suggested that a kidney cancer drug might stop the growth of T cells with this mutation.

    By then, Mrs. McDaniel’s body was ravaged by the cancer and her treatments. She had entered hospice care, with a hospital bed in her home and a nurse and an assistant to help.

    “We had this shaky evidence, based on the genome and on unpublished data,” Dr. McDaniel said.

    But the drug’s side effects were mild, and her family and doctors decided she should try it.

    “If we do nothing, she will be dead in one to six weeks,” Dr. McDaniel explained.

    Mrs. McDaniel took the drug on Nov. 26. But she was so ill that she was unable to get out of bed, unable to drink from a straw. Her son Tim took his children to her bedroom one at a time so they could say goodbye.

    “She wasn’t talking, but her eyes were open, and she acknowledged each one with a weak chuckle,” Dr. McDaniel said.

    Three days later, she briefly rallied. Her husband held her hand.

    “She said, ‘I love you,’ ” Mr. McDaniel said. “She then repeated it twice more. I kissed her forehead and told her that I loved her. Those were our last words to each other.”

    The next morning, Nov. 30, Mr. McDaniel woke early and went to his wife’s room. Her breathing had become erratic. Worried, he stepped out and asked the hospice nurse to call the doctor. “In the seconds that I was absent, she died,” Mr. McDaniel said.

    The team that tried to save her was heartbroken too, and was left with a long list of what-ifs. “If you really look at it, what did we buy her?” Dr. de Castro asked. Mrs. McDaniel was dying last January. Yet would she have survived as long even without the sequencing or the drugs? Did the team make a difference?

    “I hope we did,” Dr. de Castro said, “but it’s hard to know.”.

    http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/09/health/new-frontiers-of-cancer-treatment-bring-breathtaking-swings.html?pagewanted=3&_r=1&emc=na