At times, I wonder why my parents named me Melvin.
As Indians, they had thousands of great names to choose
from, names that would reflect our heritage and culture,
names that would make most Americans stammer.
They picked two syllables when they could have easily
picked 15. They picked Melvin instead of something like
Melvinathamanayagam. They picked a name that would
actually fit on a driver's license.
In their infinite wisdom, they gave me a name that's both
English and old-fashioned. The only Melvins I've ever met
are in their 80s and, if they think really hard, can still remember
the days when politicians were honest.
Melvin is in the same category as Horace, Myron and Elmer.
You'll never hear those names on "Beverly Hills 90210."
Unless the characters are studying history.
But every now and then, I'm thankful my parents gave
me a first name that's easy to spell and pronounce. People
have enough trouble with my last name, Durai (pronounced
Do-rye). Some pronounce it Durea, as though it rhymes with
urea. Others think it's French and spell it Du Ray. And a few
think it reflects my humor and spell it Dry.
Of course, I shouldn't complain. Many immigrants have it
worse. They have names like Kadambavanam, Constantinopolous
and Majchrzak. Every time someone says their name,
it's a new pronunciation. Their names have been destroyed
so many times, they ought to qualify for federal aid.
Many of these people like having names that honor their
heritage. But they feel pressured to adopt shorter Americanized
names. A first name like Jayakumar easily becomes
Jay, Suchitra becomes Sue, and Dudekanandi becomes ...
uh ... Dude.
One banker I know was told to Americanize his name or
lose a chance for a promotion. He did. I'm sure his shorter
name fits easily on that bigger paycheck.
Years ago, my late father changed the pronunciation of
our last name. It used to be pronounced Dthoray, but Dad
decided to give people a break. He was a kind man.
I have a friend from Zambia whose last name is Kwamanakweenda.
His son was born in America, but - unless
he shortens his name - he has no chance of ever being
elected president. Americans would never go for President
Kwamanakweenda. All the headline writers would go
on strike. They'd run out of space just writing his name.
They'd never be able to write: "Kwamanakweenda Admits
Relationship With Intern."
Of course, it would be terrible to overlook a great leader
just because of his name. And it's terrible to overlook a
good worker just because of his name. Not everyone can
be named Smith, Jones or Lewinsky.
Many African-Americans are giving their children African
names, celebrating their roots. Some people may
have trouble with those names, but at least the children
will grow up knowing their heritage.
In a multicultural society like ours, perhaps more
Americans should take the time to learn people's full
names - not just the first syllable. Perhaps we need
professional coaches to teach people how to pronounce
ethnic names: "OK, folks. Relax and don't panic. Just take
it one syllable at a time. And don't forget to take a deep
breath - you won't get another for a long time."

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