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My Name Is Melvin, Not Mel Or Marvin Melvin Durai Melvin Durai is a Pennsylvania-based writer and humorist. Born in Tamil Nadu, India, he grew up in Zambia and moved to the U.S. in the early 1980s. In 1995, while working as a reporter for a daily newspaper in Chambersburg, Pa., he began writing a regular humor column. His weekly column now appears in several newspapers and on a number of Web sites. He also writes a twice-monthly column on Indian and Indian-American issues. He is a diehard fan of the National Football League and also likes to run, lift weights and play soccer, tennis and pool. An award-winning feature writer and aspiring novelist, he plans to publish a collection of his best columns. You can write to him at comments@melvindurai.com To read his older columns, go to http://www.humor.melvin.com

It happened again the other day. Someone called me "Mel." He completely ignored the "vin" part of my name. Just took it upon himself to slice my name in half.

That's a liberty I prefer to reserve for a few select people, most notably my mother.

Mom calls me anything she wants. Always has. Even though she and my dad spent months pondering a name for me, that name is often inadequate. Especially when I'm not the model son she had pictured during those nine long months.

She usually resorts to names in her mother tongue, Tamil. Even if I wanted to embarrass myself, I couldn't translate them in a family newspaper.

I usually don't complain about all my mother-given aliases. Such name-calling is protected in the Maternal Bill of Rights.

But it's much harder for me to ignore assaults on my name by other people. Most of the offenders call me "Mel." Others call me "Marvin" or "Alvin." A few call me "Melvis."

My last name is battered even more, but that's somewhat understandable. After all, it isn't a household name like Smith or Jones or Lewinsky.

But "Melvin" shouldn't give anyone trouble. In fact, before I came to America almost two decades ago, no one ever called me "Mel." Yet shortening everything is almost an obsession in the United States, or should I say the U.S.

People love to shorten words and names. They've shrunk some names in ways that baffle me. No matter how hard I look, I can't see a Dick in Richard. And William has no Bill - just an ill. Robert has a Rob, but no Bob.

Such contractions obviously give Al Gore a slight edge over George Bush. We can save four letters, not to mention all those moving expenses.

Presidential candidates with longer names such as Dukakis have as much chance of being elected as Joey Buttafuoco.

But people with simple names can also fall victim to the short craze. I sympathize with the reader who recently wrote a letter to the editor criticizing an article for misusing his first name. The article, about hand washing in the bathroom, referred to the toilet as the "john." Of course, saying "john" instead of "bathroom," "rest room" or "lavatory" saves half the time. And time can be valuable, especially if you're in a hurry to use the .uh.john.

During my first weeks in America, I was surprised to hear a fellow college freshman say, "I need to use the can." The next time I went to the bathroom, I took a can opener.

Some abbreviations confused me too. After wondering what PMS meant, I figured it out myself: premarital sex. There was a lot of PMS going on in college. And everywhere else, too.

I also wondered why so many students liked HBO (human body odor).

One student named Brian Thomas was known merely as B.T. He had an extremely high IQ, and maintained a good GPA (grade point average). His ease with numbers amazed me because I had enough trouble remembering the PIN (personal identification number) of my MAC card, which meant I couldn't use the ATM (automated teller machine) to see whether I had enough money to pay the IRS. If only I had ESP. Instead, I have ESPN, which I can record on my VCR. But if I try to sell tapes of NFL games, the FBI might come after me and the DA might prosecute me.

When I'm on the computer at work, I occasionally get e-mail from the system manager telling me to log off PDQ (pretty darn quick). Sometimes the e-mail begins with the abbreviation FYI (for your information), warning me that I might learn something.

My boss surprised me once when he told me to "write this story ASAP." I thought he said, "Write this story, you sap."

Nobody calls me a sap.

Except my mom.

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