My first encounter with Robert E Lee III was on reviewing his application to our hospital. Very impressive resume: 'prepped' at an exclusive New England boarding school, Ivy League undergraduate, medical degree from a leading school, and specialty training at a prestigious medical center.

Besides, the name conjures the image of a member of a patrician family, perhaps a scion of that Robert E Lee of Civil War fame. Imagine having a member of America's aristocracy as a colleague! My revelry was rudely interrupted on turning to the last page of his application where his picture was attached. There somewhat incongruously stared a photograph of an Oriental, his thick glasses merely magnifying his telltale epicanthic fold, or lack thereof.

Years later, as good friends, he related to me the story of his grandfather who moved east, as far away from California as possible, to escape the oppressive clannishness of his community. It was a sad tale of blood debt, triads, and filial duty.

His grandfather wanted to break away physically as well as psychologically; hence the Anglican name. He purposely chose a difficult (to him) one, thereby forcing him to pronounce it properly. It is ' Rrrr -obert', not ' Lll -obert'!

In the east, having laundered many an attire from the Brahmin class, he came to appreciate those quaint adornments of Jr, Sr, III, and IV to those famous names. He vowed that one day his descendants too would sport one of those fancy suffixes. Thus came Robert E Lee III.

Handy last name

Robert's story strikes a chord in me. When my wife was pregnant, we too went through a long list of suitable names. We both wanted one to reflect my Malaysian heritage yet not sounding too foreign, at least to Western ears. And living in the West, I appreciate the value and necessity of a common last name. Thus we chose T (for Tina) Melindah Musa, with the 'h' in Melindah being sufficiently Malaysian.

The only problem we encountered was in registering her with the Malaysian embassy. The bureaucrat there insisted that he had power over us to rename our daughter by adding "binti Bakri."

Nice rhythm, but we demurred and thus my daughter was denied the acknowledgment, at least officially, of her Malaysian legacy. She does get flattering inquires about which royal family she comes from, by Malaysians confused over the 'T'.

The common last name is handy. When we travel, the airlines are sure to seat us together, and the hotels would have adjoining rooms ready. A Malaysian couple had to spent their long transpacific flight separated in the far corners of a 747, as the airline had no clue that they were married.

Malaysians do not pay much attention to names. For Malays in particular, the emphasis is on titles. Everyone has one. The oldest is either a Kak Long or Bang Long (from sulong , first-born). Such titles are useful, quite apart from the respect they imply. When I visit Malaysia, I may not remember the names of my many nephews and nieces yet I can always count on a response by blurting out Kak Long or Bang Long .

Mouthful of a name

I am always embarrassed when Americans asked me who is the King of Malaysia. I can never remember. For one we change our king every five years. For another, they all have such long names: Our beloved late Yang Di Pertuan Agong, for example. Sultan Salahuddin Abdul Aziz Shah Alhaj Ibni Almarhum one has to take a few deep breaths.

It is not just the sultans who have elaborate fancy names. On our campus you will see a Professor Tan Sri Datuk Dr Haji So-and-so Shah Bin ... such royal aspirations; sultan wannabes!

Such pretensions are not without risks. Once on returning from a trip to Malaysia, I saw a distinguished-looking Malaysian at the adjacent immigration counter having difficulty with the American official. There was apparently a discrepancy between the name on the passport and the airline ticket.

My timely intervention dismissing the title on the ticket saved the day. The distinguished visitor however, was miffed that the world outside Malaysia did not recognize his impressive title, but at least he got through immigration without further hassle.

Such confusions also extend to company names. Once I had difficulty finding MAS in the phone book; some idiot had it under Sistem Penerbangan Malaysia. I wonder whether he had Mr White under Encik Puteh!

Imagine a society with a universe of only ten names. And if everyone has only one name like the Indonesians, there will only be that 10 names to choose from. Many would thus share similar names, and the differentiating or classifying value of a name would be meaningless. You can then count on information being put in the wrong person's file.

But if we have two names, we would increase the choice to 100. Thus we could have Ahmad Ali and Ali Ahmad. If we further increase it to three, the possible combinations would jump to 1000. In practice the number would be less as nobody wants the same name repeated, that is, no Ali Ali Ali.

Names like Abdul and Mohammad serve no useful differentiating purpose as everyone (or nearly so) has it; likewise, bin and binte. Others like Syed, Tengku and Nik are not so much names as clan labels. If we get rid of such useless incidentals, there would be less clutter in our phone books and other documents.

Living up to a name

A name is more than just a label. When you expect a visitor by the name of Jomo Kenyetta, you know he will probably arrive in a long colorful robe. In America however, with the tradition of slaves acquiring the surname of their masters, one has to be careful with such expectations.

New immigrants, eager to assimilate, routinely change their names; thus Paul instead of Pawlinsky. Even in England, a Sir Arthur Lewis was not some legendary English knight but a West Indian economist and Nobel laureate.

I predict that China would have difficulty assimilating Hong Kong. They may be Chinese but there is a deep gulf separating a Christina Chin from a Jeng Zoumin. Quite apart from Christina's affected British accent, the two view the world differently. One ignores such vast differences at one's own peril.

A recent survey of Singapore's young is very revealing. They profess a desire to be Caucasians; so much for a rugged society! Unlike Malaysians, Singaporeans are not satisfied being just Mat Salleh celup , they want to be the real thing. Plastic surgery must be very lucrative there, with many an eyefold to be fashioned. But the reality remains: you cannot white a Wong ... I mean, right a wrong!

Going back to Robert The Third, he is now proud of his heritage, urging us to call him Eng Chun. Easy enough for me with my Malaysian upbringing, but it is a real tongue twister for our American colleagues. Alex Haley's Roots does indeed touch beyond the black community.

The old bard may think that a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet, but this is a case of a garlic calling itself an onion rose in an attempt to acquire a new aroma.