As artificial intelligence marches across the employment landscape like a caffeinated HR manager with a spreadsheet full of redundancies, one question looms large: what jobs will survive the Great Algorithmic Purge? We already know that AI can write sonnets, diagnose diseases, and beat humans at chess, as well as draft passive-aggressive email. But what are the non-endangered species of employment—the jobs that still remain gloriously human?
Take the ayurvedic masseur. No matter how many sensors you strap onto a robot, it cannot replicate the intuitive pressure of a thumb trained by decades of kneading Kerala’s knottiest backs. AI may know your dosha, but it doesn’t know your pain-points. The masseur’s art is part science, part sorcery, wholly resistant to digitisation. You can’t outsource intuition to a motherboard. Or consider the air-hostess. AI can calculate turbulence, optimise seating, and even deliver safety instructions in 37 languages. But can it calm a screaming toddler, defuse a mid-air marital spat, and serve reheated palak-paneer with grace while dodging elbows in economy class? The cabin crew is part therapist, part gymnast, part hostage negotiator. Until robots learn empathy and the art of pouring Diet Coke at 35,000 feet without spilling, this job is safe.
Then there’s the shop assistant—that endangered urban oracle who knows which brand of detergent removes turmeric stains and which aisle hides the elusive battery-operated nose trimmer. AI can recommend products, but it cannot read your face when you say, “I am just browsing,” and still somehow find you the perfect gift for your domineering aunt. The human shop assistant is a curator of impulse, a conjurer of wallets out of pockets.
And what of the Man Friday—the indispensable aide, fixer, scheduler, tea-maker, and occasional therapist to the busy politician, CEO, or eccentric novelist (I consider myself all three)? AI can manage calendars, yes. But can it anticipate a boss’s mood swings, preempt a PR disaster, and discreetly dispose of a half-eaten samosa before a Zoom call? The Man Friday is not just a personal assistant; he is a human firewall against chaos.
Even the parliamentarian, that curious creature of rhetoric and ritual, remains oddly irreplaceable. AI can draft bills, simulate debates and even predict voting patterns. But can it master the art of the walkout, the theatrical flourish of tearing papers, or the subtle wink across party lines during Question Hour? Parliament is theatre, and while AI may write the script, it cannot yet play the part.
But I am not writing this to smugly establish my own irreplaceability. Some jobs may be safe now, but the robots are coming—and they’re bringing AI with them.
Take the personal chauffeur. Today, you may prefer a human driver who knows which potholes to avoid and which FM station soothes your road rage. But once autonomous vehicles learn to navigate Delhi’s traffic without developing PTSD, the chauffeur may be replaced by a polite dashboard voice named Rajeev 2.0.
Bank tellers are already halfway to obsolescence. AI can count, transfer and even detect fraud. Add a humanoid robot with a reassuring smile and a crisp uniform, and you have got a teller who never takes lunch breaks or judges your overdraft. Even priests at weddings may face competition. Imagine a robot priest who never mispronounces names, always remembers the correct mantras, and can switch seamlessly between Vedic, Christian and civil rites. It won’t forget the sacred thread or the ring. It won’t sweat under the canopy. It may even offer post-ceremony analytics: “Your marriage has a 73 per cent compatibility score. Would you like to upgrade to premium blessings?”
The dystopian tinge here is not just about job loss—it’s about the slow erosion of the quirks, imperfections, and improvisations that make human work so maddeningly delightful. AI may be efficient, but it is not eccentric. It does not hum while ironing, gossip while sweeping, or offer unsolicited life advice while trimming your hair.
So what will remain? Jobs that require touch, trust and tact. Professions that depend on empathy, improvisation and emotional nuance. Roles where the human presence is not a feature but the product. Let us celebrate and protect these, as reminders that in a world of predictable perfection, it is the unpredictable human that still matters.
editor@theweek.in