By Dr Syed Nabeel
It was a dark and stormy afternoon—the kind where potholes morph into Olympic diving pools, patients disappear like they’ve signed up for a dental avoidance reality show, and even the most die-hard RCT fanatics ghost you faster than a patient dodging a scaling bill. There I was, Dr. Syed Nabeel, the illustrious founder of DentistryUnited and maestro of Smile Maker Dental Studio, lounging in my clinic with credentials from India and Ireland sparkling brighter than a freshly polished cuspid. A dentist by trade, a dreamer by heart, and a chatterbox by hobby—my love for banter dates back to the mIRC days, when I’d type “LOL” faster than I could say “open wide.” (Note for Gen X newbies: mIRC was the great-grandfather of chat rooms in the 90s, where we battled dial-up modems and spammers to roast each other in pixelated glory—think WhatsApp groups, but with more “ASL?- (Age Sex Location – A lingo used before any chat initiation” and existential lag.)
These days, I spar with AI for fun, finding it a decent chat buddy (though it’s no match for my wit, my bajji critiques, or my mIRC-honed sass). But on this rainy day, I was slouched in my operatory, staring at my 2019 X-ray sensor, which grinned back with more enthusiasm than my bank account or my Wi-Fi router trying to connect during a monsoon.
The rain outside wasn’t just falling—it was auditioning for a Bollywood blockbuster, complete with thunderous Back Ground Music and zero choreography. My appointment book? A fossil from the pre-composite era, last updated when patients still believed flossing wasn’t optional. With no patients to dazzle with my Indo-Irish dental sorcery, I turned to my latest guilty pleasure: ChaGPT—a knockoff AI app that mimics the ka-ching of a cash drawer opening when your clinic is emptier than a dental dam on a dry socket. I stared at the drawer. It stared back. We both sighed, knowing the only thing popping today was my dream of buying a new loupe set, crushed under the weight of unpaid electricity bills.
Richard, The Milestone Dentist, Rolls In
Just then, the clinic door creaked open like a haunted autoclave with a grudge. No ghost—just Dr. Richard, the Next KM (KiloMeter) Dentist, so named because in India, dentists double as GPS waypoints.
Need directions? “Take a left after Dr. Smilewell’s clinic, go past three pan shops, dodge two stray cows, and hang a right at the fourth dentist—yep, that’s Richard’s spot, right before the chai stall with suspiciously sticky saucers.”
He stormed in like a drenched philosopher, clutching a sulaimani chai in one hand and existential dread in the other, his loupes swinging like a superhero’s cape after a bad day. “No patients today?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Not even a tooth fairy,” he groaned, collapsing into a chair. “I’m one cavity away from selling my operatory light on OLX and becoming a full-time vada pav vendor.”
“Same,” I said. “I’m thinking of turning this clinic into a popcorn stand. At least popcorn doesn’t need anesthesia—or a payment plan for a single filling.”
“Why popcorn?” he asked, sipping his sulaimani like it was the only thing keeping his soul tethered to his body.
“Because it pops under pressure—unlike my career or my suction unit, which wheezes like an asthmatic uncle after a biryani buffet.”
We sat in silence, two dentists united by a monsoon, midlife crises, and a mutual love for crunchy snacks. Somewhere, a molar wept, probably because it overheard us debating whether to autoclave our dignity next.
AI, The Rise of the Robots, and ChatGPT’s Dental Delusions
To lift the mood, Richard piped up, “I spent the morning reading about how AI is ‘revolutionizing’ dentistry!” His air quotes were so aggressive they could’ve debonded a bracket or scared a timid canine into submission.
“Oh, joy,” I deadpanned, channeling my inner sarcasm. “AI can now diagnose caries, plan ortho, design crowns, and probably tell you which chai stall has the best ginger-to-cardamom ratio based on lunar cycles and your zodiac sign.”
“Meanwhile,” I continued, “I spent 20 minutes convincing Mrs. Gupta that turmeric isn’t a pulp capping agent and that her WhatsApp forward about ‘gingival yoga’ won’t fix her periodontitis. She asked if I could prescribe ‘herbal alginate’ for her next impression. I’m still recovering.”
Just last week, a patient waltzed in waving a ChatGPT printout thicker than a prostho textbook, looking like he’d just cracked the Da Vinci Code of dentistry. “Doc, ChatGPT says it’s reversible pulpitis.”
“Who diagnosed it?” I asked, already dreading the answer, my hand inching toward the emergency bonda stash.
“Siri,” he said, dead serious, as if Siri had a BDS and a license to drill.
“And what do you want me to do?”
“Just sign this form so I can start oil pulling and chanting ‘Hail the Molar Majesty’ thrice daily.”
Two days later: facial swelling so big it needed its own pin code and a guest spot on The Kapil Sharma Show. I fixed it, but not before he asked if I could prescribe “neem-based anesthesia” because Google said it’s “organic and gluten-free.”
Patients now play AI ping-pong:
- Step 1: Ask ChatGPT for a diagnosis.
- Step 2: Demand a prescription from us.
- Step 3: Cross-check our prescription with Alexa.
- Step 4: End up at the pharmacy asking if “ayurvedic amalgam” is in stock or if they carry “sugar-free novocaine for keto dieters.”
At this point, we’re not dentists. We’re tech support for AI’s dental fan fiction, with a side of student loans and existential dread. Without our human brains—honed by years of battling sticky alginates and patients who “floss with vibe checks”—AI would have patients gargling coconut oil for cracked cusps and crowning their earlobes.
Dr. Charan Enters: Surgeon, Savior, Snack Distributor
BOOM! A lightning bolt lit up the sky like a dental operatory light on steroids. In swaggered Dr. Charan, the oral surgeon from three kilometers away, wielding a steaming bag of bonda and bajji (Fritters) like he’d just conquered Mount Sinus with a #6 round bur. His surgical mask hung around his neck like a medal of honor, and his grin screamed, “I just saved a sinus and I’m here to flex.”
“Rain, snacks, and—look at this!—two endangered species of dentistry sitting idle!” he boomed, tossing us each a bajji so crispy it could guest-star on The Kapil Sharma Show and get more laughs than Archana’s one-liners.
“Big case today,” he said, chomping on a bonda with the confidence of a man who’s never met a flap he couldn’t suture—or a patient he couldn’t charm into paying upfront. “Some tech-bro dentist used an AI-assisted surgical guide to place a basal implant. Perfect plan, perfect execution… until the drill decided the maxillary sinus was its new Airbnb.”
“Sinus perforation?” Richard asked, mid-bite, his eyes wide like he’d just seen a cracked matrix band.
“Perforation? Ha! The implant was halfway to Narnia, practically knocking on the patient’s optic nerve. Missed the orbit by this much.” He held up two fingers, the universal dentist sign for “we almost lost an eye, but let’s laugh about it over chai.”
“Called me in,” Charan continued. “I waltzed in with 25 years of experience, a headlamp, and good old common sense. Sealed the sinus, repositioned the implant, saved the eye.
Then I told the guy, ‘Beta, AI’s perfect in planning, but you must control your hand. That hand has enough power to bisect the face in two and turn the patient into a Picasso portrait. Leave the precision to humans.’”
We raised our mangaluru-bajjis in a greasy salute, dripping chutney like it was our tears of pride. AI might crunch numbers, but Charan crunches sinuses—and bondas—with unmatched swagger. Without his human brain, that patient would be seeing stars instead of smiling, probably asking Siri how to book an eye surgeon.
Bracket Blunder & Otto Man Blues
As we cackled, I remembered yesterday’s ortho disaster, a tale so absurd it could headline a dental stand-up special on Habitat Studio. A patient rolled in, referred by a colleague in Mumbai for an ortho review. I took one look at the brackets and nearly dropped my explorer into my chai. The right central incisor bracket was on the left. The left lateral was chilling on the right premolar. The arch looked like a Picasso painting after a bender, or like my old mIRC chatroom after a spam bot invasion.
I called my buddy in Mumbai, trying to stay polite, though I was tempted to type “WTF” “Bro, did you intentionally flip the arch during bonding? Is this some avant-garde ortho philosophy, like ‘teeth should vibe chaotically’?”
“Nah, man,” he sighed, sounding like he’d aged a decade since his last coffee. “AI gave me the bonding plan. I used an AI-generated template, sent it to the lab, and told my assistant—a general dentist with zero ortho training—to bond it. Lab sent flipped brackets, assistant didn’t blink, and now the patient’s teeth look like they’re auditioning for Inception.”
I pictured the assistant shrugging, “AI said so,” while gluing brackets like a toddler with a sticker book and a sugar high. Without a human to double-check, AI turned that smile into a dental escape room, complete with a “Game Over” screen. Moral of the story: AI’s only as good as the dentist who tells it, “Bro, you’re drunk, go home—take an Uber, not an implant drill.”
Post-AI Stress Disorder Clinic (Opening Soon)
Mid-laughter, inspiration hit like a poorly aimed high-speed handpiece caught in a suction tube. The three of us should open a clinic exclusively for patients who swear off ChatGPT and Google. Entrance sign: “If You Googled It, We Won’t Treat It. If You Asked Alexa, We’re Calling Your Mom. And If You Mention WebMD, We’re Sending You to the Chai Stall.”
Better yet, we’re launching the P.A.S.D. Clinic—Post AI Stress Disorder Clinic for dentists suffering from:
- Chronic AI overreliance (symptoms include trusting a chatbot over Gray’s Anatomy or believing AI can calibrate a finicky apex locator).
- Bonding brackets based on Siri’s vibes or TikTok tutorials.
- Sinus trauma from tech bros who think “drill go brrr” is a treatment plan.
- Existential crises after patients ask, “But what does WebMD say about my crown prep?” or “Can you make my veneer Insta-filter compatible?”
Therapy starts with a hot bajji, peaks with a group rant over chai (served in cups that don’t stick to the saucer), and ends with us reminding each other that human brains—especially those forged in the fires of Indian dental colleges and Irish exams—still run the show. AI? It’s just the annoying intern who suggests “try rebooting the patient” for a fractured mandible or “gargle with blockchain” for gingivitis.
Popcorn Vending & Prostho Congress Dreams
To survive the patient drought, I installed a popcorn vending machine in the clinic. No X-rays, no sterilization, just pop-pop-pop and the occasional masala variant for patients who think “flossing” means scrolling Instagram while eating paan. It’s a hit—turns out, popcorn’s the only thing in my clinic that doesn’t need a consent form or a 30-minute lecture on why chewing gum isn’t a core build-up material.
As we packed up, our phones pinged in unison, like a choir of neglected scalers .
Class Group Update:
Our prosthodontist buddy is hosting an “AI in Dentistry” Congress in Dubai. We locked eyes and said, in perfect sync,
“We should totally do a stand-up comedy set for the delegates—sharing our real-time experiences with AI and how truly intelligent dentists handle artificial intelligence.”
Picture this:
We’re on stage, fritters in hand, dropping truth bombs like:
“Sure, AI can design a crown—but only a human can tell it’s upside down when the patient’s chewing dosa like it’s a CrossFit challenge.”
Or:
“Only a dentist knows that the suction unit’s death rattle isn’t a glitch—it’s a mechanical cry for help (or revenge).”
And hey, if we’re funny enough, maybe we score free tickets, five-star stay, and a desert safari—where we ask ChatGPT if camel breath has ketones.
We’ll even swing by the Gold Souk, fire up AI, and say:
“Hey Siri, how can we crash gold prices by 50% in the world’s largest market?”
Just imagine the algorithms short-circuiting while we window-shop with zero intent to buy.
Dr. Pavan’s AI-Pocalypse: The Ten RCT Fiasco
(dramatic blend of “AI” (Artificial Intelligence) and “Apocalypse)
Speaking of endodontic legends, Dr. Pavan Kumar, my Hyderabad-based endo master, recently shared a story so ridiculous it deserves its own Netflix comedy special, complete with a laugh track . A tech-savvy patient, eyes gleaming with AI worship, strutted into his clinic clutching a phone loaded with dental apps like it was the Holy Grail of pulp chambers. Before Pavan could even say “open wide,” his assistant—bless her enthusiasm—whisked the patient off for a radiograph faster than you can say “periapical lesion” .
The assistant, clearly auditioning for Tech Bro: The Dental Edition, watched as the patient asked, “Do you have that latest AI-assisted diagnosis app? The one that all the cool clinics are using these days?”
Eager to impress, the assistant lit up. “Of course, sir!” she chirped, grabbing the patient’s X-ray and uploading it to some AI app that probably moonlights as a stock market predictor or a horoscope generator.
The AI churned for a nanosecond and spat out a diagnosis with the confidence of a motivational speaker hawking herbal toothpaste:
“Patient requires TEN root canals.”
The treatment plan included crowns, bridges, and quite possibly a complimentary spaceship to Mars.
The assistant, now fully Team AI, didn’t bother consulting Dr. Pavan. She spun around, whipped out the POS machine like a lightsaber in a sci-fi dental opera, and said:
“Sir, if you can pre-pay for all ten RCTs and crowns, we can proceed as per the AI protocol. UPI or card? We also accept Dogecoin for futuristic vibes.”
The patient, hypnotized by the AI’s audacity, was about to swipe his card faster than you can say “irreversible pulpitis” or “my wallet’s in pain.”
Enter Dr. Pavan.
This man has done more RCTs than there are potholes in Hyderabad. He trains dentists in endodontics like it’s his morning cardio. Pavan took one look at the X-ray, snorted louder than a malfunctioning handpiece, and said:
“Young man, this AI thinks every shadow is a canal and every canal is a gold mine. You need one RCT, maybe two—and a good flossing habit. My hands have saved thousands of teeth. Your app can’t even spell ‘apex’ right without autocorrect.”
The patient blinked, torn between the glowing screen and Pavan’s calm, 10,000-RCT swagger.
He took a breath. Then a step back.
“I think I’ll go with you, doctor,” he said. “AI’s fun for movie recs and weather updates… but not my molars.”
Pavan smiled, the kind of smile that’s seen a hundred misdiagnosed root canals.
“Wise choice. Let’s treat the tooth, not the algorithm.”
And just like that, the assistant quietly shut down the app, the POS machine retreated like a defeated lightsaber, and AI went back to doing what it does best—guessing your love life and misreading radiolucencies.
Moral of the story: AI might spit out fancy plans faster than a patient spits out mouthwash, but only a human like Pavan, with years of experience and a loupe sharper than his wit, can tell a canal from a pixelated daydream—or a patient from a walking ATM.
The Last Bite:
As I drove home through the monsoon, my wipers battling rain like a scaler battles calculus, I sent this blog to my endodontist friend, Dr. Pavan Kumar , for a vibe check. He texted back: “Syed, I want to ask something… did you write this… I cannot control my laughter….”
I smirked, sipped my sulaimani-chai (carefully, to avoid staining my own veneers), and replied: “AI thoda edit kiya… kahani asli hai. Bonda asli hai. Situation bhi asli tha, boss.
These days, even my humor gets accused of being AI, probably because I honed my wit in the wild west of chat rooms on 90s, where every quip was a battle for chatroom supremacy. If it’s witty, it must be ChatGPT. Well, guess what? It’s 60% human, 30% AI, and 10% besan(gram flour)—the perfect recipe for a dental roast, with a side of Indo-Irish charm.
Because AI can crunch data, but only a dentist like me—forged in the crucible of Indian clinics, Irish exams, and endless clinical chaos—can crunch a fritter, dodge a sinus, and laugh (genuinely!) at a flipped bracket while the patient’s teeth stage a full-on rebellion
Meet the Fabulous Four from the JSSDC Batch of ’96 — where brilliance met banter in the corridors of RGUHS.
Dr. Syed Nabeel, Dr. Charan Babu, Dr. Pavan Kumar, and Dr. Richard Jimris — a quartet of dental legends, each with a distinct flair:
One moves the teeth with calculated grace,
Another removes them with surgical finesse,
The third drills down with precision that rivals an architect’s hand,
And the fourth? He masterfully handles whatever the others strategically delegated.
Together, they don’t just practice dentistry — they orchestrate it.
#DentistsWithoutPatients
#SmileMakerDrama
#AIknowsButCharanOperates
#BracketsGoneRogue
#PostAIStressDisorder
#BondaBeforeBasal
#PopcornNoPremolar
#60Human30AI10Besan
#IndiaHasMoreDentistsThanPotholes
#AIInDentistryNeedsChutneyToo
#HumanBrainsOrBust
#NoAIOnlyChai
#WhenInDoubtSutureItOut
#mIRCMasterMeetsAI